Grinning, Mike moved to the hoop and made a slam dunk. “If you say so.”
“Smart ass.”
Chapter 35
Was it wrong when your own creation kind of turned you on?
It was a mental dilemma Rori tried not to think too hard about as she stepped back and regarded her sculpture. There would only be three sculptures in her entire show, and the other two were much more innocent. But this one?
Damn.
That was Rori’s only thought, right after, Did I really make this?
From its profile it looked like a lopsided heart with smaller side overlaying the larger one at the base. It was only when you moved around it that you saw that the shape was formed by two pairs of hips locked together. No genitals showed, but that kind of made it hotter to know that the man was hip-deep in the woman as the two strained to become one. The sculpture wasn’t even close to complete and it already had an impact on Rori. In her mind it was impossible not imagine how the rest of those two bodies would be positioned based on the hips—to imagine the expressions on their faces, the way their hands gripped each other.
Rori turned away, surprised to find herself so affected. Maybe it was time to take a break—to work on the butterfly painting or maybe the flower girl one with Mike.
She bit her lip, debating for the thousandth time whether to call Mike and officially request his permission to use the picture as a model. It was a professional courtesy, even if she knew him well enough to know what his answer would be.
She should still ask. In person. On the phone. Not via text or some lame Facebook post. Manners were manners. He’d been able to call her and keep things professional, now she needed to prove herself capable of the same.
Rori glanced at the clock. It was 1:00 a.m., which meant it was 11:00 p.m. in Mike’s time zone. He might even be asleep. Then she could leave a message and all would be right in the world.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Rori picked up her phone, found Mike’s number, and pressed Send. If he answered, she would just—
“Hello?”
For a moment after hearing his voice, Rori froze, and before she could stop them her eyes darted over to the sculpture. Then she blinked and turned away from it. “Hi. I, uh, wasn’t sure I’d get you this late. Thought you might have an early morning.”
“Not this time,” Mike said, his sexy voice sounding relaxed. “No filming for the next two days so I’m out in the desert doing time-lapse shots.”
“Sounds interesting,”
“Well, I don’t want to jinx myself, but I’m getting some sweet shots here. Definitely sell-able. But to what do I owe the honor of your call?”
“Professional courtesy,” she blurted before pausing awkwardly.
“Yeah?” he prompted.
“I, uh, was looking through some of your shots on Facebook and found some images that I would like to model pieces after. They won’t be literal, in most cases, but still. I thought it best to ask your permission before moving forward.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m honored. Use whatever you need.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
This was the part where she should say ‘bye’—the end of the professional part of the conversation. And yet she was hesitating.
“How are your pieces coming?” he asked. “You stressing out yet?”
“Not totally,” she said. “I’m probably at about a seven on the stress scale right now. It helps that I’m not short on ideas. The trouble will be editing the options down into a cohesive show.”
Like he cared about that. She was totally rambling.
“Oh, I totally get that,” he said. “That pretty much sums up my daily dilemma: editing six hours of footage into a dynamic thirty-minute video. It can get pretty cutthroat.”
“Indeed,” she said, not envying him. “My cuts won’t be quite so dramatic, but they always sting nonetheless.”
“It sounds like you have a good theme.”
“I think so,” she said, glancing at the sculpture again. “It’s a study in connection.”
“Nice. And ambitious. I look forward to it.”
For a moment she panicked. Mike was going to see the sculpture. And damn if imagining him looking at it didn’t have her turned on all over again. “I hope you like it. It’s a bit different than what I usually do.”
“Different is good.”
“Or a disaster,” she amended. “With art it’s usually one or the other.”
“And either extreme is better than just plain ol’ boring.”