Forbidden Fruit (7 page)

"What, you aren't drooling over the new guy?" Eric said bitterly. His sandy blond head, crispy with gel, hung low today. He was ordinarily the most popular guy in school.

I just shrugged, "I don't drool over anyone." That earned a slight grin from him.

Bailey came to sit next to me after tearing herself away from the crowd. She could never resist anything even remotely exciting. She parked herself in the chair and planted a kiss on Eric’s cheek. They entered into a conversation about the next party he was going to have, which seemed to lift his spirits. I found myself glancing over to Michael’s table.

I stopped breathing. He was staring openly at me. He had to look past at least ten girls, to maintain his focus on me. It was unfathomable! Why would he be interested in me when every girl in our class, strike that, our entire school, was up for grabs.

Lacy followed his gaze and then pursed her lips. I looked away from both of them, trying to diffuse the potential war that would be inevitable if I stepped in her way. The next thing I heard was a loud thud and several gasps. I twisted back around to see Lacy on the floor holding her ankle, and her books scattered across the hardwood floor.

As everyone frenzied around her, she looked directly at Michael and asked, "Can someone please help me to the nurse?" She put on her perfected puppy-dog face no one could resist.

Everyone looked at Michael expectantly. There was a twitch in his jaw so slight that I may have imagined it. Then he stood up and scooped her off the floor. She dramatically threw her arms around his neck saying, "Thank you so much!"

As he carried her out of the dining hall, I saw her lay her head on his shoulder.

I cringed inside.

My last class for the day was fine arts, my favorite. There was something about having a brush in my hand and creating something on canvas that made all my worries disappear. It was the painkiller that got me through my parents’ deaths.

Mrs. Wood gave her usual pre-class lecture, which was more of an inspirational speech. Then she directed us to continue working on our landscape paintings. Just as I cleared a spot for my work, a tall, dark, and lethally sexy guy walked into the room. It was Michael, again. He was in
all
my classes. Really, what were the odds?

She exchanged a few words with him and then brought him to my table. There were only three of us at the four-person table, conveniently the only table with an open seat. It would seem the universe was trying to shove him in my face. The two other guys who shared my table only really spoke to each other, and I’m almost positive they batted for the other team.

Michael smiled when she introduced us. He inclined his head, "Lily."

I loved the way he said my name, it rolled off his tongue like the juices from an exotic fruit, in a deep, almost raspy voice.

"Nice to meet you," I barely spoke, blushing.

In a singsong voice, Mrs. Wood asked, "Lily, do you mind explaining to Michael what we are doing and showing him where all the supplies are?" Mrs. Wood was a strange, very spacey lady with wild, frizzy, salt and pepper hair.

"Sure," I said, clearing my throat. She walked away and left us alone.

Michael stood in front of me, patiently waiting for directions I supposed. "Um..." I looked around trying to think of what to show him first and trying not to make a fool of myself. "Well, we have been working on our landscape paintings using acrylics."

Michael just stared at me, with an expression that was hard to identify. He gave away nothing on his face but passive attention, yet I swear I saw something of humor in his eyes. What could possibly be funny? Oh yeah, my stumbling for words around him.

"You can choose anything, it just has to have a sky and a ground," I explained. I was getting nervous under the scrutiny of his gaze. He had yet to say a single word since my name, though it felt like we were having a conversation with our eyes. He stared deep into mine as if he was trying to say something. Or maybe I was reading way too far into things. I glanced away, unable to bear the weight of his stare without snapping and doing something that would surely embarrassed me, like jumping in his arms.

I waved a hand at my painting to get him to look at something other than me. "We've been working on layering. I’ve spent so much time on my clouds, I have nothing on my ground, as you can see," I said with a breathless laugh. Oxygen seemed to be in short supply when he was near.

I got a grin out of him then. It was slight, but it was there. He was so beautiful with tanned skin and dimples, yet he was also insanely masculine, a combination that I would have thought impossible until I met him.

I felt on the verge of a train wreck so I coached myself internally to just keep things moving. I tried to put one foot in front of the other and showed him where the materials were.

"Over here are the supplies," I said as I stalked toward the back wall.

He followed in silence.

"Here are the brushes...acrylics...knives...palette..." I pointed as I went along. "And here are the easels. We have to use the table top ones because we don't have much room in here." That little tidbit of information was completely useless. Why did I say that?

He just stood there in silence, watching me and listening to my ramble. I wanted to hear him speak again so I asked him a question. "Have you painted much?"

I waited anxiously to hear that attractive voice.

He never took his eyes from mine as he answered, "Here and there."

I wanted more. "So, where are you from?" I pried.

I thought I saw amusement in his eyes again as he said, "I move around a lot."

So that was it, I thought, he was going to play this game with everyone. Either not say anything at all or give short, vague answers. I could take a hint. If someone doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to him. I finalized my tour with, "Okay, well let me know if you need to find anything else."

I walked away from him, snagging my apron and painting supplies.

I tried to paint something on my ground that day, but I couldn't. It was like I had a complete mental block and couldn't think of what to paint. That had never happened to me before. It seemed the simple interaction with the new guy had me absolutely disheveled. What was it about him that did this to me? Besides his incredible hotness and his exotic vibe, he was mysterious. I had no idea that was such a turn on for me.

I didn't look across the table at him the rest of the class, which was a nearly impossible feat because I could feel his eyes on me frequently.

When there were five minutes left in class, Mrs. Wood called for everyone to clean their spaces. As students moved around the room, I noticed several people crowding around Michael's painting. Mrs. Wood floated over to see what was so interesting. When she laid eyes on his painting, she gave a little pant and covered her mouth in shock. Curiosity overrode my pride, and I walked around the table to see for myself.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. On his canvas, was a completed painting of a garden with wildly colored flowers that seemed to come alive with a breeze. The shading and light of his colors cast the most realistic looking painting I had ever seen. It was hypnotic. How could anyone create that in one class session?

I stared at his painting with amazement. He would put the world's greatest artists to shame. I heard several people complimenting him, but I couldn’t tell you who, because I was so enthralled with the picture. It resonated something familiar in my memory, though I knew no place like that has ever been a part of this world. The colors were so lively, so very much like the dream I had just the other night.

The colors were brilliant. I stole a peek at his palette to see how he mixed them. I found neat little circles that were oddly clean. They looked like they were freshly squeezed from their tubes. There was no way a brush had run through any of them.

That’s when I noticed his brushes. Not one of them had paint on them. My eyebrows furrowed.

I looked at Michael automatically, trying to figure out what was going on. When he met my confused gape, his expression changed at once. It went from the passive face he had been wearing all day to an almost afraid look. Almost. I had the strange impression he could tell exactly what I was thinking. But that couldn’t be possible.

Then he looked down at his palette. I followed his gaze.

What I saw made my stomach flip. The clean circles of paint had become messy, and the brushes had paint on them. I stared at them for a minute, trying to figure out what just happened. Was I seeing things? No. I know I saw the paint and brushes completely different just a moment ago. But no one else seemed to notice anything wrong, so maybe I was mistaken.

What in the hell is going on with me?

I started to feel a little uncomfortable, stepping away, as Michael kept staring at me, more and more seriously. There was something like worry in his eyes, or was it curiosity? He was difficult to read.

The bell rang and Mrs. Wood jumped. "Clean up, clean up, quickly," she called, completely distracted.

I tore myself away from the painting and walked over to the sink area to clean my brushes and palette, in a complete daze. Trying to piece together and make sense of what I just saw, I went over the details in my head several times. It seemed the only explanation of what I saw was that I didn't actually see what I thought, which was very frustrating.

I left the class without another glace at Michael and swiftly walked to my locker. I sorted through what books I needed to take home that night and stuffed them in my bag. I shut the locker door and jumped.

"Whoa, didn't mean to scare you!" Jason was leaning against the locker next to mine, with creepy Derrick loitering a few feet away, staring at me of course.

I still had my hand on my heart when I sighed and closed my eyes. I really needed to get a grip, but it wasn’t easy calming my nerves when Derrick looked at me with the dark indifference of either making me his pet or creating a dress out of my skin. I shook my head of all thoughts and just smiled, "It’s okay."

"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine, thanks." I cut him off with more attitude than I intended.

He grinned at me and then stepped a little closer. He took my hands in his and said, "Listen, I'm sorry about leaving like that Saturday night...I forgot about something I had to do for my parents, and they would have killed me if I didn't do it."

Another evasive response. ‘I forgot about something I had to do.’ Was I going to get a straight response from any guy at this school? I could feel myself becoming irate.

He leaned close to my face and gave me an adorably apologetic face, "You forgive me?" At that moment, he glanced behind me and grinned. I figured he was likely getting props from his friends.

"I don't know..." I answered honestly, trying to ignore Derrick’s presence. I had too much on my mind. I couldn’t even remember why exactly I was mad at him.

He brought both of my hands up to his face and planted a kiss on each, "Can I make it up to you tonight?"

That time I caught him glancing behind me in the same way, yet with a more devious expression. I studied his face for a second and thought there was definitely something of a challenge there. I spun around and saw…Michael.

He looked terrifying.

If looks could kill, Jason would be dead where he stood. All six foot, four inches of Michael’s body was steaming with testosterone, aggression noticeably rolling off him in threatening waves. The sexiest guy I had ever seen was now also the scariest.

An overwhelming urge to run, had me immediately backing away from Jason. I jerked my hands back. "I have to go."

I walked away from the pissing match, heading straight for my car. I didn't know what had just happened, but it was clear to me that something was going on between Michael and Jason, and I wanted no part in it.

When I came home, the house was empty and a note from Rose was on the kitchen table. I opened the little pink envelope and pulled out a delicate sheet of pressed flower paper.

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. She was a woman who loved to be pampered and from the sound of it, her new boyfriend was doing just that. I folded the note closed and strolled into the foyer. Rose had hung the painting in the perfect spot. The afternoon sun from the windows flanking the front door spilled a soft blanket of light onto the dark city, illuminating the street lamps in the painting.