Beneath The Skin (A College Obsession Romance) (42 page)

The rest of the yard teems with friends from the School of Theatre mostly, as the majority of the supporters here are for Dessie and Clayton. There’s a bunch of dancers here too, including a gorgeous black man named Avery who towers over everyone in a vibrant pink-and-yellow wig and says he’s an official member of the Brant fan club. I’m not sure what all that’s about, but he gasped with astonishment when he saw my work at the latest gallery showing a month ago and commented on its brilliance before even knowing it was mine, so he’s scored a few brownie points in my book.

Somewhere on the other side of the lawn, Minnie and a few of the others from the art school are gathered around a fire pit laughing about something and looking teary-eyed in their hilarity as they eat s’mores and make fun of each other when marshmallow hangs on their chins. Minnie and I didn’t speak again until somewhere around Valentine’s Day when we ran into each other at a “Lover’s Lament” showcase downtown. We’d ended up standing at the same exhibit, snarkily began providing our own critiques for it, and eventually made each other laugh. Then, unexpectedly, Minnie burst into tears, hugged me, and begged me to forgive her and to be her friend again. I clutched Minnie right there, said there was nothing to forgive, and apologized for being somewhat of an arrogant twat to her earlier. Then she invited me over to her big place for cheap booze and Netflix binging on her big fluffy couch, just like the old days, and everything was back to normal before we even reached the end of the first episode.

From across the lawn, Minnie catches my eye, then winks and gives a little wave before returning to hearing some joke her friend is telling her, and then the pair of them burst into laughter.

“You look beautiful,” comes a voice from behind, wrapping me up in a pair of smooth, strong arms.

“You’re just saying that because you want to bone me later.”

“That too.”

I turn and face Brant, smiling. He looks cute in his orange-and-blue plaid button-down shirt and distressed jeans. Those particular jeans make me want to grab his ass so badly and so inappropriately in front of all these people.

Suddenly there’s a camera in my face. “Cheese!”

I laugh just as the flash goes off, capturing me in that moment. The camera fails, however, to capture the moment right after: me smacking the shit out of Brant’s shoulder for blinding me.

“You know you love it,” he murmurs, getting right in my face.

He gets away with murder with that beautiful face of his. Really, it just isn’t fair. “I didn’t know you were telling people about your decision to become an official college dropout.”

“I didn’t! I was … ah, crap.” He curses to himself. “It was that damn Dmitri who can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Are you embarrassed by it?”

“Hell no. College just isn’t for everyone. I’m really glad I came here, don’t get me wrong. I mean, I definitely learned a lot and I had my … fair share of experiences …”

“Experiences,” I echo, using air quotes.

He grabs my arms and pulls me into him, inspiring a guttural laugh from deep within me. “You better watch that adorable mouth of yours before I spank you.”

I lick my lips slowly and deliberately, watching as his face melts before my eyes with all the fantasies and realities of what, exactly, I’m capable of with these lips of mine. I love planting all the dirt in his head and watching as he suffers with it for hours until we’re alone and can do something about it.

“Clayton’s got an instrument room upstairs where he keeps all his lighting equipment,” he whispers.

“Don’t you dare think about it,” I warn him.

“I wouldn’t need very long.”

“Such the charmer.”

“We’ll be back before they cut into the graduation cake. Or the other-other graduation cake. Or before people start getting drunk and making pretentious speeches about the future and this and that.”

“Why don’t I just massage your crotch under the table and get the job over with without going anywhere at all?” I ask, running a hand down his body and hooking it under his belt.

“You’re so bad, Nell.”

“The worst,” I agree.

BRANT

She looks so beautiful. I could stare at her every damn day and it’s like I’m being eaten alive by beauty. Maybe that could be the name of my next photo series:
Eaten Alive
. All the photos could just be of her, on and on and on.

“Babe, I know everyone’s all busy and they want me to take photos of all of you soon—the graduates, you included, sans me—but I have something I want to show you.”

Nell lifts her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Is this a euphemism for wanting to show me your big dong in Clayton’s upstairs man cave?”

“Nope.” I reach out my hand. “Come with me, my lady.”

“Mistress of darkness,” she corrects me, to which I laugh. None of my terms of endearment sit well with her, but damn, that one thing I said the night she nearly burned down the End Of Year Showcase, she clings to it like a cliff.

I take her into the house, which is considerably quieter, what with everyone out in the yard, then we go up the curved staircase. There’s a big, beautiful couch by a giant window that overlooks the backyard, and it’s to that couch that I lead her.

I sit down first, then turn her with a little pirouette move before seating her on my lap. She smiles, suppressing a giggle, then hooks her arms around my neck.

“Now what?” she prompts me, curious.

I bring my camera up into her lap, and the screen flashes bright for us both to see. I start scrolling back.

“Showing me the graduation pics from this morning?” she asks me. “What is it? Did you catch Dessie and Clayton behind the curtains or something?”

“Nope.”

She chuckles, then waits patiently as I finally arrive at the correct photos. The moment they show up on the screen, Nell’s face changes. She tilts her head, taken. “Oh. These … These are from …”

“Westwood Light,” I finish for her.

There’s a photo of three of the kids playing with cars, using various stacked books and turned-over building blocks and a shoe as obstacles in their little roadmap.

I push my thumb. There’s a photo of a girl with brown hair whose forehead is screwed up in concentration as she adds a block to the top of a very tall stack she’s trying to keep balanced.

Another push of my thumb. The backside of two of the kids staring out the window at the street, a boy and a girl. The boy has his hands pressed to the glass, the girl has her hands linked behind her back, picking at her nails.

“Brant, these are beautiful,” she murmurs. “I wish the world could see them.”

“The world will.” She looks at me, mystified. “Well, at least the
city
will,” I amend with a little shrug. “You know Lori Turlington? She’s the owner of—”

“I know Lori,” she cuts me off, her eyes wide, already anticipating excitedly where I’m headed. “What about her?”

“She has contacts at several of the biggest newspapers nationwide. She also has a friend who works with a major art publication, though it’s not certain yet if my photos will be seen in
that
one, but …”

“Oh my god. Are you kidding? She’s hooking you up??”

“Nell, will ya let me finish??” I retort teasingly, poking her boob with my finger. She swats it away with a laugh. “Yes. That’s the crux of my news. Lori is giving me a platform to show my series of photos, which I called
For The Children
. But there’s more.”

“More?”

I steel myself for her reaction. I’ve been sitting on this news all day ever since Lori gave me the phone call this morning. I breathe in deep, then let it all out on my camera. “They’re also writing a story about them. An article, I guess you could say. It’s going to feature the kids, Westwood Light, and … how a person in the community with a heart can help these children.”

“Oh, Brant.”

“Donations. Major ones that could help turn their lives around—more so than just providing food and a roof. This story is going to be seen by so many people, Nell. This story—”

She interrupts me with a forceful kiss. Every damn thing in the world between us seems to be poured into this one, potent kiss. She damn near sucks my face off with her unapologetic fervor.

“Brant,” she murmurs when she pulls away, her face still close to mine, her green eyes flashing. “Your heart is bottomless. Your soul is so rich and so real, I didn’t even see it. I’ve been so trained all my life in looking for the falsehoods, in creating things that don’t already exist … I’ve become blind to the things that do. You are no fantasy, Brant. You are the real thing. You’re beautiful and your kind and …”

“Please don’t forget to mention my wiener,” I cut in. “He gets really sad when you leave him out.”

She growls at me frustratedly, then gets in my face and goes on. “You’re so amazing that you can’t even take my damn compliment, can you? Always deflecting them away with humor and jokes …”

“My dick is no joke.”

“And neither is your heart.” Nell presses her lips together. “Brant.”

I find I can’t make any more humor, so struck by the way she’s looking at me right now. I want to capture this moment and put it into a bottle and drink a tiny bit of it every day, just so I can preserve the emotion that’s so captured me right here on this couch with the woman I love.

Then I realize I can. “Hold that thought,” I murmur, lifting up my camera.

“I love you so damn much, Brant.”

I lift my big ol’ complicated device to my face, then give her my signature cocky smirk. “Right back at ya, babe.”

Aim. Focus.

Flash.

The end.

Continue for a sneak peek of
With These Hands
,

Book 3 in the College Obsession Romance series.

Thank you deeply for going to art school with me! If this is the first time we’ve been together, I want to welcome you to my brain, and I hope you consider checking out some of my other work!

Now that you’ve experienced Brant and Nell, go ahead and turn the page for a peek into the third book,
With These Hands
, where we will join
both
Dmitri and Sam in their final year at Klangburg University. Our emo bisexual creative writer and our blossoming deadpan pianist struggle with their respective loves—and it may take more than just a witty story or a clever song to figure themselves out.

This third book
will
include a bit of MMF, but it is not the primary focus of the novel.

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Music has been a passion of mine since before I could type words. Check out my original music, remixes, and full soundtracks inspired by my various book series:
http://darylbanner.bandcamp.com
  

Turn the page for a sneak peek into
With These Hands
, book 3 in the College Obsession Romance series.

With These Hands

(A College Obsession Romance #3)

© 2016 Daryl Banner