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"... right?" I growl.
A hush descends upon the studio, dragging on for a heartbeat... then another... His lips twitch, the same time as my eye does.
"HAYDEN!"
I whip around, clutching another fistful of goop. Except, when I twist back, locked and loaded, I find him dashing out the door, his laughter resounding through the hallway.
Two wobbly mugs, one freshly crisp T-shirt, and twenty minutes with no messy mishaps later, I slap another mound in the center of the tray. Hunched over my station, I ease a foot on the pedal, working the clay with intention. Higher and higher, its walls climb, forming the outlines of a mug—one I can envision so clearly in my mind but can never bring to fruition.
Come on, come on...
"Darn it," I hiss below my breath, as a section caves inward, the consequence of weak walls.
Huffing a sigh, I smoosh the clay back into a ball and start over. Even slower this time, I bring the machine up to speed, shaping the mud into a curved dome, before sinking my thumbs through its top. Gradually, that crater spreads, hollowing into a symmetrical cylinder, until—
"Shoot!"
My nail breaks through the clay, splitting right through the wall. Using my shoulder, I sweep a rogue bang away from my face, preparing for another round. Like clockwork, I gather the failed attempt into a mound and set it spinning between my cupped hands, exhaling loudly when my foot doesn't cooperate.
"Need help?" a deep voice murmurs in my ear, over the hum of the potter's wheel. I gasp as Hayden's breath tickles my ear and warmth envelops my backside, spreading to the tips of my toes. I didn't hear his stool roll over here. "Hmm? Or are you too stubborn?"
My jaw drops, tempted by a snarky comment, but I bat it down. "Okay, fine. Maybe I could use a little help..."
"As long as you don't splatter me."
I'm about to giggle, until he reaches around me on both sides, crowding my space even more, before his hands cup the outsides of mine, his strong arms tracing up my own. A tingling sensation blooms out from my center, causing my teeth to sink into my lower lip.
"More speed," he whispers in my ear.
My toes curl as I press firmer on the pedal, spinning the tray faster. His fingers interlock between mine, guiding my hands upwards, adding pressure with a rocking motion, almost as if I'm scooping the clay to its peak. In seconds, a cylinder forms before my eyes, faster and smoother than all my previous attempts.
"Slow down... that's it... just like that."
Curse my dirty mind. Not now!
Trying to ease some tension, I squirm in my chair, but can hardly budge between his hold. Heat floods my face, as his rests above my shoulder, his cheek grazing mine. Brushing his thumbs over mine, he nudges them into the clay.
"Now push two fingers in."
My eyes bulge. Is this for real?!
No, no. I'm just being a perve. This is pottery, I remind myself as I obey—but when I do, he hums in my ear, low and brimming with praise. Swallowing hard, I push the sound from my headspace, focusing on how his thumbs guide mine along the edges, carving a trough out in the mud, while my foot work to his rhythm.
"You're such a quick learner, Jules."
Blood rushes between my thighs.
I'm doomed. My mind's in the gutter.
Soft lips brush my other ear, surging a whole new wave of confusing arousal. "Look at you, needing to wrap both fists around it."
All the air whooshes from my lungs as my foot slips off the pedal, letting the wheel die out on a silent whisper. Did he just...? There's no way I heard that righ—
He snickers.
His name shoots from my lips on a piercing shout as I whirl around and bat him on his apron, earning a string of his laughter. When I catch tears stinging his eyes, I whip back to the table on instinct, making to grab a pile of mud, intending to smear it all over his smug fa—
I freeze halfway on a gasp.
