Page 52 of Sight Unseen

Nate had this thing about the artwork, wanting me to grill prospective buyers about any piece I sold. Where did they live? Where would the piece be kept? Would it be showcased or locked in a vault? Did the buyer appreciate the artwork or was this just an investment?

Laughing at his checklist of questions, I’d told him I didn’t get the CIA to check out my buyers but I did my homework. Of course, at the end of the day, cash was cash and with my prices being at the upper end of the market, it was generally accepted the buyers truly wanted what they purchased.

One day when I’d told him a story about an incredible piece of art I’d sold, he’d almost cried from distress. It was a ballerina pirouetting, hands above her head, beautifully crafted and intricate. I’d sold it to some elderly man in the U.K. who’d put the piece in his kitchen, next to a spice rack and what looked like a basket of wilting vegetables. The customer had sent me a proud photo. Nate had been horrified. It hadn’t mattered the guy was as rich as Croesus and an art patron. All that had mattered was that this work was the result of someone’s blood, sweat and tears and the guy had put it next to vegetables. In a kitchen.

“You’re such an art snob, you know that?”

He chuckled. “I guess I am.” He surprised me by lifting his face to me. “Don’t I get a proper hello kiss?”

“God, you are so contrary sometimes,” I grumbled. “When you’re working, you tell me not to interrupt and now you’re asking for a kiss.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s what you love most about me. Shut up and kiss me, damn it.”

I did and for a few moments, life got even rosier. Kissing Nate was always like the first time.

Eventually, we pulled apart. He cupped my face. “Your mom was due to get her test results today.”

I nodded. I’d told him about it days ago and he’d commiserated, kept me strong. The results of the test had been the highlight of my day—apart from coming home to Nate. “Yep. All good. No sign of the big C.”

My mom had broken down on the phone when relaying the good news and I’d cried with her. In the background, I’d heard my dad trying to comfort her in his choked-up voice.

Nate’s smile split his face. “That’s awesome news. I was worried about her. I’ll give her a call later.”

He motioned over to the other side of the studio. “Go take a look over there. I have a surprise for you.”

I looked over to the potter’s wheel to see a lump of clay, a huge bowl of water and various tools all laid out neatly beside it. I squinted, looking past the covered piece of work next to the wheel. The piece Nate was working on that he’d never let me see. He’d been all mysterious about it, saying it was a secret and I’d find out soon enough. I’d never wanted to lift a piece of cloth so badly in my life. I’d been a good boy though—so far.

“You going to work on the wheel today?” I ambled over to the worktop and regarded the implements.

He laughed. “Nope. You are.”

I looked at him in dismay. “What? You know I’m useless at this stuff.”

He huffed. “Cody, dude, you have a Bachelors in Fine Arts. You’ve done practical work like that before, don’t tell me you haven’t.”

I narrowed my eyes, looking at the wheel with suspicion. “Yeah, but I never said I was that good, like you. I got by.”

He stood up and stretched, his clay-spattered tee shirt riding above his flat stomach and showing an expanse of firm, toned skin. I was mesmerized by the thin, dark treasure trail leading down into his gray sweatpants. It looked as if he was going commando. The outline of his resting, half hardened cock lay against his right thigh.

God, the man was trying to kill me slowly.

I cleared my throat and didn’t miss the smirk on his face. The little bastard was messing with me.

“Come on,” Nate wheedled as he moved across the floor. I marveled that he seemed to do it so effortlessly. “Come sit down, and let me reacquaint you with throwing techniques.”

I muttered under my breath but sat down on the stool. Nate stood behind me, warmth radiating off his body.

“So, we’re going to make a bowl. Something you can have your Rice Krispies in or that weird salad stuff you like so much.” He made a gagging sound. Nate wasn’t big on salads or healthy eating.

“That’s kale, you idiot, and it’s good for you. You should eat more of it yourself.”

He sniggered. “Greens are for rabbits. You know me. I like my meat.”

My groin flamed at those sly words, but I chose to ignore them given the current seating arrangement.

He made sure I was situated properly, everything at hand and within reach. Then he stood beside me and gestured.

“Come on, you can’t have forgotten that much about throwing a pot. Pedal to your right, clay in front of you. You’ve done this before. It’s nothing new. I kneaded your clay and warmed it up for you earlier. That’s what boyfriends do.”