Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,23

picture and then back at him, and he nods encouragingly. Then I look back at the picture again and start to laugh. Far too loudly. “Oh my God, you’re right,” I gasp.

He nods. “Told you. Totally fuck-faced. She’s about to break into the second chorus of ‘It’s Raining Men.’”

That makes me laugh harder and a couple nearby tut disapprovingly. Arlo shoots them a cool look, holding their gaze until they walk away. He was sticking up for me.

Before I can process this, he turns back to me and asks, “What do you see?”

I look back at the painting, trying to calm my breathing and gather my thoughts. It’s hard because no one usually wants to know what I think about art. It’s always been my guilty pleasure in life—not shared by my parents or Steven, who all seemed to view my interest in art as a complete waste of time.

“She looks gentle,” I say. “And happy and innocent. She’s on the brink of becoming a married woman and is being painted by a man in love with her.” I pause. “You can feel his love in the act of painting her.”

I turn and find Arlo staring at me. There’s a flush in his cheeks that makes his grey eyes glow. “Well,” he says softly. “I like the way you think.”

I shrug. “It’s not very factual, though.”

“I don’t think art is meant to be factual,” he says consideringly. “It’s meant to be felt, because it’s the passion that makes an artist put paint to canvas or ink to paper. And passion can’t be seen.”

I stare at him. “You’re very deep.”

He laughs. “Has never been said to me in my life before, but thank you.” He pauses. “Don’t get used to it, though, because it only crops up every ten years.”

“I’ll wait,” I say, and there’s a fervour to my voice that really shouldn’t be there.

Arlo’s eyes get wide, but before he can speak, we’re jostled by a tour group. I stumble slightly, and Arlo tries to steady me, but we end up pressed against the wall, between the painting and a big curtain.

The guide launches into a long monologue in Spanish, and the group hangs on his every word. Arlo and I stay frozen, unnoticed by everyone. He’s pressed tightly against me, and all I can see are his eyes and hair and pretty face. His body is unexpectedly muscular—lean from swimming, which is the only sport, as Tom likes to point out, where Arlo can’t knock something over.

The thought of Tom has me placing my hand on Arlo’s arm, ready to ease him away. But the tour group is on the move again, and someone gives him another shove. We both gasp as our bodies connect fully. Heat washes over me as I feel the unmistakable stiffness of his cock. My own dick stiffens so quickly, I get dizzy. His gaze shoots up to mine, and I exhale slowly as his pupils dilate.

“Jack?” His throaty whisper makes my balls tighten.

“Oi, Arlo, you twat.” Bee’s voice breaks into the moment like he’s hired a foghorn, and we both jump a foot in the air.

“Oh, Bee.” My voice has gone high. What did he see? “Are you okay?”

He ignores me and glares at Arlo. “There is no Sampson period, Arlo, you giant bell end.” He waves his mobile. “I just rang Tom, and he says that Mr Sampson was the textiles teacher at your school.”

Arlo’s laughter is warm and rich in my ear, and I repress a shudder. This is getting out of control.

Still talking, Bee walks off. Arlo trails behind him, giving me an impossibly hot look which I try to ignore. I cast one last look back at Saskia Flora. She’s serene and content in her picture, but the twinkle in her eyes almost seems to be sending me a message. I shake my head free of that nonsense and follow the others out of the exhibit.

Six

Arlo

During lunch and the walk back to the hotel, I think about the moment Jack and I shared at the museum. Jack shoots me a few concerned looks, but stays quiet. I’m grateful, because I need some time to analyse the hottest moment of my twenty-four years. At the end of the day, nothing actually happened. No touching of mouths, no fondling of penises. Dicks weren’t even sucked. But still. So hot.

I sigh as I enter our hotel room. Of course, the moment had been hot. I’d been touching Jack Cooper, and that made