Page 9 of Forbidden Hearts

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.

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