Those Cold Eyes ✓

Chapter 12

Dylan's POV

My new plan of ignoring the Zach didn't turn out all too successful. Perhaps it would have worked if I had been able to decide over matters myself, but Ms. Demet had other plans. Art class turned into a disaster.

"You will be working on a project together with your bench partner until Friday," she chirped, perfectly aware of the grumbling reaction she got from the students. She enjoyed messing with her students, I'd noticed. I sighed and looked over at Zach, knowing that I might as well get it over with. Moping and complaining wouldn't work. Ignoring him wouldn't work. Instead, I put my most utilized defense system into action: sarcasm and general obnoxiousness. It felt wrong to treat him like that, but it was even worse to show him how vulnerable he made me.

I couldn't afford to be vulnerable.

Ms. Demet moved between the tables. "You will get a large canvas, and the point of this is that you will come up with a joint idea of what to paint. Merge your talents, bring out the best of each other." She smiled brightly. "The theme is relations, which you can interpret freely. Now, get going." She finished with two firm hand claps.

This was just getting better and better. In truth, I wanted to run away and hide, but I refused to back down. I wouldn't let this get to me. I was a happy guy, not some teary little baby boy. That thought got me an idea. I was going to make him so wonderfully uncomfortable, and I would smile throughout the torture. I knew I wasn't nice, but I didn't care. This was for my own sanity which I valued a great deal more than Zach.

"Hey babe, what do you want to paint?" I asked, staring at him with a mock-sweet expression.

I held off an approaching laughter as I saw him look at me with horror in his eyes, eyebrows reaching for the ceiling. I'd never seen him react in such a violent manner before. It gave me power over him, and even though I knew it was wrong to crave such a thing, it felt vital at this point. If I didn't get the upper hand, my destruction was imminent. My heart was too invested, but it was a poisonous reality-one that I had to divert.

"Shut up," he said, his voice cold but also strained, like he was fighting for the words to reach from his throat. Despite my newfound conviction of ignoring my emotions for him, the cold tone made my chest ache uncomfortably.

"Oh, I like it when you're dominant..." I countered, ignoring the pain inside of me.

His eyebrows rose again, then he almost threw himself away from the table, letting the chair clatter to the floor behind him. The room silenced as he went over to the shelves hanging on the far wall to retrieve the supplies we needed. The buzz rose from the silence as he made his way back and sat down next to me.

"So, dominant you say..." he said, drawing out the words seductively, making my heart speed up inside my chest. "Which colors do you want to use? Red?" His words sent jolts of electricity throughout my trembling body. His face, his words, everything took me completely by surprise, and I realized that he had turned my strategy against me. I could be the one losing this game. Fuck!

I tried to suppress it, I tried to turn it into something else, anything else than this ridiculous crush for the guy. I pulled my walls up, excruciatingly slow, but I did it. I did it and I smirked, determined once again to win this-whatever it was.

"Oh, red sounds perfect!" I replied, letting my voice drop into a husky tone.

He pushed out a little of the red color onto the palette, took hold of a delicate brush and dipped it into the deep red acryl. I watched him swirl it, then I followed it as it slowly came closer and closer to me. I broke my stare, instead getting caught in his cold eyes, completely mesmerized. I felt the brush touch my lower lip, the color cool against it. I wanted to groan at the sensual feeling-a feeling that resonated through my body all the way down to my crotch.