Chapter 21

Art was the one thing Calvin could claim for himself. He hated it when he discovered even that was not enough sometimes.

His beer arrived as he worked on the curve of the mouth. The first attempt was too full. It made Matthew look like a girl, and while his lips were as lush—if not more—than most women Calvin knew, there was nothing feminine about the man at all. He took a long sip as he dug around in the bag for his eraser. The bartender cocked an amused brow when he scrubbed the lines away, but Calvin didn’t care. The important thing was to get it right.

The second was still not perfect. The third missed the slight bow to his upper lip. The fourth made Calvin’s hand shake as he set down the pencil to take another swig of his beer. That was the mouth he still remembered kissing. That was the mouth that made his water, even now.