a singsong voice, Mrs. Wood asked, "Lily, do you mind explaining to Michael what we are doing and showing him where all the supplies are?" Mrs. Wood was a strange, very spacey lady with wild, frizzy, salt and pepper hair.
"Sure," I said, clearing my throat. She walked away and left us alone.
Michael stood in front of me, patiently waiting for directions I supposed. "Um..." I looked around trying to think of what to show him first and trying not to make a fool of myself. "Well, we have been working on our landscape paintings using acrylics."
Michael just stared at me, with an expression that was hard to identify. He gave away nothing on his face but passive attention, yet I swear I saw something of humor in his eyes. What could possibly be funny? Oh yeah, my stumbling for words around him.
"You can choose anything, it just has to have a sky and a ground," I explained. I was getting nervous under the scrutiny of his gaze. He had yet to say a single word since my name, though it felt like we were having a conversation with our eyes. He stared deep into mine as if he was trying to say something. Or maybe I was reading way too far into things. I glanced away, unable to bear the weight of his stare without snapping and doing something that would surely embarrassed me, like jumping in his arms.
I waved a hand at my painting to get him to look at something other than me. "We've been working on layering. I’ve spent so much time on my clouds, I have nothing on my ground, as you can see," I said with a breathless laugh. Oxygen seemed to be in short supply when he was near.
I got a grin out of him then. It was slight, but it was there. He was so beautiful with tanned skin and dimples, yet he was also insanely masculine, a combination that I would have thought impossible until I met him.
I felt on the verge of a train wreck so I coached myself internally to just keep things moving. I tried to put one foot in front of the other and showed him where the materials were.
"Over here are the supplies," I said as I stalked toward the back wall.
He followed in silence.
"Here are the brushes...acrylics...knives...palette..." I pointed as I went along. "And here are the easels. We have to use the table top ones because we don't have much room in here." That little tidbit of information was completely useless. Why did I say that?
He just stood there in silence, watching me and listening to my ramble. I wanted to hear him speak again so I asked him a question. "Have you painted much?"
I waited anxiously to hear that attractive voice.
He never took his eyes from mine as he answered, "Here and there."
I wanted more. "So, where are you from?" I pried.
I thought I saw amusement in his eyes again as he said, "I move around a lot."
So that was it, I thought, he was going to play this game with everyone. Either not say anything at all or give short, vague answers. I could take a hint. If someone doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to him. I finalized my tour with, "Okay, well let me know if you need to find anything else."
I walked away from him, snagging my apron and painting supplies.
I tried to paint something on my ground that day, but I couldn't. It was like I had a complete mental block and couldn't think of what to paint. That had never happened to me before. It seemed the simple interaction with the new guy had me absolutely disheveled. What was it about him that did this to me? Besides his incredible hotness and his exotic vibe, he was mysterious. I had no idea that was such a turn on for me.
I didn't look across the table at him the rest of the class, which was a nearly impossible feat because I could feel his eyes on me frequently.
When there were five minutes left in class, Mrs. Wood called for everyone to clean their spaces. As students moved around the room, I noticed several people crowding around Michael's painting. Mrs. Wood floated over to see what was so interesting. When she laid eyes on his
"Sure," I said, clearing my throat. She walked away and left us alone.
Michael stood in front of me, patiently waiting for directions I supposed. "Um..." I looked around trying to think of what to show him first and trying not to make a fool of myself. "Well, we have been working on our landscape paintings using acrylics."
Michael just stared at me, with an expression that was hard to identify. He gave away nothing on his face but passive attention, yet I swear I saw something of humor in his eyes. What could possibly be funny? Oh yeah, my stumbling for words around him.
"You can choose anything, it just has to have a sky and a ground," I explained. I was getting nervous under the scrutiny of his gaze. He had yet to say a single word since my name, though it felt like we were having a conversation with our eyes. He stared deep into mine as if he was trying to say something. Or maybe I was reading way too far into things. I glanced away, unable to bear the weight of his stare without snapping and doing something that would surely embarrassed me, like jumping in his arms.
I waved a hand at my painting to get him to look at something other than me. "We've been working on layering. I’ve spent so much time on my clouds, I have nothing on my ground, as you can see," I said with a breathless laugh. Oxygen seemed to be in short supply when he was near.
I got a grin out of him then. It was slight, but it was there. He was so beautiful with tanned skin and dimples, yet he was also insanely masculine, a combination that I would have thought impossible until I met him.
I felt on the verge of a train wreck so I coached myself internally to just keep things moving. I tried to put one foot in front of the other and showed him where the materials were.
"Over here are the supplies," I said as I stalked toward the back wall.
He followed in silence.
"Here are the brushes...acrylics...knives...palette..." I pointed as I went along. "And here are the easels. We have to use the table top ones because we don't have much room in here." That little tidbit of information was completely useless. Why did I say that?
He just stood there in silence, watching me and listening to my ramble. I wanted to hear him speak again so I asked him a question. "Have you painted much?"
I waited anxiously to hear that attractive voice.
He never took his eyes from mine as he answered, "Here and there."
I wanted more. "So, where are you from?" I pried.
I thought I saw amusement in his eyes again as he said, "I move around a lot."
So that was it, I thought, he was going to play this game with everyone. Either not say anything at all or give short, vague answers. I could take a hint. If someone doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to him. I finalized my tour with, "Okay, well let me know if you need to find anything else."
I walked away from him, snagging my apron and painting supplies.
I tried to paint something on my ground that day, but I couldn't. It was like I had a complete mental block and couldn't think of what to paint. That had never happened to me before. It seemed the simple interaction with the new guy had me absolutely disheveled. What was it about him that did this to me? Besides his incredible hotness and his exotic vibe, he was mysterious. I had no idea that was such a turn on for me.
I didn't look across the table at him the rest of the class, which was a nearly impossible feat because I could feel his eyes on me frequently.
When there were five minutes left in class, Mrs. Wood called for everyone to clean their spaces. As students moved around the room, I noticed several people crowding around Michael's painting. Mrs. Wood floated over to see what was so interesting. When she laid eyes on his
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