He produced maybe six pieces a year, which should have been career suicide. However, for some reason with his art, rarity fueled demand. I had no idea...that he lived practically across the road from me. I'll bet nobody but his agent knew his address. He lifted my cup. "Sugar? Milk?" "Neither." He handed me my coffee. His finger brushed mine and it sent a tingle up my arm. He laid out butter for the scones on a little dish. And perfect yellow napkins, like he was expecting a garden party. They. I jokingly offered, in pure jest, but they both wanted to practice on me. Meghan always liked how strong I was, having played football and working out five days a week still. I went along with their gestures, and accepted to be their guinea pig in class. I had to strip down to my boxers, and I couldn’t help but wonder what Meghan was thinking. She kept glancing at me and smiling. Her perfect smile and beautiful eyes would melt me, every time. I had them over for dinner at least once a week. I. More

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