WHO? | The Alpha (Book One)

XVIII

George

"Art can be an expression of one's feelings," he says as he walks to the center aisle of the room.

"It can be anything..." he gestures his hand and walks back to his table.

"Lonesome, happiness, anger–"

"Love," Bianca blurts out.

Jared looks at me. I quickly look away.

"Yes," he slowly says. "Even love." he clears his throat.

"Oooohhh," Shane whispers and pinches my arm.

I quickly glare at her.

He walks to the right side of the room.

"It can be everywhere as well," he continues.

I watch him once again to show him that I'm listening. He leans his back against the closed door and faces my direction.

"Those billboards, the cover of your notebooks, your clothes..."

Clothes.

His navy blue dress shirt is stretched at his broad shoulders and is tucked in black slacks. He folds his arms over his chest. 

"Right?" he asks.

"Yes, Sir," everyone answers.

I frown and whisper at Shane, "What did he say?"

"He said his students shouldn't be distracted by his gorgeous looks," she whispers back without bothering to glance at me.

I roll my eyes.

Look who's talking.

'No, honey. You didn't say it out loud.'

My eyes widen.

Did he hear us?

"Damn it," I mutter.

"As I said at our first meeting, we have once a week. Four hours a day of pure art and self-improvement," he says.

I am in shock when I see him standing in front of me. He is extremely close to me. His manly scent lingers in my nose.

"Now," he rests his hands on my drawing table. "Our first activity—"