The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(43)

“Nope. I live alone,” Fitzy tells her. “Tuck lives with the glory boys.”

“The glory boys?” I echo, but I suspect I know the answer.

Tucker’s expression grows amused. “Garrett and Logan are the stars. Both guys are going pro. And you know Dean.”

I wrinkle my nose at the mention of his name.

“Don’t get her started,” Carin warns.

Fitzy gives a lopsided grin. “A girl who doesn’t love Dean? I didn’t know they existed.”

“He got an A because he was sleeping with the TA!” I grouse.

Carin places her hand over my mouth. “I warned you. Come on, Fitzy.” She drops her hand and crooks her finger toward the big hockey player. “Let’s find a place to sit. I’ve heard this story before and it’s not a good one.” She hums a few bars from Frozen as she leads him away.

I make a frustrated sound in the back of my throat, but since half my audience is gone, I turn to the only person who’s left. “Are you going to tell me to let it go too?”

“Naah, you hold on to that as long as you want. It’s not my place to dictate what you get mad about.” He cups the back of my neck with one large palm and leans down to whisper in my ear. “But I’ll be happy to tell you what to do later on tonight.”

My body tightens immediately. Sex with Tucker is about the least stressful, most enjoyable thing in my life, and as I lean into his solid grip, I realize I’m no longer interested in fighting the attraction between us. My friends are right—I do need this. Not only the sex, but the company. Hanging out with a smart, cute guy who wants nothing more than to be with me, any way he can.

I think I’m just going to roll with this and see what happens.

“It’s a deal.”

He winks. “I’ve got ideas now.”

“As if you didn’t have them before,” I scoff.

“I’ve got more ideas. You’re very inspirational.”

His hot gaze has me stepping forward and lifting my hand to his chest—his very ripped, very lickable, very gorgeous chest. Under my palm, his muscles flex and his heart beats quickly. I rise up on my tiptoes to—

A loud cough behind us has me dropping down.

“Yeah?” Tucker says to Fitzy without taking his eyes off mine.

“You might want to grab a seat. Everyone’s waiting on you.”

I shift around to see that most of the room is turned in their chairs, either waiting for us to sit down or hoping we start mauling each other in front of them. The long tables are set up in a C-shape, and there’s a small riser in the center where I assume the model will stand. We each get our own easel, canvas, and an array of brushes and acrylic paints. It’s pretty cool.

“Unless you’re stripping and going to serve as our models, come and sit,” Carin orders.

Tucker’s hand drifts downward, managing to raise a thousand goose bumps on the way to my hand. I clasp it and lead him to the chairs next to Carin.

“You’re supposed to wait until after the date to jump his bones,” she whispers as I sit down.

I set the wine glass aside and pick up a paintbrush. “Rules are for suckers and boring people, Careful.”

She runs a brush over my nose in mock disgust, but then the instructor starts speaking and we shut up out of habit.

“Hey everyone! I’m Aria and I’ll be your instructor for the night! I’m so pumped by the turn-out!”

Oh boy. Our teacher is one big ball of energy, bouncing on her feet as she addresses the room. On her head is a crazy swirl of Medusa-like dreadlocks that swing around like snakes as she bounce-talks.

“First thing I’m going to do is introduce our model! This is Spector—”

Spector?

Tucker sways in his chair, and I turn to find him fighting waves of laughter. I plant a hand on his knee to still him.

“Be nice,” I hiss.

“Trying to.” He chuckles while muttering “Spector” to himself.

A tall guy in a white bathrobe steps forward and waves at the group. His black hair is longer than mine, and he has those squinty James Franco eyes that make him look perpetually stoned.

“Hi,” is all he says.

Then he takes off the robe.

I choke on a gasp, because oh my God, his penis is right there. And it’s impressive.

Beside me, Carin is also quick to examine the goods. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Well, hello there, Manaconda!” she calls to the model before sweeping her gaze over the other females in attendance. “Ladies, I think Spector deserves a slow clap right now, no?”

Now I’m the one fighting laughter, because damned if the ladies don’t all break out in a slow, slow clap that leads to a burst of applause followed by whistles and catcalls. The shade of poor Spector’s face is so red it belongs on the palette in front of me.

Tucker snorts loudly in the chair next to mine, while Fitzy leans around Carin’s and asks me, “Is she always like this?”

“Usually she’s worse,” I say cheerfully.

He doesn’t seem put off by that. Our instructor, meanwhile, is starting to get annoyed.

“Guys!” She claps her hands together. “Focus! There’s beautiful art to be made!” Her stern expression cracks, replaced with a grin. “Which, of course, will absolutely include Spector’s equipment.”