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“Exams are still well over a month away.” I laugh, adjusting the strap on my bag to stop the fabric from cutting too harshly into my shoulder. “But sure. I need to drown my sorrows.”
“Maybe we can find you someone even sexier than Finn, hmm?” She wiggles her brows until I laugh.
“Oh, to see someone even more attractive than him? In the same city? Doubtful.”
Ana rolls her eyes while I step away to pick up our coffees, then I hand hers over and lap once at the whipped cream on my drink.
“Shit.” Ana glances back at her phone. “I have to get to my next class. You gonna be alright by yourself?”
“Sure.” I nod. “I’ll swing by the Art Department and see how Meghan is getting on. Maybe we can grab some lunch or something.”
“Lucky, okay, I’ll catch you later, babe. Thanks for the coffee!” A swift peck on the cheek and Ana darts across the courtyard toward her next building. I decided to take my time since Meghan’s classes tend to go on a lot longer than my own lectures.
Wandering through the courtyard, I slowly drink my coffee and lazily make my way toward the Art Department while running Finn over in my mind. I dressed myself up today for him, but his reaction was eye-opening. Maybe I read too much into touches and glances that were nothing more than a teacher being respectful. I let myself get carried away.
Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but the idea of an older man nestled in my mind years ago, and the first time I saw him…he was perfect.
Everything I ever could have dreamed. Then again, someone like Finn surely deserves a gorgeous, confident woman and not an over-eager twenty-two-year-old.
By the time I reach the art studio, I’ve pushed Finn from my mind and my thoughts turn to lunch. Shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other, I knock gently on the wooden door that sits ajar, and peer inside.
Meghan’s name rests on my tongue but the words don’t make it past my lips.
Inside the art studio, I glimpse a man.
He sits by the pottery wheel, barefoot and topless, with dark blue jeans clinging to clearly muscular legs. His golden skin gleams against the sunlight streaming in the large bay windows, and his shoulder-length, thick silver hair catches the same rays, looking almost translucent.
Soft humming rises from him as his large hands stroke and caress the lump of clay in his hands. I can’t tell what he’s trying to make but honestly, I don’t care. He’s absolutely stunning. Slowly walking closer, the mass of dark ink across his left shoulder becomes clearer. A giant eagle perches on his shoulder, with the wings sweeping down his bicep. By the time it reaches his forearm, it’s melted into vines covered in gorgeous flowers that bloom down to his wrist.
The eagle’s other wing stretches across his back to his right shoulder, where it joins with a half-finished design. An octopus, if I had to take a guess.
The floor creaks under my boots and warmth flushes across the back of my neck. He looks up, crystal blue eyes locking onto mine and then a wide, pleasant smile stretches across his handsome face.
My heart flutters.
Holy shit. This man is stunning.
“Hi.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.
His foot doesn’t pause on the pedal as he works with the clay, but his eyes stay on me. They wander slowly down my body, chasing a rush of heat that sweeps across my skin. When he looks back into my eyes, there’s an odd feeling that he’s seen so much more of me than the clothes on my back.
“Well, hello.” His voice is deep, with a slight rasp at the end of his sentence. Goosebumps rush down my arms and I clutch my hands together in front of my abdomen.
“What are you making?”
He glances down at the clay in his hands, then back at me. “I’m not sure yet. Whatever it wants to be made into.”
“The clay tells you what it wants?” I walk closer, stopping just on the edge of the clay splatter that coats the floor around the pottery wheel. Who is this man, and why has Meghan never told me someone so attractive was in her class?
“In a way. You can’t force the clay to be something it’s not. You have to coax her. Whisper to her. Make her trust you and follow her curves like she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever had the pleasure of caressing.”
The clay molds around his hands, stretching up into a long tube. As it thins out, the edges start to fold in on themselves but he’s there to catch them. With a slow, sensual stroke of his thumb, he catches the curling edges and smoothes them back into place.
His eyes never leave me. The heat of his gaze forces me to stay rooted to the spot and I feel entirely on display.
“You’d know all about that, I’m sure,” he says.
“Oh no.” I shake my head and a shy laugh bubbles up. “I’ve never made pottery before.”
