Page 91 of The Art of Us by Symone

An art exhibition? I’m so entering that.

“Anyone interested, submit your pieces starting next Monday. You have only two weeks. Yes, there will be representatives from various college art programs at the exhibit.” More excited giggles ensue.

Oh my gosh! There could be someone from Pratt. I definitely need to land a spot.

Ms. Jung playfully squints while looking around the room as she adds, “This does not mean you get to slack off in class.” She proceeds to discuss the theme for today.

In between painting, my mind wanders to different pieces I could submit for a chance to have my work on display. Whatever I decide, it has to be impeccable.

My delight lingers until after the final period.

I exit the building, only to slow to a stop when my eyes connect with Brandon, propped against the passenger door of his Mercedes, arms folded.

Spittle slides down my throat as I recall what happened with Rajid. I shudder from an impending vengeance.

Continuing over, I pause before Brandon and wait for him to say something.

My brows fly up when his mouth pulls into a smile. “You seemed so excited just now.”

“Oh, Ms. Jung is accepting submissions for her art exhibit next month. I want to enter.”

He nods, features calm. “You should. You’re incredible.”

His compliment prompts a broad smile. “Thank you. There might be someone from Pratt, so I’d like to get their attention.”

“Great idea.”

This side of him surprises me after what happened earlier. Perhaps he’s trying a different approach.

Easing from the car, Brandon opens the door for me. “Let’s head to the guest house. Get you started on something to submit.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

Brandon leaves school soon after.

“I’ll order takeout if you’re hungry,” he says in the sweetest way, flashing a smile.

“Oh, okay.” I squirm in the seat, becoming uneasy. I’m not used to him being like that.

Pulling into his family’s property several minutes later, Brandon parks in the massive garage, and we head to the guest house.

The entire time he’s walking behind me, I feel a scorching need for him to touch me.

He remains quiet as we enter, and I place my backpack on the white sofa before continuing to the room where my easel awaits.

The second I step inside, Brandon grips my neck from behind.

My eyes bulge in shock.

Ragged gasps rush from my lips.

He presses me against the wall and growls at my ear, “You think you can defy me and get away with it?”

I quiver, but not from fear, out of excitement.

Holy shit! I’m truly not well.

Hand still at my throat, Brandon parts my legs with his knee. “Don’t move your hands,” he orders.

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