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“That’s your stuff over there?”
Considering he wanted quiet when I came in here, he wasn’t giving me that now.
I stayed quiet, and eventually, he got up, coming over. I wouldn’t break my concentration for him, so I did what I could to forget he hovered.
I was working on the fifth piece of my series, and he watched me pull up a stool and get back into it. I liked to paint space, galaxies in particular.
“You’re pretty good.” He all but grumbled it. “Actually, very good.”
I’d say thanks, but I ended up shaking my head. “Any reason I’ve never seen you in any of the art classes?”
He studied my hand stroke across the canvas. “Yes.”
Elusive much? “And that reason would be…?”
It was as if I hadn’t spoken, and the way he watched me paint, intense like he was trying to dissect the work itself, I wondered for a second if he had. He braced his arm. “I find them stifling. I don’t want to do shit because people tell me to do shit.” He shrugged. “I feel it’s a waste of time.”
“How do you learn, then?”
“I make my way.” Smirking, he looked at me. “I’ve studied art for what feels like my whole life. Just not from these basic-ass art teachers.”
I laughed at what he said, and probably the only reason I didn’t find the teachers here sniffling was because I hadn’t had such resources before. Half the schools I’d been to didn’t even have art programs.
This was all a new world for me, but obviously not for this guy. Rich, he’d probably studied with the best. Especially if he’d been doing it his whole life.
“I’ve learned the most from my dad,” he said, glancing my way again. “He’s quite prolific. He owns half the art galleries in town.”
More nuggets of surprising information from who was truly the worst out of all the Legacy boys. Over the weeks I’d been here, I’d been able to find some common ground with Thatcher and Wells. Of course, Dorian had been a more difficult case, but Ares had been completely hopeless. The way Ares and I had met set the foundation for nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred on both our parts.
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “He as much of a delight as you are?”
This quirked a small but genuine smile to his lips, and I nearly fell off my chair. Ares Mallick smiled at me. Chuckling, he tugged his hood down more over his curls.
“Everyone loves my father,” he said. “He’s a good man. A kind man.” His head tilted. “I’m sure even you’d love him.”
“Why even me?”
His grin widened. “After all, you’re as much of a delight as I am.”
That had me laughing, and go figure, laughing with this guy.
He continued to watch, and I noticed his sketchpad at his side. I stopped painting. “Can I see what you do?”
Eyeing me, he took a beat, but eventually, he raised it for me to see. I might have hit a nerve there. Artists could be touchy about showing their work, and this guy was nothing but a loose cannon anyway.
And had absolutely no reason to be.
Cars. He liked to sketch cars, boats. He even had a few motorcycles.
“I do some designing,” he said. He shifted on his shoes. “Actually, yeah. Designing. It’s my thing.”
Puffing up, he was kind of looking uncomfortable talking about it or at least showing me. Again, he was an artist, so I got that.
“These are good,” I said, no lie there. They were fabulous and so realistic. He had people in his sketchpad too, portraits. I turned the page, hoping to see more of them. Mallick surprisingly had an eye for realism I’d never seen before.
