“She expects perfection, which I’m happy she does because I want to be her.” I grab the pad and try to see it through Jack’s eyes, and I guess he has a point. Maybe. “It sucks because I feel like I never have time to really focus on life drawing. It’s hard enough for the art department to find models willing to be naked in front of a room full of artists.”

He immediately stands. “Why didn’t you ask?”

I swallow hard. “Huh?”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he reveals his chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Shut up and draw me.” He unzips his jeans and, with one quick motion, shoves both jeans and boxer briefs down to his ankles.

Immediately, I snap into student mode, and Jack is just another model.

Jack is just another model.

Jack is just another model.

I take to readying my station as Jack strips completely naked and moves the chair to the center of the room. My hands shake as I place my supplies neatly around my sketch pad.

“How do you want me?”

What a loaded question!

“Uh.” I look up, and there he is, completely naked, waiting for direction. I exhale. “You know Michelangelo’s David? The contrapposto pose?” I demonstrate it for him, shifting all my weight to one foot and twisting my upper body slightly in a relaxed manner. “Face me, and—”

“Like this?” he asks, and I try not to stare at him.

“Perfect. Just hold that for the next hour or so.”

“What the …?”

I snicker. “You offered.”

“You’re lucky I lo …” He hesitates and rewinds, again. “Like your art.”

I crack my knuckles systematically before leaning into the page. I feel the weight of my arm against the desk, the arch of my back, my feet on the ground. Professor McPherson says it’s crucial to feel your own muscles and bones; the way you’re positioned determines your openness to the work. Right now, I feel loose but steady. Firm but aware of where I am and the vulnerability of the model in front of me. Suddenly, he’s not Jack anymore but a fellow artist, a subject to learn from, to respect, and treat with the utmost care. My chest stops fluttering, and I get to work.