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“Yes.”
He let out a laugh, his face lighting up to expose a set of clear, deep dimples. “Gives new meaning to hitting on people, huh?”
She smiled at his joke, grateful that he didn’t seem angry. “I suppose so.”
He started to speak again, but she didn’t give him time. Hearing Kelsey’s laughter in the building behind her, Haven blurted out another quick apology before dodging past the man and into the crowd on the street.
* * *
Painting II, also known as Art from the Heart, had become Haven’s favorite class from the first day of the semester. It was the one hour where she threw caution to the wind and allowed herself to truly feel everything inside of her. There was no pretending. Not when painting.
Soul, the professor had said. And Haven gave it every ounce she had.
“Do you think Miss Michaels gets off on da Vinci?” Kelsey asked on Wednesday as they strolled out of class together. “Maybe The Last Supper is porn to her. She kept gushing about it today.” She paused, crinkling her nose. “Gushing. Gross, now I’m doing it.”
Haven rolled her eyes. “It’s a religious painting. I doubt she finds it erotic.”
“Okay then, Mona Lisa,” Kelsey said. “That’s da Vinci, isn’t it? Or wait, maybe it’s Van Gogh. Picasso?”
“It’s da Vinci,” Haven said. “How are you an art student?”
“Totally other side of the industry,” Kelsey replied. “I design things on a computer, unlike you folks who make love to a canvas.”
“We create love on a canvas.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked dismissively. “Both sound kinky to me.”
Haven shook her head, looking away from her friend as they stepped out of the building. Her eyes immediately locked with a pair of blue ones, the same guy from two days ago. He smiled at her, giving a slight wave, and Haven blushed from the recognition.
“See, I’m right,” Kelsey said, noticing her suddenly flushed cheeks. “All of you artsy fuckers are turned on by it.”
* * *
Friday, when leaving class, the guy was there again, just as he was the following Monday and Wednesday. The cycle continued with curious looks, polite smiles, and subtle waves every other weekday at precisely one o’clock. He was always lingering just outside the building like he was waiting for someone or maybe something.
On Friday two weeks later, Haven was asked to stay after class. The halls were vacant by the time she left, the street clear of students. She walked out of the building as she situated her backpack, her footsteps faltering after a few feet. On the corner, leaning against the building, was the guy once again.
He glanced up as she approached. “Hey there.”
Haven smiled politely. “Hello.”
He pushed away from the wall and stopped in her path. “Remember me?”
“Yes.” Her heart raced at the blunt acknowledgment. She already preferred it when he didn’t say anything. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m honestly really sorry for it. I was in a rush and—”
“Relax,” he said, cutting her off with a laugh. “You just ran off that day before I had a chance to talk to you.”
“Oh.” She eyed him warily. “About what?”
He shrugged. “About anything.”
“Uh, okay.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the air thick with awkwardness. Haven took a step to the side to go around him, but he spoke again before she made it that far. “So, can I walk you to your next class?”
She shook her head. “I’m done for the day.”
He started to reply, but she was gone before he could say anything.
