1. Twisted, Sick Fate In Building 238

Silas

“Hey, Lizzie. I just got out the shower. I wanted to check in because I saw your text.”

“Silas…” I heard a sigh through the line. “I’m sorry, I know a text is pretty immature of me… but I was sort of hoping that would be enough. I mean, I was pretty detailed, right? I thought a message was easier since we’re not really dating or anything.”

“Of course,” I replied quickly. “You’ve always been fantastic at communicating your thoughts. I was just giving you a ring to clarify.”

…That was me bullshitting.

Lizzie had sent a massive text block that I got about two sentences into before calling her up. All I needed to read were three simple words that showed up at the end of sentence two, and that was enough.

I shifted the phone held to my right ear with my shoulder as I ran my hands through my wet hair. My dirty blonde waves were getting too long. I’d need a cut soon. “I thought it was best I check in since I really did just get out of the shower for this.”

“Right, and I thought I’d have some time tonight, but I got… well, something came up.”

Something came up .

Those were the three words haunting the last month of hell I’d been stuck in. I was getting real sick and tired of hearing them. “I just texted you once I got home. That was like two hours ago. Are you sure you can’t reschedule what came up?”

“I know, I know. It’s just that… well…” The line went quiet a moment. “I… I met someone recently, and they offered to take me out tonight. I really want to give this thing a chance.”

“You met someone?” I asked. My hands froze in between my longer blonde strands again. “When?”

“Last week,” Lizzie’s soft voice answered. “Last Tuesday, actually.”

That made my eyebrows tighten. “You or the universe must move quick, considering you came over that night after our appointment together.”

There was a faint chuckle before Lizzie answered, “Well, funny enough, I met them right outside your apartment building.”

That made me reach for the phone, pressing it firmly to my ear now in my right hand as I tried to find any humor in this. “My apartment building?”

“Yeah! Well, not right outside your apartment but on the street while I was walking out to my car.”

Damn it.

I should’ve walked her to her car .

But that was usually reserved for the one-month trial run. Second month was when I leaned off it. That was when I had my hooks in.

“He’s a model—”

I should’ve really walked her out to her fucking car.

—Wait.

“A model?” I asked. 

“Yeah. He was there for someone who lives in the building right next to yours. Building 238. And do you remember Kari? I had recommended her to your office about a week after my first visit. She told me she’d met you but went with a different therapist instead.”

Yeah, I remembered Kari, all right.

I had been fucking Kari.

Key words here: had been .

“Well, turns out she also met someone, and I guess we’re all going out tonight. But I mean, come on, Silas, we’ve always been honest with each other. You and I were good—”

“Yeah,” I cut in, trying to focus on responding to the right words, all while my mind was already spiraling. She was ripping my hooks out. “We were, Lizzie. And we still are. I’ll always be happy for you meeting someone you might be interested in, but I don’t exactly understand why that has to interfere with—”

“But that’s all it was, Si. It’s all you wanted, and we both know that. We both agreed to it over ten months ago… That this would be something casual. Something fun. Things change, though, and right now I want to give this new thing a chance. But hey, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll always have your number, right?”

I could see my left eye start to twitch a little through the large fogged-up bathroom mirror I was staring at myself in.

“It’s pretty late anyway for a Tuesday, Silas. Just focus on winding down and heading to bed. I’m sure you’ll soon find someone else to keep you company. You’re quite the charmer, and you know that.”

“Lizzie,” I sighed again, switching to mimic a more desperate tone. “It’s always only been you. It was always going to be you. Why can’t you and I just pause on this a sec and think about it before we call it quits? I’m sure this ‘something new’ would—”

“No, Silas. This guy’s really sweet, and he’s all about exclusivity right now with dating. I want to honor that. See if it’s for me.”

… Motherfucker .

“We’ll keep in touch, though. And I’ll probably need a new physical therapist myself, I’m guessing—”

“No,” I answered firmly. “I’ll keep things professional, just as I always have. You need to be set for your next opener, and we’ve made far too much progress with that wrist.”

I heard another sigh at the other end of this call. “You’re right. Okay. For what it’s worth, I had fun. And have a good night, okay? I’ll see you next Thursday.”

…That was the last thing said before the call ended, and I was left staring at my partially naked reflection, my modesty covered with just a towel tied around my waist in this steam-filled bathroom.

These types of calls were really starting to piss me off.

Model. Good guy. Met outside Building 238.

This was how the conversation went with Kari when I called her last night, singing the same tune for her to come hang out for a bit. Of course, now I was about to lose both women as clients after tonight, as soon as they met up and found out where they met these mystery models at…

The building right next to mine.

Up until this point, neither knew that the other was seeing me. Kari had even lied about finding a new physical therapist.

“Shit,” I muttered, before pulling my phone away from my ear and looking down at my screen. I was already showered. A bottle of wine was already cracked open. The place was completely spotless…

That was when I keyed a new number into my phone, pressed the call button, and brought the thing to my ear again. The call was picked up on the third ring.

“Hi, Silas! What a nice surprise.”

“Emma!” I grinned, lifting my voice from annoyance to cheerful in an instant. “I know I said I’m usually only available on Mondays, but it looks like someone new has started volunteering at the children’s hospital, and they determined they might have enough volunteer hands on deck for the evening. How would you fancy coming over for a glass of wine? I don’t have much here considering my hectic work schedule, but I could order us some dinner?”

“Sure!” Emma chirped. “Just give me about thirty minutes, and I’ll head over.”

“Perfect!” I replied. My voice held the same enthusiasm hers did… yet my golden-brown eyes were nothing but cold as I glared chillingly through this massive mirror.

Tonight had been saved.

Only question was: how many saves would I have left in my goddamn rotation if I kept having to pull a new contact out my ass?

And maybe the real question was: how the complete fuck did I already lose five flings now to the same freaking pattern?

Model. Good guy. Met outside Building 238.

Whoever was bringing these models around was really starting to get on my very last nerve.

“Dinner was fucking ama—”

“Shh,” I shushed against soft lips, pressing mine to them hastily as one hand tightened over her soft ass, while the other fumbled with the knob for my bedroom door, pushing the thing open before slamming it closed behind us. I only separated this heated kiss to mutter, “And don’t lock your ankles. That’ll set back the recovery time.”

Emme quickly nodded against me before rushing her lips to mine again, her vanilla scent overpowering my cologne.

I’d kept the lamp on on my bedside just for this, but I knew how many steps it took to make it back to my mattress, and once I neared the foot of it, both hands pulled Emma away, separating her from me before tossing her back onto the cotton duvet.

Her honeysuckle eyes held my gaze as she ripped away the rest of her button-up shirt while I yanked off the plain grey t-shirt I was wearing. Then my lips curled as her hands fumbled with the top buttons of her jeans next.

God, did I love her body on off-season.

The black lace bra pushed her large tits up higher. The color contrasted perfectly with her paler complexion as her long brown curls fell over lush skin. She quickly started shimmying out of her denim jeans next, while I was already halfway through pushing mine down, pulling a condom out of my wallet before tossing the leather on the desk at my right.

“Have I ever mentioned how fucking incredible your body is?” she whispered breathlessly, her eyes now parting from mine to analyze every inch of muscle, and while I wanted to tell her to tell that to the five other women who must not have reached the same damn conclusion this month, realizing this wasn’t the time for that, I opted for something else instead.

“Once or twice. Now scoot up the bed, turn around, and get on your hands and knees. This way, I can hold your ankle up while thrusting.” And her eyes only darkened as she did exactly what she was told, turning and crawling towards the headboard right in front of my bedroom window as I kicked my jeans off to follow her.

“You want me to take off my—”

“Keep them on,” I grunted. “I’ll push them to the side,” and Emma nodded. Those curls bounced as I knelt down to place my face right where the lace fabric barely covered her sensitive parts. I swear, if I had more time tonight, I would’ve felt up more of just how perfect her ass had gotten.

She always put on more weight during her off-season. Softer curves. Smoother skin. In this minimal light, her pale tone was fucking delicious.

Only issue was: I didn’t have the time. In fact, this was going to be the quickest quickie I could manage because I had approximately thirty minutes before she had to leave my apartment. Lizzie had been right about it being late, and I couldn’t head to bed later than midnight if I had any chance of getting up in time for work tomorrow.

Instead, I kept my upper body steady on my knees and one hand, still holding the condom in it, while my other hand pushed the lace material to the side, and I pressed my tongue against the wet softness of her.

Emma immediately released a moan.

She was a screamer during sex, so I was prepared for the noise and just how much louder it was going to get. Boston, who lived right across the hall, had already gotten a text that the rotation was switching up. Again . My lawyer of a neighbor wasn’t exactly thrilled, considering he had a hearing in the morning, but I promised I’d make it up to him.

And while I was serious about holding Emma’s right ankle up while I fucked her from behind, I also had plans to hopefully… encourage her face into the damn pillows to try and make this quieter. She just hated it when I did that while she had a full face of makeup on.

“Sh-Shit—Silas, right there! “ she moaned, arching her back and pushing her ass up towards me more. My dick was already beyond hard at this point. We had started with making out on the couch in the living room before she gave me an alright blowjob, so I was more than fucking ready for some release.

Emma tasted perfect, as always. I felt her warm juices coating my mouth, mixing with my own spit as my tongue prodded her tight entrance.

She preferred my mouth over my fingers, and I wasn’t about to waste more time on stretching her out that way if she didn’t ask for it, so it took nothing to pull my face away from her, feeling her legs tremble as I sat back on my knees and quickly tore the condom wrapper open.

Then I shifted forward, pulling my briefs down more to free my hard cock so I could slide the lubed-up latex over my own throbbing dick, my own breath heavy with anticipation once I scooted even closer. I pressed my tip against her, enjoying just how that lace thong held to the side for me, over her soft mound, and started pushing myself past her lips, into her incredible fucking warmth.

“O-Oh— oh my fucking god …” Emma moaned again at the feeling. “ God , I fucking missed—“ she cut her own words with another soft cry as I pushed myself in more.

She was wet and prepped for this, stretching to my size, and I watched her back arch lower as both her hands reached up to grasp the ledge of my low, wooden headboard. My right hand scooped her right ankle up gently, while my left hand grasped her left hip, thrusting more inches into her pretty little tight thing in slow progression, inch by inch.

Shit, she’s clamping down , I thought, making this feel even fucking better. I couldn’t wait as I thrusted harder, burying all of my length into her. Emma cried out a bit at the intrusion pushing past her walls, but before I could start to actually fuck her, I was stopped.

“W-Wait—Stop! Stop stop stop!” The woman below me jutted out quickly.

“ What? “ I asked, but I barely had enough time to yank my dick out of her before Emma rolled her body, tumbling to the left side of my bed. A second later and she would’ve snapped the fucking thing off. “ What the fuck, Em? “ I shot out quickly, but she was already snatching the side of my duvet and yanking it up from where it was tucked in under the mattress, quickly covering her practically naked body.

Her eyes were massive—frantic, but her left arm was waving up at the headboard behind her. “I-I—the window— shit , your fucking win—your neighbor , Silas! Your neighbor is at the fucking window!”

I glanced up, staring right out at the apartment in front of me that was definitely pitch black inside, shades closed. No one had moved into that unit yet, much like most of the units in the building. It had just been renovated after all.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I then asked when my eyes found hers again.

“Fourth floor!” she shot back quickly, which forced me to scramble off my bed, my hands shoving my hard dick back into my briefs with the condom still on, so I could check out the large window for myself. And when I stood at the left side of my bed, I glanced up to find something that hadn’t been there the last three years I had lived here.

Lights were on in the apartment directly across from mine, just a floor above. Thin curtains were stretched across. But there was just a pocket of space where the curtain was drawn, and as my eyes traveled up the body of someone in black pants and a white button-down shirt, my eyes met a pair I didn’t recognize.

Green ones, attached to a somewhat tall, pale man.

I couldn’t tell for sure what shade of green those eyes were—hell, I couldn’t see a whole lot of any defining features on whoever this was besides the fact that his hair was long, dark, and tied back in a bun—but I knew they were light enough to catch the warm lighting in the room he stood in. And I knew they caught sight of me, because that sheer curtain was tugged closed quickly, with a silhouette of someone stumbling back behind it before he, too, disappeared.

Everything had happened in seconds.

One moment, he was there. The next, he was gone.

What…

— What the fuck?

2. The Entitled Prick In Building 236

Will

…What the hell.

“Hey, William!”

I stumbled away from the window, curtains now shut, almost tripping over a box of paints as I turned and headed back the way I came.

My feet were moving on autopilot, dragging cotton socks across the wooden floor, that I almost dropped my cane in the process as I completely disregarded my injury to follow this short corridor out into the rest of the home.

“What do you think, then?”

My eyes eventually met a pair of deep brown ones once I glanced left at the man standing near the island of the kitchen.

I’d been in this apartment for about a month, and yet I was still getting used to the layout.

Two rooms were just down the hall I’d entered this open space from, one being my bedroom and the other, my studio. Then the hall opened up to a kitchen on the left, a dining area across from it, a large living room on my right, and a door just adjacent to me, past the nearest couch.

Everything was flipped around from the previous place I’d stayed at.

It left me feeling… off.

“Oh. I’d say a thirty-six by forty-eight for the first piece. I’ll get it stretched tonight,” I answered, giving him a slight smile to mask whatever strange shock my body was in.

No, I probably wouldn’t , I then thought to myself.

There was honestly nothing that could get me to enter my studio again for the rest of the night. Not after what I’d just witnessed when I decided to mindlessly glance out the window.

My mistake for wanting to take in the view of downtown, I guess . It was visible just past the rooftop of the next-door building, which had one floor less than this one.

How close the builds were felt like a property permit violation.

“Great! I mean, I’m just the model, so you’d know best.” Cain smiled, already gathering some of the documents off the counter while I limped around it to face him. “And seriously, I can’t thank you enough for how relaxed everything’s been. I know your move was pretty unexpected, but it means the world that this is still the least stressful project I’m juggling right now.”

Cain then started sliding his copies of the signed documents into a file folder I provided, leaving my copies on the counter.

I took note of his build as he did, much like I always did, my lips curling up a bit. I liked the boxy shape of his shoulders. His frame was good—sturdy. Great selection on Lilah’s part.

“Well, it might be for your other projects, but I appreciate the effort you’ve been putting into your body. Early stages are good for the most dramatic changes, either right before I start painting or once I move to memory, so if you’ve got plans to bulk up more, that’s completely fine. Just communicate that, and I’ll make adjustments.”

I watched the taller man quickly nod, forcing my eyes up to his again.

Focus , I told myself. Work hasn’t started yet .

“Delilah promised I wouldn’t run into any issues with you, but… Well, I guess I’m still taken aback a bit by you even reaching out. Are you sure you don’t want to—”

“You’re not doing this for free,” I replied. Then I watched as those deep brown eyes of his softened a little. “If brands can pay you to model, artists can do the same. And it’s not just as simple as sitting in front of me, either. I know Lilah must’ve told you that already.”

“Yeah,” Cain chuckled. “She definitely did. Even told me to stretch before and after each session regardless of the length of it.”

I nodded. “You should. Our first session will be next Friday. I only have six months before my exhibit, and I’d like to complete all 200 hours with you before then. If you can’t make it to an appointment, just let me know at least six hours prior. I have twenty models total for this project, so my time requires a bit of a balancing act. Luckily, you’re one of the few remaining where I’ll be starting so close to the deadline.”

I watched his head tip down, acknowledging that with a smile. “I’m not sure when you find time to sleep, but hey, you seem to be doing alright.”

‘Seem to’ was probably key.

Considering I’d woken up tonight at 7 PM, one hour before this meeting, everything about my appearance was deceiving, just the way I liked it.

Really, I’d been up until around noon, painting all through the night.

And now the rest of my plans for the night have been fucked , I thought to myself.

Great.

Who the hell even does some shit like —

“And maybe this is kinda weird to mention… but I’m pretty excited to be working with you.”

That’s not necessarily weird , I thought, my eyes gradually lowering back to his broad shoulders. Lilah was great at selling this position. Most models were eager to work with me.

“Grit and Shannon said they met some women around here this month. I’m tryna hit that level of luck, you know? It’s been hell in the dating department.”

Alright.

Now it was a little weird.

“I saw the pictures around the place, though. Looks like you’ve already found yourself your special someone. Good on you. “

I glanced back behind me at the few pictures Cain must’ve been referring to—the ones I had on the bookshelf in my living room. Framed photos of Mateo and me. Then I turned back to him, nodding slightly. “Guess so.”

“Nice… Well, I’ll get out of your hair here then,” Cain finished, already slipping the file of documents under his left armpit, then he started heading towards my front door, and I made sure to follow. “I’ll send any updates on my fitness and nutrition if things change. Might have to bulk up for a few later shoots, but nothing crazy. And nothing that’s paying nearly as much as you are, so if you don’t like the look, just say something and I’ll stop.”

I nodded again after he turned back in my direction, then he tilted his head down to start slipping on his slides, the same shoes he’d shuffled out of near the door when he first came inside. “Thanks for stopping by,” I told him, craning my neck a bit.

Look him in the eyes .

“Thanks for having me. I’ll see you next week,” Cain replied before turning and reaching for the door handle. I gave him one last nod before he opened it and let himself out. But as soon as I heard the thing shut, I let out the breath I felt I was holding this entire time.

“… What the hell .”

I had to brace myself with a hand on the door, breathing in and out for another moment or two. Cain had only been here for an hour, yet his aftershave lingered. It was calming enough for my irregular heartbeat to settle as I thought about what I’d just seen from the window of my studio, minutes ago.

“Who has sex in front of an open window?” I asked the now-empty space, looking around a bit like someone in here could answer that.

But the more damning issue wasn’t even the sex, although that had thrown me off when I had just stepped near the window to take a second to think, debating on the canvas size I wanted to report back to Cain about.

That was when I had spotted him—the man in the apartment building directly across from me, one floor down, having sex with a woman. As always, past the shock, my eyes had been drawn to the man’s muscular build. Broad shoulders… Chiseled chest… The clear skin basked in the warm glow of the room… Carvings etched into tight muscle.

That was what had really thrown me off.

I hadn’t seen much… but my gaze had fixed on that frame, not noticing how quickly the woman’s body had moved, turning to cover herself. I didn’t remember her looking up at me. I didn’t even register that the guy had scrambled off his bed so quickly until he was standing right at the corner of the large window, and when my gaze finally panned higher, I was met with sharp eyes.

I couldn’t remember the face, but that wasn’t a shocker.

The fact that we locked eyes in the first place was.

“What…” I muttered quietly to myself. “What sick fuck does some perverted shit like that?”

My only explanation was that the guy had to have a kink for that sort of thing. And that single thought made me glance around my apartment, questioning whether I was really attached to the new place.

Weird neighbors weren’t my thing.

Maybe it was time to move again.

…

What a pain .

My night was spent doing the stuff I’d hoped to avoid.

Paperwork.

With help from wine—a lot of it—I managed to reset my schedule to accommodate Cain, finishing by the time the sun rose again, but that still left four other models I needed to fill slots for.

Lilah was planning on a visit today. It being a Friday, however, meant I’d expect her sometime in the evening. She had shoots she was working on, herself, but it was fine. I liked that she kept busy.

To prepare for more work, I finally went to bed a bit closer to nine in the morning, after a shower, and my alarms were set for six in the evening, giving me enough time to hopefully sneak back into my studio room and figure out what I was going to do about that whole neighbor thing.

I needed the natural sunlight from the window. I needed the larger space for ventilation. What I didn’t need was to become an instrument in some pervert’s mind for him to get off on.

As if I wasn’t busy enough .

If I brought up moving again to Lilah now, she’d kill me. It took effort to find me some place new on such short notice, so my only other option was to just hope that whoever that guy was would keep his shit private moving forward. Blinds existed for a reason.

Unfortunately, I slept through every alarm I had. And when I did finally force my eyes open, the first thing I noticed was the pounding of my head. It felt like I had been bludgeoned in my sleep.

Then there was the pounding at my door.

“ What… What the fuck… “ I mumbled.

This sack of bones pushed itself up in bed, trying to rub sleep from my eyes. It was starting to get dark out again, which wasn’t a good sign, and while my first thought was that the pounding had to be Lilah, the voice that followed it definitely wasn’t.

“Hey!” A man yelled, forcing me to my wobbly feet. I felt around for the cane on the wooden floor, then started the irritating trek from my bedroom to the front door, the veins in my head tensing from how loud this guy was being.

If it wasn’t Delilah, the only other option was Amazon—I had a package being delivered sometime today.

“ Fucking hell ,“ I muttered, feeling the sound of a fist hammering against wood right down to every sensitive nerve ending. “ Keep it down ,“ I then snapped before unlocking the latch, twisting the knob, and yanking the door open.

The first thing I was met with was someone’s chest.

It was covered by a plain white hoodie, but the surface seemed to fill most of my vision. My hair was still down, thick strands of it more than long enough to cover my face as it fell freely past my shoulders, making it difficult to focus on who this was.

“What the— eeugh —” the man at the door took a slight step back. He sounded disgusted. Slightly horrified, even. “What… Who—”

This voice was deep and raspy, almost a match for mine. And he was definitely tall, but it took too much effort to crane my neck. Honestly, I had hoped this whole interaction would be shorter than my patience already was, but he wasn’t holding any packages, so my hopes for that plummeted.

“The hell are you yelling for?” I muttered. “I’ve got neighbors.”

“Oh, you do?” he asked, his voice cold and rigid. “Well, pardon my fucking French, but fuck your neighbors. You and I need to have a little chat.”

No , I thought mindlessly. No, we really don’t.

“You must have the wrong place.”

I was already starting to close the door. This guy seemed like he might have the wrong apartment building as a whole. There were only about five tenants total who’d moved in since the building was bought and renovated this year so he had to have been looking for building 236 right next door. Both buildings were almost identical on the outside besides this top floor existing in this one.

“Are you the guy running some model trafficking ring here?”

…That made me arch a brow.

This was definitely a first.

“A model… what now? “

“Move,” he ordered, raising a hand to push the door I was already closing, open again. Considering I had just woken up, I wasn’t exactly ready for it, and since my right hand holding the cane was the one also holding the knob to said door, when he shoved it open, I found myself stumbling back, feeling the pain of having to put weight on my right foot.

“Sh- Shit -” I hissed.

Safe to say I wasn’t exactly ready for that either, as my cane tumbled out of my hand, forcing my body backward.

My ass hit the hardwood first. Hard . Then my back followed.

“F-Fuck—what the— shit! “ I heard his voice.

The fall would’ve been manageable if this idiot hadn’t fallen with me, collapsing his large body on top of me after I already started to sit up, and damn near knocking the remaining wind from my lungs as my back slammed onto the hardwood yet again. I tried bracing for the recoil—for my head to smack against the wood next, completing this progression, but that never came.

Instead, something managed to catch my head just in time, holding it just above the hard surface, and when I opened my eyes, I was met with a pair of golden-brown ones staring right down at me.

Familiar golden-brown ones, for better or worse. At least the damn intensity of them.

My body tensed.

Both our bodies did.

Shit.

“ You .“

I couldn’t even say who muttered that word first.

Could’ve been me.

Could’ve been him.

Sounded like it fell out past our lips in perfect sync.

“ The pervert at the window .“

Those next words were definitely said at the same exact time, our eyes now wide. I wasn’t even registering the throbbing pain in my foot anymore, because the first thing I did was start to shove this man off of me with his firm chest. “Get—get the fuck— get off. “

That seemed to do it, dismantling the gaze we were locked in so this fucking idiot could roll himself away from my body. He let go of my head quickly, letting the thing hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, but I was scrambling just as fast as he was, and eventually he and I had made it to either end of this short entryway corridor, leaning back against the walls, staring straight across at each other like we’d just seen a ghost.

“You’re the fucker who was having sex right in front of the window last night,” I snapped at him. My eyes grew even wider from the volume of my words because it was safe to say that I wasn’t used to raising my voice. Ever. It took too much effort. But as I stared, head tilted up at the tan man with shorter locks—blonde hair—and golden eyes, I had to actively work at forgetting whatever image flashed into my mind.

Focus on the face , I reminded myself. This situation called for me to remember it. Not his body.

“And you’re the goddamn pervert who watched!” he shot back, equally as aggravated. I noticed now that we were both catching our breath.

He definitely had no right to call me that… and yet my sharp memory refused to fail me.

Broad shoulders, carved with muscle. Stellar bone structure. Eight pack, I believe, those muscles were activated while he was thrusting into—

Someone else cleared their throat.

Both the guy sitting across from me, and myself, backs to the wall, heavy breaths matching, whipped our heads over to look, and standing right in that open doorway was none other than the Amazon package deliveryman.

His eyes were just as wide as ours.

He was younger, maybe the same age I was, around twenty-six or twenty-seven. Blonde, buzzed hair… terrified blue eyes… holding what could only be the plastic tarp I ordered as he stared down at the box in his shaky hands, probably unsure of what the hell to do.

“Leave it at the door,” I told him quickly, trying to calm my temper and voice, but this shitter across from me stretched his right leg out fast and kicked that door shut, slamming it hard, right in the deliveryman’s face. “ What the hell is your problem? “ I asked with a gritty sneer, but this time it wasn’t as frantic. My voice was adjusting to the calmer tone it usually was, and I was already using the wall behind me to help myself up.

Unfortunately, the cane was on the wooden floor next to this guy, but I refused to approach him again and just ended up limping away from the entry, towards the kitchen, ignoring the pain as I went.

I was too hungover for this right now.

“ My problem?“ he asked, keeping his voice low. I could already hear some shuffling, then steps behind me that followed as I entered the kitchen area. The first thing I did was rifle through my cabinets for a short glass. “ You’re the one running some goddamn model… something over here.“

That made me turn my head left, away from the cabinets on the back wall of the kitchen, to simply look at him. He’d set my cane against the kitchen island, but was staring right down at me, massive arms crossed over his chest, and his height forced me to run a hand through long strands, trying to push some of my hair away from my face.

I didn’t feel like putting it back into a bun or something because the tension in my head was excruciating as is. This would have to do.

Instead of answering his ridiculous accusation right away, I turned back and reached up for a glass, pulling it from the open cabinets, then I grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the back counter and brought both to the kitchen island.

He was judging me, eyeing the bottle.

I could feel his thoughts.

But I also didn’t care. I didn’t care to meet his eyes again, either.

I didn’t even know what time it was.

All I knew was that I wasn’t entertaining this unwelcome guest while my head was about one more word from combusting. It was time to chase this hangover with something stronger.

“I’m a painter,” I answered, popping the corked top off the whiskey bottle. “And I’m about two seconds away from calling the cops… so you’ve got about two seconds to explain why you think you can barge into my home and accuse me of anything when the real chargeable offense would be the crimes you committed. Indecent exposure. Then trespassing. In that order.”

I started pouring myself a full glass next, filling it with dark liquor right up to the brim.

Lilah wouldn’t approve of this, but she wasn’t here right now.

Instead, this entitled prick was.

And he seemed hellbent on having some words.

Hi, lovelies!!

As you may have guessed, here’s a short story from the vault! I’ve just been editing then uploading as I go, but there’s only around twenty-five chapters for this one total so it’ll be done quick. Probably by the end of this week.

Let me know what y’all think so far- I really loved the dynamic of these two and honestly I’m not sure why I kept this in the vault but that question can be asked for like the twenty-five other stories I still have there lol

Enjoy!

xoxo

3. Taking The Bait In Building 238

Silas

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“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Si. I think I really should get going,” Emma replied, slipping back on her tennis shoes. “It’s getting late anyway.”

Fuck .

“You’re right,” I bit my tongue.

“Oh! You’re heading out, too?” Emma glanced down at the slides I was shoving my feet in.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“It’s alright.”

I’m not making this damn mistake again.

Emma nodded, letting me get the door. Then we headed out, taking the stairs at the end of the hall, down to the main lobby.

“It’s chilly tonight,” this nervous woman noted. To be honest, neither she nor I was probably going to recover from the awkwardness of us both getting dressed after whoever the hell that was at the window saw us having sex. Even though I shut the blinds after, Emma couldn’t get back into it, so we just gave it a rest. The situation with my rotation was too delicate to push her if she wasn’t really feeling it.

I found myself glancing up at Building 238 as we stepped outside, but the buildings were just close enough together that the window on the fourth floor wasn’t visible from down here.

“Yeah. Did you want me to head back for my jacket?”

“No,” Emma quickly shook her head. All she was wearing tonight was a long-sleeve button-down shirt and some jeans. The shirt was definitely a few sizes too small, but I wasn’t complaining. It just made her breasts look even sexier. “My car’s right over there anyway.”

That brought my gaze back to the street where she pointed, and she was right. I spotted her ride almost directly outside Building 238’s front steps. But I also spotted someone else walking out of the building.

He was dressed in casual joggers and a quarter-zip athletic sweatshirt, but not even the minimal streetlights were able to shadow just how tall and good-looking he was—dark skin, a fade cut. He quickly jogged down the few steps outside the front with a manila folder tucked under his left arm, heading towards the Mercedes parked behind Emma’s Bentley.

And when he noticed us heading in the same direction, that was when his head turned right.

“Oh! Hi.” He seemed a bit taken off guard, but flashed us a smile anyway that made my feet slow. Emma full-on halted.

Jesus . His teeth were infuriatingly perfect.

“H-Hi!” Emma chirped immediately. It didn’t take anything more than that simple greeting to feel my heart tank right to my ass. After a month of simply hearing about these encounters, I was finally seeing one for myself.

Hell, I was now in one.

“Hey,” I nodded to the man. He seemed to be in a rush because he was already taking long strides towards the driver’s side of his car, but there was no stopping me now as I blurted out, “Can I ask who you’re here for?”

That got this guy’s attention immediately. He turned to look back at Emma and me, all while Emma whipped her head my way, just about equally confused.

“Uh…” He started, unsure of what the hell to say to that.

“Silas… what the hell—” Emma whispered quickly.

“Sorry, it’s just—well, you look a bit familiar.”

“Silas!” Emma whispered a bit more aggressively. This time, I was starting to feel the underlying tension here. A white guy asking a black man at night what he’s up to. Telling him he looks like another guy I know.

Shit.

Shit .

“Do you model by chance?”

That quick save alone shifted this entire situation as the man’s darker lips stretched to another stellar, dazzling smile, teeth white as snow.

“Yeah. Du’Vierre Underwear line. Pleasant surprise, though. I’m not used to guys recognizing my face.”

…Shit.

I wasn’t even about to begin to unpack that.

“That’s incredible!” Emma butted in. “I’m modeling their athletics for next season’s drop! I’m a professional hockey player.” Then this woman took some fast steps towards the man who had already started to step away from the driver’s side door. They practically closed the gap between each other, shaking hands fast.

“Cain Briggs,” he beamed. “Just signed with Levets Agency.”

“Emma Rogelle,” she grinned, yet I noticed the awfully flirtatious undertones.

Damn it .

“I’m not sure how full your year is, but if you’re interested in some background shots, I’d love to speak with Du’Vierre’s marketing about you and me doing some sort of collaboration. Maybe we could talk about it over coffee—”

“Do you live here?” I cut in. Cain shifted his gaze to me while Emma fully turned around. Safe to say the look she gave me wasn’t the friendliest. “Building 238, I mean. I hear it was renovated. Just wondering if I should look into making that short distance move.”

Cain nodded, but Emma was still giving me a look. She and I had been friends-with-benefits for almost two years now. She knew I wasn’t planning on a move.

She also knew that I didn’t do this.

Walk her to her car.

Accost strangers on the damn street.

This wasn’t me.

But my rotation was already in shambles as is.

“Oh, yeah. I’m not at liberty to say. I was just meeting with someone here. It’s my first time in the neighborhood.”

“Who?”

“Silas!” Emma snapped. Then she whipped her head back up to Cain. “I’m sorry. We had a bit of wine. He must’ve just drunk too much tonight.” Then she turned back to me. “Isn’t that right, Si? You’ve got an early day tomorrow. Why don’t you head up and wind down?”

Shit.

Get it together .

“Right. My apologies, Cain. I’ll leave you two to it, and give you a call tomorrow, Emma.”

And that was just about how we left things.

In fucking shambles.

“You look terrible.”

I glanced up at Boston helping himself to a bottle of beer from my fridge.

“Long day at the office?”

“Too long,” I sighed, leaning against my kitchen counter. He gestured to the six pack in the fridge, offering to grab me one, but I shook my head no.

“Well then. I’m here because I got your text about the fucked up rotation last night.” Boston straightened, closing the fridge, then leaned back against it.

“You’re here for the free beer.”

“That, too.”

I chuckled, watching him twist the top open.

“But tell me more about your rotation. When you texted this evening saying Emma was officially a goner, that would make it woman number five in the last month. Your personal worst. So what gives? Losing your touch, old man?”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Sounds like the settling down age.”

“You’re the one to talk,” I muttered, rolling my eyes a little.

“Then what gives?”

“Emma thinks I’m racist.”

Boston just shrugged. “Lizzie share the same sentiment?” I shook my head no. “So how’d you earn the racist label? If you’re looking for a black friend to get you out of this one, I’m going to act like we don’t know each other.”

“No… I accidentally came across like I was profiling a black model outside the apartment building.”

“Of course you did. And Lizzie?”

“Got swept up by another model outside the apartment building.”

“Damn. Two models?”

“Five.”

“ Five? “

“Kari, Silvia, and Jocelyn. Same shit. Model. Good guy. Met outside Building 238.”

“238, huh?” my neighbor asked. I nodded. “There’s only like five tenants in that building right now. I’d say maybe they’re renting to all models or something but that’s definitely not it.” Boston paused to take another sip of his beer. “I think I’ve at least seen everyone who moved in. Four men and a woman.”

“These men would have to be hotter than me to pull anyone from my rotation.”

“ Modest as ever ,“ he muttered.

“Plus, as far as I know, the models have just been meeting someone there,” I added. None of them seem to live around here.“

“One of the four men I noticed had looks. The woman was older, but maybe she’s a sugar momma or something. Young models could be her thing.”

“Is the guy with the looks good-looking enough to model?” I asked. “Maybe he’s got some model friends swinging through.”

Boston shrugged. “Didn’t get a good enough look at him. He seemed pretty thin. Very striking eyes. He was signing off on some boxes from a moving company a few weeks ago, so I’m guessing he’s the newest tenant, but I haven’t seen him since.”

My gaze lowered, thinking. “Got a name?”

“Uh, I think one of the movers called him William? I was rushing in to grab my briefcase for work so I wasn’t paying much attent—hey! Hey, just where the hell are you going?”

I was already out of my kitchen, slipping on some sneakers near the door.

“I’m heading over.”

“Now? It’s almost eight at night!”

“So?”

“Isn’t Kari comi—oh… shit… right. Well just don’t do anything—”

I didn’t let Boston finish. I was already out the door by then.

But I probably should’ve listened to him.

Maybe that would’ve helped prevent the situation I now found myself in.

Alright.

Barging in here was overkill.

I glanced around at this modern apartment unit, taking in the bland furniture. The renovated kitchen I was now sitting at. The man who was currently filling a whiskey glass to the rim.

My heart was still fucking racing from collapsing on top of him mere minutes ago.

This wasn’t what I was expecting… But fuck, Silas , I nipped at myself, how the fuck did we wind up in the apartment of a goddamn peeping tom? One who looked like the possessed

chick

from The Ring?

Okay, okay, okay, peeping tom wasn’t that accurate.

Still.

I took in his appearance again.

The Ring was one hundred percent accurate.

This man looked like he crawled out of a body bag.

His hair was a long—very long—tossed-about mess. Pitch black in color. He had to run his pale, long fingers through the strands to keep them away from his face.

And his face was… unsettling. As pale as his fingers and masked behind that black hair.

Honestly, everything about him was—

“Want some whiskey?” he asked.

“No… no, I’m good.” I replied, filling the sheer awkwardness.

Then he slid the completely full glass across the marble counter, glass grinding against stone, towards me. After that, he turned back to the cabinets and grabbed another short glass. I didn’t even like whiskey, but right now my body had entered a state of shock that had me reaching for it to take a sip.

What the fuck was happening right now?

He set his glass down once he turned back to me, and poured himself a lethal pour to match mine.

“So. Explain.”

That order came just as he was topping the glass off, before he set the bottle down. I then followed the glass in his hand as he lifted it up to his lips for a sip.

This might’ve been the first time in my life where I had absolutely no idea what to say. Instead, I took another sip of whiskey, now nothing but grateful that I had something else to focus on. Like the burning in my throat from the dark liquor.

“You like fucking people in front of windows. I like working in front of them. I’d say that’s not my thing— watching —but sick pervs like you probably get off on spectators not enjoying it, right?”

The liquid trickling down my throat lodged itself, causing me to instantly choke. And now I was all too aware of what the Amazon deliveryman probably thought about whatever he’d just overheard.

Fuck .

“That’s not what I came here for,” I argued, still coughing a little from the painful burn in my throat.

“Oh,” he replied. Whatever shock his voice held—whatever anger I thought I detected—it was now gone. Just like that. And whatever natural conversation I thought would come from this when I made my way into this building, just withered right along with it. “So why are you here then? I’m not sure how my clients have anything to do with you.”

“They’re—” I started, but stopped myself.

How the hell was I supposed to put this?

“I need to know when you’re having clients over for your… thing .”

“My thing? Do you mean my job? “ he offered, taking another sip before setting the glass down.

He was wearing the most basic of black t-shirts and some worn grey sweatpants, making me genuinely question how long ago he’d rolled out of bed. Then I watched as he lifted both hands, gathering his long black hair and using a rubber band on his thin left wrist to tie his hair back into a disastrous bun, some strands already coming loose.

That was when I finally got a better look at his face.

Not average. Not as dead-looking as I thought, either. Far from it.

His very light-green eyes were utterly striking, but he had a thin build. His bone structure was sharper. Rigid nose with a pointed tip. Soft jawline. Carved chin.

“I’m not working my job around whatever’s troubling you.”

My eyes found his again, yet his seemed… out of focus, almost.

Then he reached for his glass again and took another sip.

“How many models are there?” I asked, taking a sip of my own.

“Twenty.”

I almost choked up a fucking lung at that.

Twenty?!

“Ten are in the third phase. They don’t need to pay me visits anymore. Six have been selected for the first phase, and I’m scouting four more.”

Four more had the capability of completely ruining my fucking roster.

“You seem disturbed by that.” William chuckled.

“Your models are sleeping with the women I have over,” I snapped at him.

That made this painter pause before taking another sip.

“Hmm… so you’re the link.” He mumbled that to himself. “Most of my clients seem like good men. So what’s the issue?”

…

What’s the issue?

I felt my left eye twitch.

“The issue is that they’re ruining the… structure I’ve built.”

That made William chuckle again. An infuriating sound. And I couldn’t tell whether it was the confidence of the liquor, but now I was pissed the hell off again.

“You’re sexy,” he said, making my entire body unexpectedly still. Nothing could’ve prepared me for that choice of words. “Attractive face. Great body. Makes up for your shit personality, doesn’t it?”

The eye twitching had returned. I swear I damn near slammed the glass I had raised, back onto the counter. “You know nothing about me.”

“Of course I don’t.” I watched his lips tug up a little. “I only observe those I paint. And I only paint those worthy of the pigments. Beauty is a privilege. My selection is pristine. Your looks are meant for something printed in bulk and sold to the masses. Not cured on stretched canvas for select few with refined taste.”

—I…

I felt heat unrelated to this liquor sweep over me. 

That shit he just said had left us both staring at one another, my glare turning rather fixated.

No one had ever made me feel something this viscerally:  hatred for a complete fucking stranger.

“You’re saying,” I took a deep, deep breath in. He was riling me up for a reason. Probably looking to add assault to the list of charges I’d already racked up. Not even Boston would defend me in the court of law for laying hands on a man with a cane. Sprained ankle was what the injury looked like, but Will seemed to pay it no mind. “You’re saying I’m not, what? Good enough to be your client?”

“You’re offering?” he asked, holding my harsh gaze with a bland one of his own.

“No.”

“Pity.”

“Thought you said I wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re not.”

Silence then filled the space again, its presence thickening the warming air. It probably felt warmer because of the whiskey.

William and I each took another sip. The liquor from our glasses was almost gone now, surprising me by how quickly we had drank it.

“But you seem to think you are,” he dared to continue after setting his glass down again. “And I’d like to see your reaction to the finished result. View how someone else sees you for a change.”

“Your work might be shit,” I bit back, trying to unlock my jaw. William, however, looked entirely unaffected by all this. Including the liquor.

“Might be. And you’d have to take the slot of my other four models. Extra time. Restricted diet. Detailed exercise. My structure might impede on yours.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” I asked.

My ego would’ve been enough to guarantee my stake in this, but if he dropped the four other models, this could be all I had left to save my rotation.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. It just matters that you do it. And if you don’t, I’ll drop you.”

“You might be mistaken if you think my rotation is worth all this.”

“You’ve committed two borderline felonies for it already,” he painfully reminded me. “But since you’ve already barged into my home then I might as well get some free labour.”

“No plans of compensation?”

William let out an amused breath. “I’d rather submit empty canvases for my upcoming exhibit than pay you anything. But who knows, those might sell better than my depiction of you on canvas. And wouldn’t it just be the worst?”

“Running yourself in the red?” I scoffed, trying to act like his scorching words weren’t making me dig my nails into the palm of my left hand from how tight a fist I formed under the lip of this kitchen island’s countertop.

“If my models found out the women they’ve been excited to meet are all linked through one man and his precious structure, it would be a shame. They’re honest men, you know. Most are close friends. They’ll probably want to see if these women all know about each other. But the women do know, of course, right? About your structure? Since you seem to think you’re as honest a man as my clients are, I’d assume so.”

…I settled my temper quick as shit.

Anger would only be admission. He was testing me—making this a discussion of morals. I just had to flip it. “Since you seem to think you know me, then let’s give it a shot. You also can’t seem to keep your eyes off my body… so perhaps I’m not the only one with some shallowness to them?”

That was the only angle I still had:

The fact that William’s gaze kept lowering to my build instead of holding my gaze. The fact that his eyes lingered, just like they had last night. He was doing it almost unbeknownst to himself.

There was something about the way those light eyes settled on me that contradicted some of what he was saying, but it was difficult to get a read on right now.

“Good. Then this’ll be fun.” This scrawny pervert smiled, taking the last few drops of his whiskey before setting the empty glass down for good. “You should get going since I’m expecting someone tonight. We’ll pick this up again. Same time Monday?”

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/97d19f66eef63a9e80340fb6ad602d3293717c25/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f5f336c6f67414d66532d4c4745513d3d2d313633383930333134392e313862646138376336326561333738373738383539393833343037302e706e67)

4. Terms To Negotiate in Building 238

Will

“You did… what? “

“He’ll actually be here in about half an hour. If he’s punctual. Doubt it, though.”

Lilah sighed almost immediately. “The fact that you need constant supervision, Will,  should concern you. Leaving you to your free will is going to be the fucking death of me .”

She grumbled that last bit.

“What’s his name, then?”

“…Didn’t catch it,” I muffled.

“ Jesus . That means nothing’s drafted to be signed yet, right? There’s still time to convince you of how terrible an idea this is?“

“I printed the paperwork out already.” My hands pushed the documents her way across the kitchen island.

“ Motherfucker ,“ she gritted through clenched teeth, but still started to sift through the papers. “Alright. You and I have done this dance about twenty thousand times. If he’s your final selection, then I’ll end the inquiries for you, so as long as you’ve got what you need for these next six months, you leave me no options but to wait to see the finished results.” Then she huffed a bit, blowing air up to push some of her hot pink strands away from her eyes.

“You should cut them, you know.”

“What?”

“Your bangs.”

“You haven’t got a haircut in years,” she snapped, glancing up at my wet hair.

I’d just woken up about an hour ago, around 6:30 PM, but Lilah had gotten here minutes after I showered. She was supposed to have come over on Friday but after that asshole left, I got a text from her letting me know we’d meet Monday—tonight—instead.

“Sounds like a pain. It just grows back anyway, right?”

“Suppose so,” she shrugged, then set those documents down.

“Wine?” I offered, already turning back to grab her a glass, but a wave of her hand stopped me.

“No, I’ve got some more business to take care of tonight. And so do you, if that neighbor of yours is headed over. Promise you won’t drink before you get to stretching canvases.”

“Promise,” I nodded.

“Good. You hear back from Mateo yet?”

I shook my head no. “He’ll call when he wants to.”

“Fucking… motherfucker ,” Lilah muttered. I just turned back to the fridge to grab us some bottles of water. She probably had worse words for him, but there wasn’t any use in saying them. It wasn’t like I was held prisoner here or anything. “You like the new spot, then?”

“I think it’s fine. The neighbors seem nice.”

“I’d tell you to try getting out more, but I’m afraid of wherever your impulse control takes you.”

“Eh. We’re back on schedule with a new exhibit. Things’ll be busy now again,” I reminded her.

“Have you been making it to your doctor’s appointments?”

I took too long to answer that one.

“Just go, Will. I know you hate the cane.”

“Crutches are worse,” I muttered.

“I know. You bitched about that already.”

Before I could answer, we both heard a knock on my apartment door. “Looks like our guest of honor is early.” I reached for my cane propped against the kitchen counter, but Lilah waved her hand, already sliding off the bar stool.

“I’ll get it.”

So I just slacked my shoulders, letting her go. Half of me thought she’d collect her things and head out since she never stayed for any business negotiations with clients. What was discussed could sometimes get pretty personal, but I could tell she was interested in sticking around a bit for this mess.

The front door was opened up seconds later, and I heard my neighbor’s voice first. “Hi. Oh. Wait—”

“Hi, I’m Delilah. Come on in.”

My head turned mid swig of my water to see Delilah walk back into the open space first in her camo jacket and tight black jeans, only to be followed in by a much taller man. Today he was wearing a button down shirt and suit pants, definitely different from Friday. He must’ve gotten off work recently, except I noticed just the slightest smear of color on his shirt collar.

Lipstick.

My eyes immediately took in the larger frame—his muscular build completely defined by the thin shirt which was a bit wrinkled like someone hand bunched the fabric at the front with their hands, but I forced myself to focus on his eyes.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, eyes finding mine.

“Just business taking place in a kitchen,” I replied. “Some of us choose more private locations to handle our affairs… but would it be easier if we carried out the dirty espionage talk in front of a window? Baring it all for the public? I know that’s more your speed. “

I definitely heard the guy mutter, “ fucking jackass ,“ under his breath, but Lilah cut in with, “play nice, Will,” as she took a seat back at the kitchen counter, gesturing for this guy to join her. “I didn’t quite catch your name?”

I watched them both get comfortable on the high stools as he answered, “It’s Silas,” while shifting towards Lilah.

Hmm . The name didn’t quite fit him, but that had nothing to do with me.

Lilah turned to him on the stool a bit, sticking her hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Silas. Will said you offered to be a model for his upcoming exhibition.”

I watched Silas’s left brow twitch, making me grin a little. I had to hand it to him, he did well when being relentlessly provoked. It was entertaining. And Lilah wasn’t provoking him, of course, I just told the woman that I caught him having sex in the window across from us, one floor below, and the man rushed here on his hands and knees begging to find any way to repay my generosity for not calling the police.

“ Offered is—“

“—Something that was so kind of him to do,” I cut Silas off before he could finish, but his lips just flinched a bit into an awfully tight smile.

“Are you Will’s manager then?” Silas asked Lilah instead.

I could see the way his lids lowered slightly. The way his body repositioned, directing his attention more towards this woman. Even the way his features softened—those muscles in his face relaxing as he gazed down at her.

But Lilah just cackled, making my smile widen. “Hell no. No one in their right mind would take that position on. I’m a professional photographer so if I see a model I like, I connect them. Seems like you just took some work off my plate by filling the four remaining slots, though.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked in that low voice of his, and Lilah nodded before shifting her gaze back to the documents on the table, completing ignoring his efforts to flirt. It was crass considering the lipstick on his shirt.

“if you’re serious about this, there’s a few documents you’ll need to review. These should be just some run-of-the-mill paperwork—”

“There’s a clause in there. Last page,” I cut in. “It says I’ll be pressing charges if the agreement is terminated for pretty much any reason besides Silas dropping dead, outside of the conditions listed.”

“ Will! “ Lilah hissed, but my eyes shifted to Silas. He still had a slightly testing smirk on his face, but that was because nothing I just said was surprising. It wasn’t meant to be.

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” Silas replied, already reaching for the pen on the counter.

“Slow your roll,” Lilah shot in quickly, stopping Silas from signing all willy-nilly. She then set those documents between herself and him so she could walk him through them.

What a buzzkill.

“Okay, this first part is just a consent acknowledgment. Because William will be painting your body nude—”

“— He’ll be what? “ Silas interrupted immediately.

Lilah’s thick brown brows creased, before her eyes followed Silas to mine. “Nude,” I added. “I’m a nude painter.”

“…You’re a fucking what? “ This shitter asked again. It was difficult to pinpoint whether he was shocked or angry right now. Maybe both. And both were entertaining.

“Nude painter,” I reiterated. “Did you really think I accepted this because I like your face?”

His left eye twitched again.

“You want to paint me… nude.”

“Yes.” I nodded once. I’ll choose whatever parts to paint, of course, but that’s what the live sessions—“

“ You fucking pervert ,“ he snapped.

Looks like anger won, overtaking his initial shock.

“Uh…” Lilah mumbled, now glancing back and forth between Silas and I.

“Are you embarrassed by any particular parts?” I asked him. “This is a safe space, but I can ask Lilah to leave if it’s too much to talk.”

“You tell me,” Silas leaned forward a little, those bright golden-brown eyes narrowing. “Did the woman I was having sex with look like she wasn’t enjoying it? I think you stared long enough to see for yourself.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I countered. “And size only plays a part. I hear it’s how you use it, something that won’t matter when I’m painting.”

“You hear , huh? Never partook, yourself, have you? Would explain the infatuation. I didn’t know I was leading an informative session.”

“Okay!” Lilah cut in quickly. “Maybe this wasn’t exactly—”

“Oh no, I’ll sign,” Silas replied, already leaning over to quickly fill his name in then sign a few lines below. “It’s more than impressive. Even when soft.”

“Well hope it stays that way, considering your preference with exhibitionism. If that’s the case, then a painting of your penis hanging in a gallery would be your ultimate fantasy, wouldn’t it?”

“Okay!” Lilah snapped, but Silas raised a right hand, stopping her.

“And what’s it called when someone gets off on others seeing that sorta thing?”

“Candaulist. But that would make us partners, Silas. So I must ask, are you trying to make a pass at me?”

“Alright!” Lilah jumped to her feet fast. “I think that’s enough—”

“I think you know what team I play for,” Silas shot back, ignoring Lilah now as his fiery eyes remained on mine.

“Good,” I answered, “because that’ll violate section E:1 of the terms: neither party may be involved in any manner that steps outside the boundaries of a professional relationship.”

Silas chuckled. “Yeah, you won’t have to worry about that one.” He was already starting to sign more pages, scanning each one, but Lilah stopped him yet again by fully snatching the pen out of his right hand.

“ On his hands and knees begging, huh? “ She shot at me low.

I shrugged. “Would I ever lie to you?”

“Lilah, don’t worry—” Silas started, but she put her hand up this time, cutting him clean off.

“This is the second half of this stage for Will. For one model slot, that’s around three hours a week. If you’re taking up four slots, we’re now looking at twelve hours of dedicated time here each week. Are you prepared to—”

“Yes,” he nodded to her.

“You could always drop some of the model slots and have us—”

“No.”

“… Shit , alright,” Lilah sighed, placing the pen down on the counter between them. At this point she had given up. “Will’s awfully relaxed on physical changes. There just can’t be any major changes in the first few months. He’s able to make alterations later on but he needs a strong foundation. And as months progress, he’ll start leaning on the physical sessions less and less.”

“Will he work off a photo or something after that?” Silas asked.

“No, he’ll work off memory,” I cut in, reminding him that the Will in question was still very much present for this conversation.

Silas turned his head back to me. “Ha.”

“Changes to diet will also matter,” Lilah added, trying to move right past this raw, growing tension, but his gaze didn’t shift back to her. “Most models keep to a strict schedule so this hasn’t been an issue in the past, but—”

“It won’t change.”

Well , I thought. Isn’t this guy awfully sure of himself .

“You also have to watch your drinking,” I added.

“Done,” he continued, eyes peering at mine.

“No bruising or blemishes either.”

“Done.”

“Interesting. I thought maybe BDSM might be a kink of yours, too—”

“ Will! “ Lilah cut in far more harshly this time. This was her final warning, now having watched me tap dance over the fine line of professionalism for moments too long tonight.

I just sighed, dialing it back a bit. “Fine, fine, fine. I’d say that’s pretty much it.”

Silas nodded, before redirecting his attention on the paperwork in front of him. In just a minute or so, he’d picked up that pen and finished signing everything.

“Well then,” I clasped my hands together. “That’ll do it. Lilah, I’ll walk you to the door since you have your own obligations I’m sure you don’t want to be late for.”

She definitely shot me a look, but she grabbed her messenger bag off the table regardless, gave Silas one quick goodbye, coupled with a not-so-subtle apology, and followed me to the front door.

“You’re treacherous, you know that?” she whispered just out of earshot of my neighbor while slipping her boots on.

“It’ll all be fine,” I insisted, lying yet again.

“Like I believe that for a second,” she bit back. “Whatever’s going on, Will, keep it professional. Nothing good will come from making this into a game. You got your free labour, now leave it alone and do your job.”

“ Yeah, yeah, yeah ,“ I mumbled, but got the door for her, giving Lilah a quick wave before she begrudgingly left. Once I locked up, I walked back over, cane in hand, to Silas again.

“You conveniently left out the nude painter when explaining your work yesterday,” he stated.

“I wasn’t at liberty to say,” I replied, setting my cane back on the kitchen island. “My models appreciate their privacy. And since I don’t paint faces, that’s privacy I’m able to maintain. Do you have any tattoos or markings you’d like left out? And distinguishable markers?”

No,“ he shook his head. “I think my dick is distinguishable enough.”

“Why? Do you have the tip pierced or something?”

That tripped Silas up a bit as he let out a cough or two. Something I found far too amusing.

Lilah was right. I was having some fun.

“Are you always this vulgar?”

“For someone who proudly puts his body on display, in front of windows no less, you sure are conservative,” I quipped. “One of those contracts is for you to take with you. It does say that professionalism must be upheld, yet it’s at our discretion if you do get hard for any reason and would prefer a break or to cancel the session. I’ve had some fun today, but the contract exists for a reason. I also don’t paint erect penises.”

“I’m well aware of what I said yes to,” he snapped. Now that Lilah was gone, his irritation was far more blatant.

I doubted what he said, but he was also a grown adult. I’d willingly take his words at face value.

“Alright then. That’s all I’ve got for you. My contact is at the top of the first page but refrain from calling until early next week. That’s when I’ll be ready to start. And I don’t work weekends. Those are reserved for my… perverted dispositions.”

“Oh? And what the hell could that be? Looking through more windows?”

“Sleeping. Uninterrupted.”

Silas finally broke our locked gaze, but he wasn’t quick enough to mask the slightest, briefest smile. “Well it must involve you and a cold, empty bed—”

Before those words continued, the end to this meeting was interrupted by the door to my apartment being opened.

“Lee!” A familiar voice called out into this dead space, forcing my mind to shift gears from psychological torture, and my heart to stir a little. Unexpectedly.

Looks like he got the key I mailed him .

Once that door swung back, Silas turned his head just as I did.

My gaze lifted to blue eyes I recognized, attached to a man who didn’t fucking call first.

“What did I say about ringing before just showing up?”

“It’s fine, baby,” Mateo cooed when his eyes found mine, but once they panned to Silas, he immediately straightened his suit jacket a bit, his body almost tearing the fabric. “Shit. Am I interrupting?”

Silas was already standing to his feet, watching as Mateo entered, filling this space. He didn’t bother to kick off his shoes which made me grind my teeth a little but I tried to resist the urge to say something. It had been over a month since we’d seen each other last. I was trying not to fight.

If the shoes stayed on, this also meant that I wouldn’t be seeing him again tonight. No suitcase meant he wasn’t here to stay. Not even for a few days.

“This is Silas, my neighbor,” I gestured to the man who was already stretching out a hand for Mateo to shake. Seeing them near each other made me realize they were about the same height. Maybe 6’3 or 6’4. Mateo had a far more muscular build, however, even if he was on off-season for bodybuilding.

“Silas Ripley,” Silas nodded.

“Mateo Mikelson,” my partner replied.

“He was just telling me about how I must spend my weekends in a cold, empty—”

“I’m not sure what he’s talking about,” Silas cut me right the hell off as he finished shaking Mateo’s massive hand before turning his head to me with the tightest smile, lips pressed thin.

I met his tight smile with a smirk of my own, watching as slight fear overtook his irritation, but I knew something Silas obviously hadn’t when he’d said all that.

That this pervert’s assumptions were unfortunately correct.

My bed was cold.

And it was almost always empty.

5. Explain The Transfix To The Lawyer in Building 236

Silas

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” I groaned, sliding lower into this leather chair.

“Silas. Seriously. There might be something actually wrong with you,” Boston stated, taking another swig of his beer. “And sit up straighter. This isn’t the place for that.”

“I’m hungover.”

That came out as a whine.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

I glanced around the place, questioning why I even made the effort today. Boston and I had been here countless times—Chuckee’s Cafe—and the smell of food was familiar, but right now my stomach was turning, as was the rest of my insides.

After getting home from Will’s place Monday night, I had spent the remainder of the week going back and forth between work and damn near drinking myself into a coma, reading over the contract I had signed on a whim until the letters melted off the page from the amount of tequila I had forced down my throat every night.

Nude painter… What the hell was I thinking?

“I solved the rotation crisis,” I reminded him.

“And at what cost?” he demanded, setting his drink down on the coaster before leaning back into his own leather chair across from me.

We’d already put in our brunch order but now I was regretting it. This had to be the first Saturday I’ve wanted to spend in bed, but Boston and I had a tradition. Brunch at Chuckee’s every Saturday. We only missed last weekend because he had a family emergency or something.

I couldn’t get Monday night out of my head, though. Even while now surrounded by much better company.

Lilah. Mateo. William…

What kind of psychopath would choose to date a man like that?

More importantly, there was zero doubt in my mind that William had tried to get me killed by the slick shit he was saying to whom I soon found out was his boyfriend.

They looked like complete opposites.

Will was… odd. Lanky build. His long black hair was wet that night, drenching the shoulders of the white shirt he was wearing. Once again, he had to have just woken up, but I had shown up while he was having some sort of meeting with that woman.

Lilah.

She was gorgeous . Fair skin. Hazel eyes. Hot pink hair.

Not my type, but considering my rotation had gone to the gutters this last month, I wasn’t exactly picky about new prospects.

She didn’t seem interested, though , I thought to myself now.

In fact, the woman was constantly giving me a look, almost telling me to just make a run for it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t.

Will seemed serious about involving law enforcement. And if he had the guts to tell his other clients about what linked the women they were now dating—my women—this could ruin not just my rotation, but my reputation as a whole.

I’d taken enough hits this month as is.

“Still can’t believe you kept the window open while you were—”

“Don’t start,” I snapped, opening and panning my eyes down from the industrial lights of this cafe’s ceiling to look at this man.

He was in a suit again, which meant brunch wouldn’t be long. I, on the other hand, had barely managed to throw on a sweater and some slacks. My dirty blonde hair was half-assed, horrendously styled, and I knew my face looked like I was knocking on death’s door.

It didn’t matter, though. The only place I cared about my appearance was at work, where I had to care. My type were athletes, after all, not the women who’d frequent a place like Chuckee’s.

“Have you thought of celibacy?” Boston asked, smirking a little.

“Rich coming from you,” I replied.

“Hey now, I date one person at a time for this very reason. And that leaves me satisfied, but since you’re afraid of commitment, maybe you need to give your dick a rest.”

“My dick is fine.”

“It’s been over a week now without you having sex. I’m genuinely surprised you haven’t combusted into flames.”

I was close , I thought, pulling myself out of the slouched position I was succumbing to, to reach for my glass of water. Considering my mind was drenched in liquor this week, I put off contacting the remaining five women I had in my rotation.

They couldn’t see me like this.

I was still trying to beat the racist allegations. Drunken bastard wasn’t a hot commodity right now either.

“At least we’ve established that Will’s a fantastic painter.”

Boston had said that shit like I should care.

It was the first thing he did once we got seated by a waiter here. Search up Will’s work. And the pervert hadn’t lied. About anything. Not about painting nude men… There also wasn’t a single face included in any of his previous work. Only bodies.

The major thing starting to grind my irritation was that, while I didn’t imagine looking at painted dicks with Boston as being a solid way to start brunch, the dicks Will had painted were… well… some of them pissed me off.

We’ll just run with that.

That smug fucking bastard .

Now he had me questioning whether dicks were meant to look a certain way. Jesus fuck . Like what kind of homoerotic shit was that?

I just kept thinking of the knowing smirk on his face Monday night. Even if I’d wanted to say no, I knew he and I had entered a point of no return. He was testing—making me question my own confidence, which had already taken a nose dive thanks to physically watching Emma get swooped up by yet another disgustingly kind model.

I should’ve gone down on her longer Thursday night .

All she had now as mementos were of me not coming from the average blowjob she gave, then a few strokes of my cock inside her before we were interrupted by a pervert at a window.

At least I ordered her dinner from her favourite pasta place .

But right now she’d probably be eating lobster at some fine dining establishment with that Cain guy. Judging by the car he drove, his money was large enough for it.

“Here you go!” Our server interrupted, placing down the food we ordered. My steak and eggs made me want to vomit, while Boston’s egg benedict looked easier. Mainly because the portion was smaller.

“Let’s switch.”

“Fuck no,” he snapped at me, pulling his plate closer to him. “I told you to order something light.”

I should’ve. And now that I actually had to watch what I was eating thanks to the contract I signed, I knew I’d fucked up. Drinking this entire week away was one major fuck up.

The paintings Boston had showed me on his phone hadn’t helped either, but we’d already put our order in right as we sat down, trying to shave some time since this lawyer here had other obligations.

Now I was second guessing my entire workout routine.

It was stupid considering there had to be something Will liked about my body. But then those chilling words still haunted me.

’ I’d like to see your reaction to the finished result. View how someone else sees you for a change .’

…

He was about to paint my penis the size of an acorn.

I just knew it.

Probably a beer belly over my abs while he was at it.

Fuck .

Then there was just one other thing I couldn’t get out of my mind. Will had kicked me out right after Mateo left his place, the monstrosity of a man only staying for a few minutes to hand that pervert some business cards, so I didn’t get much time to observe more… but Will was… different around that mutant.

And I do mean mutant. Though he was handsome, clearly easy on the eyes, the man’s chest alone was almost twice the size of mine. His handshake felt like it was crushing bones.

I remembered the way Mateo had reached for Will’s arm after joining us in the kitchen.

I remembered the way Will flinched at the contact.

They seemed friendly enough, besides that specific encounter that Mateo seemed to brush off, but while I headed towards the door to get my shoes on after that mammoth left, I’d glanced back just in time to see Will toss all the business cards his boyfriend gave him right into the kitchen trash bin.

Something was just… off.

But I probably wasn’t the right guy to formulate opinions on relationships.

“So was the contract what triggered the binge drinking?” Boston asked, cutting into his breakfast with a knife, watching as the poached egg spilled yolk onto his Canadian bacon.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “This was my last bit of freedom before I’ll have to cut back on alcohol. Let’s just hope the lack of food while drinking might’ve offset the fact that I’ve now missed the gym for a week.”

“I wasn’t going to comment on how bloated you—”

“Not helping.”

Boston chuckled.

“Well. It’s been only a week. And you’ve got today and tomorrow before you two meet again so drink water. What’s the schedule going to look like?”

“No idea. As of now, we agreed to meet Monday evening again, same time, so around seven. It’s difficult to tell when he’s being serious or not but I think he meant it when he said he doesn’t work weekends.”

“Got it,” my good friend nodded. “Then use this weekend to get it together since you already signed a damn contract, agreeing to take care of your appearance. Hopefully he just won’t notice.”

“I see cutting back on the alcohol was too difficult an ask.”

…Motherfucker .

Will stepped to the side, gesturing with his cane for me to come inside anyway.

And while I was adjusting to his appearance tonight: his long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, with strands escaping the rubber band used to tie it, revealing those genuinely striking eyes… a large grey button-down shirt with long sleeves that had paint all over them, engulfing his thin frame… and some black joggers a bit too big on him… He had been absorbing my appearance.

Even though I managed a shower after getting home from work, changing into a more presentable sweater and some jeans, it was useless.

My face was still a bit puffy from the heavy drinking of this last week. And I still felt like shit.

“I’d offer some wine, but only one of us can clearly show restraint. Take a seat.”

I glanced back slightly to see Will gesturing to one of the bar stools, then he limped to the other side of the kitchen island, set his cane down, and picked up the tablet he had set there instead.

This place seemed as modern and devoid of all personality, just as it had before.

He seemed fully moved in, but there wasn’t any art on the walls. The furniture looked like he just pointed to the first thing at a store and ran with it. If it wasn’t for the art Boston had pulled up on his phone Saturday, I’d question whether this pervert had a single creative bone in him.

“So how bad is it?” Will asked, typing away on his tablet.

“What?”

“Your alcoholism.”

“I—I’m not a damn alcoholic.”

My eyes snapped up from the tablet to meet his.

“This is a safe space,” he answered blandly.

Like hell it was .

“The first step is admitting you have a problem, you know.”

“Says the man who poured me an entire glass of whiskey my first night here.”

We held each other’s gaze, but William just shrugged.

“That was before you signed a contract. And after you broke into my home. The whiskey was to adjust my anger.”

Damn it.

“Yeah, alright, fine. From here on out, I’ll cut the drinking.”

He then broke eye contact to glance back down at his tablet screen. “Good. How often do you work out?”

I could feel the muscles in my face tensing at the personal question, but I tried to hold in my irritation. This was what I signed up for. “Five times a week,” I replied.

Will glanced up at me… then a slight grin stretched across his lips. “Missed a few days this past week, huh?”

My eyes lowered to the cane on the counter.

Smacking the shit out of him with it sounded promising, but I just clenched both fists in my lap instead.

I didn’t know how he could tell that, and at this point, I didn’t want to know.

“What’s the schedule for our appointments?”

This was my attempt to switch the conversation. It felt safer than continuing to discuss my last week from hell and I was hoping he’d bite.

“Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. From 7 PM - 9 PM. For each model, I usually complete five to ten pieces. December 21st is the day of the exhibit—six months from now—yet I hope we enter phase three by October at the latest. This is when we won’t need the in-person sessions and I’ll complete the remaining work from memory.”

“Why do you meet with clients here?” I glanced around his home again while he continued typing on his tablet. “Isn’t there studio space available?”

“My home makes my models feel more comfortable. They have access to a fridge of refreshments, a full bathroom, and better parking.”

And yet somehow my skin crawled whenever I was here. Go figure.

“Before each session starts, you’re required to take a shower. I have robes in the bathroom to change into after.”

“Is that where we’re starting tonight?”

William shook his head no.

“I’m not painting you in this state. Tomorrow evening will be day one. And since you aren’t a professional model, I’ll have to ask you not to eat about five or so hours before the session starts. That’ll help with bloating until your body adjusts to less alcohol.”

“I just told you I’m not a damn—”

“I give my clients more leeway on cancellations but since your time is valued for way less, I require a twenty-four hour notice. If you don’t show for your appointment, I’ll assume that’s your request to break our contract.”

“And if it’s an emergency? “

“Your death is listed as an exception already. So try dying first. But I’m a reasonable man. Just know that going on benders doesn’t fall within reason.”

Assault was looking more and more promising a charge to just deal with later.

“Let’s start tonight. The sooner we get this over and done with—”

“No.”

“My face is barely bloated—”

“No.” Will shook his head again.

God, this fucking bastard . I wanted to bring my fingers to my temples, my head already throbbing from irritation, but that would be gas to flame with his assumptions of me having a drinking problem.

He’d just think I was hungover.

And while I was still feeling the effects of the binge-drinking, this pervert absolutely didn’t need to know that.

“Where’s this exhibition going to be held?”

“Doesn’t matter. You won’t be invited.”

“And why the hell not? It’s my dick that’ll be hung up—”

“Not just your penis. You aren’t my only client. And since my models have already made inquiries to bring a plus one, wouldn’t it be a bit risky having you there? They might bring the women you’ve been sleeping with.”

The side of my temple was starting to pulsate from how tense my face was. “So you mean to tell me that my body will be used for an exhibition I can’t even come to?”

“That all depends on your honesty with your sex life. And your ability to keep it in your pants. Not regarding sex, but it would be irresponsible to invite an exhibitionist to an event like that.”

My left eye starting twitching again.

“I have every right to stop you from attending, but I have zero control over whether you come to it. Wherever you come is all on you—”

“ Alright ,“ I finally snapped. Coming to anything was a poor choice of words on my part. “Now that I know you have an interest in men, tell me one good reason I shouldn’t be concerned about all this?”

“I’ve got two,” William answered. “First being: I’m in a committed relationship already. Second being: I have only ever been with one client, and I’m still with him. Mateo. But before you start throwing these accusations around, I’d love to hear you ask this question to the many straight male artists who paint nude women, and vice versa. Nude photographers. Hell, the people who tape porn. Takes like yours, especially during pride month, is wild.”

I knew my logic was already weak, and pretty homophobic—just adding to my tainting reputation—but if this asshole insinuated I was the pervert here one more fucking time, I swear to god —

“I think you’ll find out quick that it’s not your body I’m after. Just the art.”

“And why’s that? Seems like you’re more infatuated with my penis and how it works.”

“I’m not, but you might be. Infatuated with mine. Infatuated with yours. Hard to tell.”

His confidence was grating enough, but that bland, deadpan delivery made me want to rearrange his facial features. They pissed me right off at this point. Everything did—even those sharp, light green eyes… uninterested when they held mine, but sultrious when they lowered to my body.

He seemed hellbent on showing zero frustration all while saying the most outlandish fucking shit.

“I’ll prove it tomorrow night. First piece I’ll be starting with is a painting of your left armpit.”

6. Day One To Paint In Building 238

Will

“Just call them.”

That was the last thing Mateo said before hanging up.

I don’t have the bandwidth for this , I couldn’t help but think as I set my phone down on the wooden floor and finished stapling up this canvas.

Silas was due to be here soon, and while I’d managed to finish stretching the first canvas, my energy was pretty low already.

When did I eat last?

Because of the first official session tonight, I’d forced myself to wake up at 4 PM this Tuesday afternoon to get this done, adjusting the size of the canvas I wanted to use, and now I felt like stumbling back into bed. That prick might not have deserved the professionalism, but I would never meet a client on day one with little to no preparation.

Lilah would throw a fit otherwise.

She honestly hated this entire idea, a sentiment she voiced through the many texts I received cursing me out over the weekend.

I, on the other hand, was having fun.

I’d just finished getting the canvas set on the easel when I heard the knock on my front door. Cane in hand, I made my way out of the studio, checking to make sure the bathroom was client-ready, before heading to the front entry.

“I expect punctuality, you know.”

That was the first thing I said to this prick as my gaze settled on a familiar broad chest before they lifted to golden-brown eyes while opening up the door more.

“It’s 7:05,” Silas bit back, pushing past me inside.

That was still five minutes late.

Tonight he was in another dress shirt and some suit pants, but he had a duffel bag in his right hand as he slipped his shoes off. I noticed immediately the strained veins on his neck, tucked into his shirt collar. His blonde hair was wet and slick at the front—probably sweat.

“Gym?” I asked, closing the front door.

“Yeah,” he replied.

He was heading towards the kitchen island, but I stopped him. “Shower first. The bathroom’s just to the left there. Once you’re ready, head down the corridor to the room on the right. That’s my studio.”

Silas nodded, setting his gym bag on the floor near one of the barstools before making his way to the bathroom, and once the door shut, I let out an irritating sigh.

That conversation with Mateo had left me in a mood. One I couldn’t shake.

I’d have to watch it tonight , I thought. This agreement was only fun as long as I toed that fine line between professional and condescending.

The shower started soon enough, though, so I headed back into the studio to set up paints.

My layout for the evening was fairly standard. Silas’s body had already imprinted on my memory thanks to that window mishap, and I knew where I might want to start, so once the shower stopped around the time I started filling up my glass jar with water for my paint brushes, I set the alarm on my phone to remind me of the stop time.

Mateo was expecting a call back.

He wouldn’t pick up—he never did when I called—but he’d be in a mood if he saw that I didn’t leave a voicemail after I was done. Then we’d both be in shitty moods again.

It was all ritualistic at this point.

“Your shower has better water pressure,” Silas grumbled under his breath, his steps heavy against the wood floors. I glanced up from my canvas, watching as the large, robed man entered.

“If yours is shit, take it up with your landlord,” I replied simply. Then I picked up the wood palette.

“How much is the rent here, anyway?”

I gestured to the stool in front of me for him to take a seat in. “Too much for whatever you make.”

Silas scoffed but sat down anyway. “You don’t even know what I do for a living.”

“Nor do I care. Now slip just your left arm out of your robe. You don’t have to get fully undressed.”

“So you were dead serious about painting my left armpit?”

I set the palette back onto my side table before standing. “I’m always serious.”

Silas watched as I approached him—I could feel his eyes on me—but I focused on his body instead as he slid an arm out of the plush, white robe. He smelled like the standard shower gel and shampoo I kept for clients, which was better than the sweat he reeked of earlier.

“You’re joking less tonight. Are you in a mood or something?”

My eyes found his again for just a moment as they peered up at me, but I averted my gaze, reaching out to touch his bare arm instead. “You forgot to stretch like I told you, didn’t you?”

“I just got back from the gym.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I bit back, but hesitated when Silas flinched at my touch. His arm was muscular—far more defined than I expected, with smooth skin that felt surprising under my hands, but he didn’t shrink away again as I raised his arm up over his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted a bit more unevenly. His skin was still warm from the shower, and his deeper skin tone looked slightly flushed. “Why are your hands so hot?”

I didn’t answer that.

Instead, I bent his arm back slightly, resting his forearm just over his wet hair. The water had made it look more brown than golden-blonde, something I noticed now. He did a half-assed job of drying it.

“I need you to keep it extended like this. I’m trying to capture this muscle here.”

“Latissimus Dorsi.”

That made me pause, one hand holding just under his bicep while the other had frozen over his armpit.

“…Yes. In this position, you won’t need to flex any muscles. I wouldn’t recommend it because of the nerves—”

“Thoracodorsal and long thoracic nerves.”

That rather successfully brought my eyes back on his as I narrowed them at him. “I didn’t expect you to take me painting your armpit this seriously. To think you went home and searched up—”

“I’m a physical therapist, you asshole.”

…

“ Huh …“ I mumbled a moment later, ignoring the lethal glare he was giving me now as I returned my focus to his armpit.

“What?”

“This explains the women, I guess,” I replied. Cain had mentioned meeting a hockey player when he called yesterday morning  with updates to his diet.

“What did you think I was?”

“Personal trainer or something. Fits your physique.”

“You seem disappointed.”

“Well, with more medical training, I just thought you’d have better sense to take care of your body. Alcoholism affects many—”

“Shut it,” he snapped, ripping his gaze off me.

“You should’ve stretched,” was all I replied with before taking a step away and letting my arms fall to my side. “Let’s get started.”

“You don’t talk much while you paint.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

My gaze returned back to his skin, before pulling more deep brown paint onto my brush.

“What do your other clients ask about?”

“They don’t ask anything.”

“So you just sit here in silence and paint?”

“You’re welcome to fill the silence with rambling. Just don’t expect me to listen.”

Silas scoffed, muttering something under his breath. “Failed upbringing.”

“Hmm?” I hummed, mixing the color onto my wooden palette.

“You feel like you’ve got the worst case of deep-rooted issues.”

“You’re a physical therapist, not a mental health one. Don’t forget yourself.”

I could feel his sharpened gaze on me but I ignored it. A shot of whiskey sounded tempting but I had a rule against drinking while painting a client.

“Do you have any siblings?”

I ignored that question, too, bringing the paintbrush up to the canvas.

“Pets?”

“No.”

“Hobbies?”

“Why do you care?”

Our eyes finally met again. Only an hour had passed since we started, and I was now realizing fairly quickly that this man didn’t know how to sit down and shut the fuck up.

“Do clients really not ask you these questions?”

“They usually talk about themselves.”

“Well then, what are you itching to know about me?”

“The ways in which I can get you to sit still and stop talking. Got any recs for me, doc?”

“Answer a question and I’ll give you a few minutes of silence.”

“I’d sooner choose to sever my own foot off with a butter knife.”

“Was an attempt made already to your right ankle?”

I ignored that question, returning my focus back on painting.

“Alright then. How long have you and Mateo been—”

“Let me make something very fucking clear,” I cut in sharply as my hand froze over the paint palette, still holding this brush. My eyes had shot to his in a cold, rigid glare of my own. “Questions about my relationship while you and I are in a session fall under inappropriate advances per the contract. Do you understand?”

Silas’s body stilled. Those words had put an end to the slight swaying he was doing, before he unexpectedly gave me a slow nod. His eyes, however, were a bit unreadable. Not angry like they usually were. Like they probably should’ve been.

Still, what I said had seemed to successfully shut him up for a while, so I continued on with my work and appreciated the silence we fell into.

It didn’t last long, though.

“What else is off limits, then?”

My eyes reluctantly found his, not answering.

“Seems as if it’s only off limits if it pertains to you. Yet you’re just fine with conversation about the woman I’ve had sex with.”

I felt my left brow twitch a little. “That’s because the women you’ve had sex with are what got us here. Mateo has nothing to do with this agreement.”

“And why is he fine with it?”

That made me stop painting entirely.

“What do you mean?”

“You paint a bunch of naked models in your home. If this is how you and Mateo got together, you’d think he’d care—”

“Why do you care?” I bit back as I felt my anger start to rise. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about relationships if one fell from the sky and crash-landed on your terrible posture. Yet a back brace forced upon you would do you some good.”

“I know I’d be jealous,” he shot back. That made me rip my gaze away from those golden eyes more pointedly. “If someone I dated seriously did something like this for work after this was how we got together—”

“That’s it,” I snapped harshly, setting the paintbrush in the water jar and the palette next to it on the side table. Maybe it was the conversation with Mateo earlier that made me sensitive this evening, but I was ready to call it with this prick before I said something I’d regret. “We’re done for today. Get dressed and leave.”

“No,” he countered, making my eyes cut to his again in an instant. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. Then you’ll put some effort into answering my other questions or you’ll back off completely about mentioning the women I sleep with. Which will it be? Small talk, or lose your source of thrill?”

I felt my left foot start to tap a bit on the bar of the stool it was resting on. My knee was shaking a bit, restless as I thought about this. Answering questions wasn’t what I did during these sessions… but things were already so left field about this entire agreement.

I hadn’t expected Mateo to come over Friday night.

I hadn’t planned for him to meet Silas.

And I didn’t mean to explain who Mateo was—how we’d met. I was just trying to shut down Silas’s assumptions about me yesterday after he insinuated I would ever think of touching this pervert sitting across from me with a ten foot pole.

Everything about what I’d revealed had flipped shit on its head but the contract had already been signed by then. And he’d figure out soon enough that all this was free labour. Nothing more.

“…Stairs,” I found myself eventually answering.

Then I picked up the palette and a fresh brush.

“What?”

“Stairs. You asked what happened to my ankle. I twisted it on some stairs.”

Once I heard those light chuckles escape him, I considered stabbing him in the eye with the dull end of the paintbrush I was holding, but he’d gotten enough of a reaction out of me tonight.

“Why the cane instead of crutches? You’d only need one.”

I stayed silent, not answering that.

“Oh back to ignoring me then?”

“You said make an effort. That was my effort.”

“One question? You’re joking, right?”

“I also told you I don’t have pets.”

“A single glance around this home could’ve answered that.”

“Then why’d you ask?” I questioned.

“Just to see if you’d answer,” he replied, shifting that arm resting on his head.

“Stop moving.”

“This position is killing me.”

“I told you to stretch before—”

“I was at the gym. Give me a fucking brea—”

“No.”

Toeing the line between professionalism and condescending was now turning into a fine line between professionalism and jail time.

Silas’s face grew tense again. “Do your parents live around here?”

I let the silence fill the air with that one.

Then we both sat in silence for about five more minutes while I painted, listening to the car horns and sirens from the city just outside the studio room’s window behind me. I had the curtains drawn closed tonight for privacy.

Ignoring him was simple. It allowed me to focus, even if his irritable sighs every minute or so were grating on the ears. While I had expected this man to go on and on and on about himself, similar to most of my other clients, I guess it was fitting enough to realize that this wasn’t a similar situation.

Silas probably wasn’t looking to give me dirt on more shit to hold against him, and I didn’t really care enough about his personal life to ask anything.

So that just left us… here.

“What made you start painting?”

It was the question he finally asked to break the silence again.

“Definitely not conversations like these,” I replied, glancing up to meet his sharp eyes. But this prick wasn’t glaring.

His eyes were just…

Well, they were watching me. Watching my hands as I picked up more paint onto my paintbrush from the palette, mixing in the browns on canvas to shade certain areas of skin. Next would be some golden-brown hues for the armpit hair he had there, similar color to his hair when dry.

Silas didn’t say anything else, though.

Not for the last thirty minutes we had together, and I couldn’t tell exactly what I felt about that.

Overjoyed because he had finally shut the fuck up…

Or disappointed that he had given up so soon.

Maybe a bit of both.