Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(40)

“You do good modeling work,” he said kindly as I took it all in. “There are a lot of local artists around here. I’m sure you could get more gigs.”

I shook my head quickly in refusal of that notion, still unable to form any coherent sentences.

“Do you want to sit down, have some tea? We can get to know each other.”

Finally I swallowed and found my voice again. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Please.”



“So, you buy a lot of art from Jace?” I managed to ask, trying to figure out something to say to cover my confusion. Why did it bother me so much to see myself portrayed that way? It wasn’t me; it was just some random guy’s imagination, using me as a model. It shouldn’t have mattered.

Robin nodded, sticking a cup of orange and cinnamon–scented tea in front of me. I sipped it and suppressed a shudder. I’ve never quite understood herbal teas, at least not without a truckload of sugar. They smelled pretty, but never seemed to have any flavor. Might as well be drinking plain hot water.

“He usually does at least one show a year here. Joscelin Sieger originals sell well for me, and I usually get first pick of his new pieces because he and Geoff went to art school together. Those paintings I just showed you are some of his best work yet.”

Don’t ask about Jace. Don’t ask about Jace. Don’t—

“Is he local?”

Shit. Thanks, mouth.

“No, he’s based out of Chicago. He only comes up for shows and to visit me and Geoff.”

I nodded, trying to convince myself that I was relieved to hear that. I’d probably be long gone before Jace ever came back. That was a good thing, right?

Right?

Robin leaned back in his chair as I made myself take another sip of the tea, trying to pretend I liked it.

“So, we never got a chance to do an interview. Tell me a little about yourself, Topher.”

It was hard to make my brain jump tracks away from Jace and those paintings, and I stammered for a moment.

“Um, well, I’m a competitive swimmer up at Grand Valley, still trying to decide on my major. Geoff probably already told you that I really have no experience with art—or body art, really—but I’ve got no problem doing grunt work.”

“You’ll be here through almost the end of August?” Robin gave me an assessing look and stood, crossing to the fridge in the office and grabbing a bottle of water for me, then taking away the flavorless tea.

“Um . . .” I looked away, kicking myself. Fuck, why hadn’t I thought of this before I told them I’d be available for employment? “I, uh . . . I’ve been staying at my friend’s family’s house in Douglas since the semester ended, and I was supposed to be there for the summer but that’s probably going to change soon. In a couple weeks I don’t think I’ll be able to stay there anymore. But as long as I can find someplace not too far away, I can commute. I’ve got a car. It’s kinda on its last legs, but it’s holding up for now, and it doesn’t look too beat-up to park around here. My sister used to drive it for work, so it’s clean and looks good, and . . .” Robin blinked at me and I trailed off, realizing I’d been babbling. “So, uh, yeah. I can be here through the end of the summer.”

Except, of course, that finding someplace to live was going to eat up the money I was supposed to be saving, which meant I wasn’t really going to be any better off.

Maybe I could sleep in my car, drive up to the aquatic center in Holland to shower. Or maybe they had showers at one of the public beaches so I could save gas . . .

Robin tilted his head. “Your friend’s family had a change of plans?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” I didn’t dare meet his eyes, because I was pretty sure my guilt and misery were written all over my face, and after the shock of seeing those paintings, I was just too raw to be able to hide it.

Sometime in the next two weeks, Brendan and I would have to end things. We’d have to. This mess definitely had an expiration date, and the clock was running down. In two weeks, Mo and her mom would be coming. Mo would only be there one week, but Brendan’s wife—and for the life of me, I couldn’t make myself think of her by name—would be there for three. There was no way I could stay in the house for that time, pretending nothing had ever happened. Maybe for a week, while Mo was there—though that would be miserable and Mo would probably see right through it and it would all go up in flames anyway—but definitely not for three weeks. I couldn’t sleep in that dormer bedroom with him below me in bed with his wife. I’d screw up. I’d give it away. And if Brendan decided to come clean, I definitely couldn’t stay there anymore.

So either way, I was pretty much screwed where the housing situation was concerned.

I was screwed on a lot of other fronts, too. But focusing on the most immediate one at least kept my mind occupied and kept me from bursting into tears every time I thought of the colossal f*ck-up I’d committed.

“Your family’s out of the picture, I’m guessing.” Robin’s gaze had sharpened. It was less assessing and more dissecting now. And not in the easy, comfortable way with which Jace had just looked at me and understood me, either. No. Robin was cutting deep, with a dull scalpel and a blunt probe. Which was pretty fitting since I’d felt like a frog stretched out and pinned down belly-up on a wax slab from the moment I’d seen those damned paintings.