She eyed him curiously. His clothes were crisp and clean, an expensive watch on his wrist. “You don’t look like a construction worker.”
He smiled. “No, I’m more of the supervising type. I don’t like getting my hands dirty if I don’t have to.”
Haven loosened up as they walked. He offered to carry her things and waited as she dropped off the books at the library before asking again if he could walk her home.
“Why?” she asked, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the New York Public Library. People walked around them, casting glares for being in the way, but she wasn’t budging. Not until he answered.
“Didn’t you already ask me that?”
“Yes, but . . .” She paused. “You’re being nice. People just aren’t nice like that unless they want something.”
“I am,” he said. “I do want something, though.”
Haven’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“To get to know you.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
He was being evasive, answering a question with a question. Haven stiffened. “You’re not the police, are you? You have to tell me if you are.”
He stared at her with surprise. “No, I don’t. Or, well, they don’t. Who told you that?”
“A friend.”
“Well, they’re wrong. The police can legally lie to you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you’re one?”
He burst into laughter, so loud it seemed to bounce off the surrounding buildings, startling people walking past. “Most girls would be worried a guy is a serial killer or something.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not the police, either. I told you—I’m in construction.”
’s brow furrowed. “Does what?”
“That’s it. Keep it up, guys. This is exactly what I like to see—your creativity exploding onto the canvas as I help you reach your peak.”
Kelsey coughed loudly, trying to hide another laugh, but others in the class were less successful at containing themselves. The professor didn’t notice, though, or if she did, she didn’t react.
“Art’s personal. It’s just you and your tools, making something out of nothing. It’s a sensual process. You’re creating love.”
“Yeah, definitely on purpose,” Kelsey said. “Miss Michaels is freaky-deaky.”
Haven felt the blood rush to her cheeks when she realized what the fuss was about. She dropped her paintbrush and stared at the random shapes and patterns on her canvas, everything suddenly looking sexualized.
“Beautiful work, Hayden. Absolutely stunning.”
Haven smiled softly, her blush deepening as the professor stopped beside her station. “Thank you.”
“It’s truly my pleasure.”