She motions toward her desk at the front of the room, where three large boxes from “Dough You Didn’t” sit stacked one on top of the other.
“I’m almost done,” Braxton calls out from the end of our table on the far side of the room, catching my gaze as he adds in a meaningful tone, “I’m finding today’s assignment highly motivating, captain. I think you will, too.”
“I’m so motivated,” Kyle mutters beneath his breath as I pass behind his chair. “I’m going to break the spell this shithead has over me if it’s the last thing I do.”
Frowning, I glance over his shoulder to see a drawing of a man with a full beard and tiny, squinted eyes that would look more at home on a mean-spirited pig.
I’m about to ask Evie who we’re supposed to be drawing, but when I glance her way, she’s already turned back to the corner, where she’s taping plain squares of cardboard paper in Ice Possum royal blue to the wall. This also treats me to my first glance of her from behind and the curve of her bottom in those black jeans is nearly enough to cause a cardiac event.
Who knew Evie had an ass like that?
I stumble to my chair, tripping over my feet twice because I can’t seem to rip my eyes away from Evie, and collapse beside Braxton, who chuckles and pushes a blank sheet of drawing paper my way. “We’re drawing a person who has power over our emotions,” he says, “someone who gets to us no matter how hard we try to keep our cool.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, dragging a hand down my face, surprised to feel sweat breaking out on my upper lip.
What the hell is Evie doing to me? And how can I make it stop? This sudden longing to worship my best friend’s little sister’s ass is bad.
Very, very bad.
Not only would Derrick cut off my dick if he knew—slowly, with a butter knife, so it would hurt more—it goes against every friendly, protective instinct I’ve ever felt toward this girl.
But she’s not a girl anymore. And it doesn’t look like she needs protection.
It’s true. I expected to step into this room today to find chaos, frustration, and possibly a crying Evie hiding out under her desk while the savages ran wild, scribbling on the walls like toddlers.
Instead, my teammates seem rapt. Focused. For the first time all day, no one is talking smack or giving each other shit.
“Who are you drawing?” I ask Braxton, as I choose a pencil with a freshly sharpened tip and bring it to hover over my paper.
“My uncle Chris,” he says. “He used to call me ‘fat ass’ when I was a kid. He’d buy all the other cousins ice cream from the truck when we played at his house, then toss me a water bottle and tell me to give him twenty push-ups. Then he’d stand there making fun of how sweaty I got. Real grade A shithead.”
“Sounds like it. I’m sorry about that, man.”
Braxton shrugs and turns his attention back to his drawing. “Thanks. I barely see him anymore, but when I do, I still want to punch him in the face. Makes Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners pretty miserable, so…I’d like to shut that down if I can. I figure it’s worth a try.”
“And it’s fun to draw these fuckers as ugly as possible,” Laser pipes up on my other side, holding up a pretty incredible drawing of an old woman with a hideous neck wattle. “My grandma. She kicked me and my mom out of the house when I was five because Mom lost her job at the truck stop. We lived in our car for almost two years before Mom remarried and started having babies with my stepdad like it was going out of style. Meanwhile, Gram went on cruises and gave my mom shit about pulling herself up by her bootstraps.”
I wince. “Fuck. With family like that, who needs enemies?”
Laser snorts in amusement. “Right?”
“But that’s fantastic work, Laser,” Evie says, appearing on the other side of the table. “You have such a strong artistic voice, and your line work around the neck is so striking. That’s a powerful piece.”
Laser puffs up a little. “Yeah? I used to love to draw. It was the only thing there was to do for fun when I was little. We couldn’t afford TV or video games, but Mom always made sure I had crayons and paper.”
“She sounds pretty awesome,” Evie says. “And so brave. That must have been hard for both of you, living in a car for so long.”
Laser’s expression sobers. “Yeah, it was. Fucking scary some nights, when the cops would wake us up pounding on the roof or beaming lights through the windows. But you’re right, my mom is brave, and she never stopped fighting for a better life for us. She’s my hero.”
“Maybe you can draw her next.” She glances my way as she adds, “We’re drawing people or memories that make us feel strong and grounded next. After our donut break.”
I nod, willing myself not to gape as her brighter-than-usual green eyes lock on mine. I’ve always thought her eyes were beautiful but now they’re like twin tractor beams sucking me straight out of my comfort zone.
“Could I go straight to that part?” I ask. “I don’t have anyone from my past who makes me feel out of control. I had a pretty normal childhood.”
Evie crosses her arms. “True, but we all have people who get under our skin. Do a little thinking, I’m sure you’ll come up with someone.” She nods toward my still-blank paper. “Or just start sketching with that feeling of being out of control and angry held in your thoughts and let your lizard brain do the work for you. You’ll be amazed what your creative side can reveal to you when you’re willing to listen.”
I arch a skeptical brow. Evie responds with a dazzling smile and another nod at my paper. “Just give it a try. In twenty minutes, if all you have are scribbles, you can still have a donut. As long as I can tell that you gave it your best effort.”
“I think I’m almost done,” Kyle calls from the other table. “Come look, teach. See what you think. I’m pretty psyched about it.”
“Be right there,” she says, moving his way, taking a moment here and there to offer words of encouragement or praise to the other players as she passes by.
Grateful for the reprieve from her insanely distracting new sex vibe, I turn back to my paper and put my pencil to the upper left-hand corner. I start sketching, letting my pencil scratch where it wants to scratch and linger where it wants to linger. It feels weird at first—to be drawing without knowing what I’m drawing—but I eventually relax into it, amazed that the more I concentrate on that feeling Evie described, the faster the image on the page takes shape.
By the time the alarm goes off on her phone, signaling that our first drawing session is done, I have a face on my paper. It’s a weird, ugly face, and doesn’t look like anyone I know, but it’s clearly a man with dark hair wearing a jean jacket, and it looks like I made an effort.
Hopefully that’s enough to earn a donut because those things are starting to smell really fucking good.
“Okay, pencils down,” Evie says, clasping her hands together. “Grab your pictures and follow me. We’re going out to the courtyard for the next part of the assignment.”
With only a modicum of grumbling and wondering what our pint-sized art guru is up to now, my teammates gather their artwork and head out the door, several making plans to grab coffee in the breakroom on the way back to enjoy with their donut.