Chapter 5
Alex
Alonzo’s eyes fall on me as I walk into the classroom.
Does he recognize me from Jacob’s club?
The classroom is tall and wide. The walls are lined with large cabinets and floating cupboards, some without doors, revealing bins of new and used art materials: brushes, paints, and towels stained with paint.
Workstations are scattered throughout the room. Each workstation has an easel on wheels and a stool. Thick sheets of white paper are already set up on the easels.
In my business classes, I usually sit in the middle or the back of the room because I don’t like to draw too much attention to myself from professors and classmates. I’m perfectly content with coasting with B’s so long as I learn the material.
But I’m not here to learn. I’m here to get Alonzo’s attention.
I walk past a few workstations and go to the one closest to the front desk, which I assume belongs to Alonzo. Isabella follows close behind me. She sits at the station next to mine, which doesn’t surprise me. She seems the type to sit at the front and answer every question. Good for her for getting her money’s worth. College is expensive.
Looking over my shoulder at the students behind me makes me feel queasy. My crappy drawings will be visible to the entire class.
“Is everything okay?” Isabella whispers. She looks over at me with a concerned face.
“Yeah, I’m good. It’s a bit intimidating sitting all the way to the front. My art skills are basically nonexistent.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “Yeah, there are snobby art students here who have drawn all their lives, but most art majors are pretty supportive of each other. Plus, I got your back.”
“Thanks,” I smile.
A few minutes later, the classroom door closes and Alonzo paces to his desk. The classroom quiets down. The only sounds we hear are his dress shoes on the floor, echoing throughout the tall room. As Alonzo strolls to his desk, a small part of me wishes he would turn and look in my direction for at least a nano-second.
He doesn’t.
This is my first art class in college, so I don’t know how the typical art professor dresses, but I’m confident it’s not like Alonzo. He’s dressed like he’s on his way to a nightclub or somebody’s wedding.
He removes his suit jacket and folds it neatly on the desk. The top buttons of his button-up shirt are undone, revealing tan skin and a bit of ink.
He rolls up his sleeves, revealing more ink on his arms. I hear a few whispers behind me, but they quickly fizzle when Alonzo looks up at us.
“Today will be a short class,” he says. “I will cover the syllabus, then we will draw for twenty minutes. I want to gauge your current skills.”
Shit .
I survey the room. The men are sitting up straight in their seats, their eyes wide open as if they’re in a room with a lion. The women fix their eyes on Alonzo, following his every movement, their lips wet with desire for him. It’s like they’re hungry lionesses praying on a gazelle.
Isabella said Alonzo has a reputation with the girls. I can see why. If you put a hot, tatted mafia man in a class full of young college girls, well, what other result is there? Of course he’ll devour them whole, both metaphorically and literally.
I guess Jacob is right about Alonzo. He’s a pervert, which means it will be easy to seduce him.
Will it, though ?
I’ve never had to seduce somebody like him before. He’s not like any guy I’ve hooked up with before. He’s in a whole different league and he knows it.
Alonzo walks confidently around the room as he reviews the syllabus and the expected coursework for the semester. There are many projects throughout the semester, and a large one at the end that counts as the final exam grade. By the time he’s done reviewing the syllabus, I’m overwhelmed by everything we’ll have to do in class.
Put me in a boring class and give me a laundry list of business terms and I’ll be just fine. But this is something else.
“Are there any questions regarding the syllabus?” Alonzo asks.
As he’s answering questions, I can’t help but wonder what his life was like as a mafia enforcer. He probably hurt people at some point.
The man standing in front of the class certainly has a dangerous aura, but is he really a killer like Jacob says? He plays the role of a normal professor just fine.
After he answers all the questions, he tells us it’s time for the drawing portion of the class. He looks at his watch and the door. “He should have been here by now,” he says in a low voice.
With a sigh, he walks to the door and pokes his head out into the hallway. He then looks at his watch again and walks to his desk.
“It looks like my TA is MIA,” he says. “It’s a nice day out today, so I don’t feel like waiting for him. He was supposed to be your human model for the day, but I guess that will have to be me instead.”
Behind me, soft whispers fill the classroom as Alonzo undoes the buttons of his shirt. If I can hear the whispers, I’m sure he can, too. He doesn’t seem to pay attention to them. He peals off the button-up shirt, revealing a tight muscle shirt underneath.
The whispers turn into gasps and excited mumblings when Alonzo reveals his muscular arms. Even I, who frequently see tatted men at The Den, am taken aback by the amount of ink on Alonzo’s arms. He really is who Jacob says he is!
Alonzo folds his white button-up shirt and places it on the desk next to his jacket. He then walks to the front of the class. Even though he’s not reacting to the constant female whispers, I’m sure he is enjoying every second of it. He is hot, and he knows it. For all I know, he manufactured this exact moment. There is no missing TA. He just wants to show off his body to the highly impressionable college girls.
When I realize Alonzo isn’t taking any more clothes off, I feel a slight disappointment. I was eager to see more of this man.
Oh, God. Am I one of those impressionable college girls?
“The drawings don’t have to be perfect. They won’t even count for a grade,” Alonzo explains. “I just want to see your current skills.”
He grabs a stool and leans back against it.
“I’m setting up a timer.” He types something into his phone, puts it in his pocket, and rests his muscular arms on his lap. “You have twenty minutes. Get started.”
The sound of pencils on paper and scribbles fill the air, but I do not know how to start my drawing. The white, empty sheet is paralyzing.
I check to see what Isabella is doing. She’s drawing Alonzo’s chest, making soft lines along the outline of his pecs, which show through his tight muscle shirt. She is working her way up to his neck and jawline.
I follow along with her, copying every line she draws as closely as possible. After a few minutes of sketching, I take a step back to look at the drawing as a whole.
It. Is. Shit.
A deformed alien dominates the center of my page, with disproportionate arms and head. Glancing behind me, I almost melt from the embarrassment. Luckily, everybody is focused on their own work.
I erase the drawing and start over. This time, instead of following along with Isabella’s drawing, I go at it on my own, studying Alonzo’s body as I move the pencil on paper.
Even though he is muscular with broad shoulders, his overall physique is thin, especially at his waist. My eyes keep visiting his upper chest, traveling down the length of his tatted muscular arms and big hands. Heat pools between my legs, and my fingertips begin to sweat.
My eyes continue their path along his body. They land on his chest again, then travel up to his neck, past his strong jawline, and finally land on his dark eyes.
I swallow hard.
His face is turned to his desk, showing only the left side of his face. He looks straight ahead, which gives me the guts to stare at his handsome face for longer than I would have if he were facing me. The more I take him in, the warmer my body feels. It feels like somebody turned off the AC, and the Texas heat is flooding the room.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. It’s dry. No sweat.
Am I imagining things?
As I linger on his face, his eyes suddenly fall onto mine. With a startle, I jump back and trip over my backpack on the floor. A grunt escapes my lips when I land on my ass.
Alonzo jumps out of his seat and rushes to my side. “Are you okay?” He leans down and wraps his arms around me. “Let me help you up.”
“Yes, sorry, I’m fine,” I say as he pulls me up. I’m taken aback when our eyes meet. There’s concern behind his eyes. For a brief moment, I wonder if I’m wrong about him. Are those the eyes of a killer?
If none of the students were looking at me before, they sure are looking at me now.
When I’m back on my feet, Alonzo turns to look at my drawing of him. His lips curl up into a grin.
“It’s not done yet,” I blurt out. For some strange reason, I don’t want him to hate my drawing.
“I sure hope not,” he says. “I’m more than just muscular arms and a face.”
I glance at my drawing again. Yup, that’s all I have drawn so far. The rest of his body is nonexistent.
“Right,” I manage to say.
“What’s your name again?”
“Alexandra. Um, Alex,” I clear my throat. “Alex Walker.”
“Be more careful next time, Ms. Walker,” he says before returning to his former pose in front of the class. He turns his face to the side again, but instead of looking at the desk, he keeps his eyes on mine for what feels like forever.
I take a deep breath and continue the drawing, trying to capture the rest of his body. But no matter how hard I try, my body keeps tensing under his stare.
Why is he looking at me like that? Is he wondering why somebody with the art skills of a four-year-old is in his class?
Or is he eyeing his next plaything of the semester?