"Feeling trapped in a shell, wishing that I could spin the wheels of change."
A shade of blue by Incognito.Chapter 10:
I stand there, facing the front door. My heart pulsates in a disarrayed rhythm, and the unadorned, wooden door has nothing to do with it. It's what lays beyond that does. More like who. I take a few steps forward, and then back, feeling somewhat disinclined. My hand tightens around the paper that possesses his address. I wish he didn't give it to me. I would've found an excuse to bail out; an excuse to feed myself in order to neglect his offer.
But he had to lure me into his den, and I'm only human. I crave the sin.
I knock twice, praying that he doesn't answer. He doesn't, at least for a while, granting me the chance to dash toward the stairs. But then I hear a click followed by a squeak, declaring the unlocking of the door. I freeze for a moment, before I spin to face him, and I wish I didn't. I can't help the breath I instantly suck in, utterly bowled over. He's standing there, leaning sideways against the doorframe, with an impassive look on his cunningly beautiful face.
And shirtless.
I try not to look. I really do, but I can't help it when my eyes wander. He's wearing nothing but a pair of loose fitting jeans, and I can't deny the V that he has. It's cut in a roaring magnificent way. The mass of muscles he has warrants that he has a workout routine that he never blows off. He's not bulky, just rugged and cut in a way that makes mouths go slack and butterflies tango. His ripped six-pack makes my abdomen clench, reminding me of the last stomach workout I have compassed, which happens to be weeks ago. I inwardly cringe, remembering how I used to think that running is too formidable for anyone to handle.
I notice a painting brush in his color-tinged hand. Its bristles are covered with merlot red. I take a deep breath, and look up at him, silently praying that I didn't take long gawking at his drool-worthy body. "Am I interrupting something?" I mentally slap myself when my voice comes out coarse instead of humorous, manifesting how affected I am by his looks.
He totally ignores my question, gazing at me with dark intensity that captures my eyes in a very sizzling eye contact, and it feels like he's stripping my thoughts bare. Was I that obvious? Stupid me.
His dark eyes remain locked with mine for a few seconds before he orders, his voice a bit hoarse. "Come in." Just like that, he swerves and goes back inside, leaving me to follow him.
I don't stay dumbfounded for long, before I descry a lettered tattoo on his shoulder blade. It consists of two lines written in what seems to be Adine Kirnberg. I go after him, squinting to catch what's written, but it's too small for me to read. It reminds me of my constant desire to get a tattoo.
The place doesn't look any better than the last time; in fact, it's the opposite. I screw up my face, biting my tongue to refrain from saying a sardonic comment. Dylan disappears into the hallway and I stand there, pondering whether I should follow him or not, but then recall his sarcastic comment from the previous time and go after him. I don't want to spat with him right now.
I find the door of his painting room open, but I don't find him in it. I wander in, noting a canvas affixed to the stand, and a stool facing it. There's a table beside the stool, with colors mantling its surface. I gape at the new canvas, intently scrutinizing it. A redhead is leaning back against a brick wall, looking aside, as if she were hiding from someone and anticipating their abrupt arrival. Her fiery, red hair is enshrouding her face, but I can sense how hysterical she is.
"It's still unfinished." A deep voice comes from behind me, startling me.
Unfinished? It looks magnificent to me. His hands are made of magic.
YOU ARE READING
Blues
RomanceCandice Woods is not your normal freshman. She's a survivor of a dreadful past that she'll do everything in her power to conceal. Her earthshaking dreams are her motivator, and love is her absolute enemy. Until her life gets turned upside down the m...