“Sold out.” Brett stood near Emma, shaking his head in amazement. “I hope like hell Bianca gets Orlando to bring more.” “He has to have more.” She looked around the exhibit room. “Hey, you’re an artist, make more.” He could see her tongue firmly planted in her cheek. “Well, if you ever need an excuse to see cock, that’s a good one.” “Shh. He’s coming this way.” Both he and Emma shut up. Brett smiled at the eccentric man as he approached. “You’ve sold out, sir.” “Splendid.” His light eyes twinkled with mischief. “Is there anything I can get you?” Emma asked. “I would love a sampling of the canapés.” “You got it.” She scurried off. Brett cleared his throat and assumed Bianca had enquired about the lack of anything else to sell over the weekend. “What’s your name?” “Oh.” Brett looked for his nametag on his shirt. He had forgotten it. “Brett. Brett Hamilton.” He extended his hand. “I’m the gallery assistant, along with Emma.” The shake was firm and endured. Orlando studied Brett’s face. “Would you be interested in modeling for me?” A rush of burning heat hit his cheeks. He peeked at the paintings on the wall. “I…I would be honored, sir.” “I have use of a friend’s studio here in LA. What’s your work schedule like?” Brett was given back his hand and became a nervous wreck. “I’m off Monday.” “I’m leaving for New York before then. Can you come tomorrow night? After the gallery closes?” “Yes! Of course!” Brett shifted his weight from leg to leg nervously. “Wonderful.” He patted Brett’s shoulder and walked off. He spotted Emma handing Orlando a plate of food and then he and Emma caught gazes. Emma nodded to Orlando and approached Brett. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” “He…he asked me to pose.” Emma’s jaw dropped and she covered her laughter. “Tomorrow night at a studio…um, here, in LA.” Since she was cracking up, Emma turned her back to the crowd to compose herself. “Holy shit.” Brett adjusted his dick and thought about how he measured up to the rest. But, he wasn’t too small, or too, big, or…anything unusual. Emma, still teasing, asked, “Hmm. What color will your dick and balls be?” “Holy shit. Orlando is going to paint me.” He ran his hand over his hair. “Do you think he’ll do anything else to you?” Brett blinked. “I…doubt it.” “Whoa. How cool is that? You’re going to be hanging…I mean it literally, hanging exposed on a wall in someone’s home.” “I’m freaking out.” “Oh! Bianca is waving at you.” Brett hustled over to her, so flattered he was about to shout it out to the mob. ~ Colton had to stop drinking the free champagne because he was getting drunk. He ate more of the snacks and brushed off his hands. He checked the time and noticed a missed email. It was regarding his modeling for an art class. After seeing the paintings, Colton had no idea what he was in for if he did it. Because he didn’t know, he figured he’d try to find out. A woman, who appeared to work for the gallery, and had a nametag, was clearing out empty glasses, helping the catering staff. “Excuse me.” “Yes?” She handed off a tray of dirty glasses to someone. “Do you work here?” The minute he said it he felt stupid. Why else would she be cleaning up? “I mean, with gallery, not the caterers.” “I do. Are you interested in buying something?” “I wish. No, they’re out of my price range.” She smiled sweetly. “I sent an email to the info address about modeling but—” “Oh! Do you mean for our night class?” She became excited. “Yes. Is it…” He gestured to the paintings. “No.” She chuckled. “But it is nude.” “Can you talk to me about it?” “Sure…it’s an adult class, mostly experienced artists. We pay a minimum of one-hundred and fifty dollars a session, more if the attendance is good. And you stand still for short bursts, and then either seated or reclining for a longer pose towards the end. Those are about fifteen minutes. We draw in charcoal mainly, some use pastels.” “So, no photographs allowed, right?” “No!” She shook her head and waved at him. “Never. We respect your privacy and no one will do that.” He shrugged. “I’m interested.” “That’s great. Hang on.” She walked to a desk, took out a small index card and returned, handing it to him with a pen. “Can you write your information here?” “Sure.” He used the table the drinks were displayed on, and wrote his contact info. Once he finished, he handed it to her. “Are you available next Thursday?” A wash of nerves hit Colton. He looked around the room and then said, “Yes.” “Just bring a robe. Do you have one?” “I can get one. What for?” “For between poses. Most models wear them.” “Oh. Sure.” He nodded. “Be here no later than six pm.” “Okay. Just out of curiosity, what’s the ratio of men to women in the class?” She smiled a little too knowingly. “Sometimes fifty-fifty. Depends.” “Thanks.” “No. Thank you. I think you’ll be great. You’re really handsome.” He felt shy and replied, “I’ve never been a model.” “There ya go. The start of a new career.” She seemed to be needed by someone and acknowledged them. “I’ll see you Thursday.” As she walked away, he asked, “You’re going to be there?” but she had already left. Before he headed home, Colton took a last canapé and munched it as he made his way to the exit.
