Page 44 of Heat & Deceit
“You’re good for someone who doesn’t practice much.”
He chuckles. “Well, I have my own studio at home. I only meant I haven’t been to this particular one for a long time. To be honest, this is the most productive I’ve been in a while.”
“Oh. Well, you’re good.”
“Only because I practice so much.” He shrugs, as though it’s not a big deal.
I could assure him that it’s probably more due to the fact that he has a natural talent and eye for design, but that’s engaging with him more than I should.
“Was your sister happy?”
“Huh?”
“With the pills.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, she was really happy.” I pause, one question burning in the back of my mind. “Do you offer pain killers too?”
He frowns. “No, I don’t mess with things like that. I only provide certain types of medication. You’re not looking for something like that, are you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I was only curious.” Because if he did, I wouldn’t be able to buy from him again. There would be too much temptation. “Thanks for this.” I hold up the clay and head back to my station, setting the material aside and grabbing my own headphones. I choose a station at random, and screamed lyrics and heavy music filters through the tiny speakers.
Sighing, I get the wheel and clay prepped, subtly glancing at the alpha as he works. His movements are sure, where mine are hesitant and disjointed. I’ve done this before, but I haven’t perfected my skills. Slowly but surely, the wheel begins to spin, and a somewhat recognizable shape appears, but it’s too wide to be a vase like I’d intended. It’s more like a bowl.
My lips press together and my brow furrows as I try and fail to fix the vase. No amount of shaping or correction is fixing the problem. I smash the piece together with a huff of frustration. I’m not in the studio because I’m good at throwing pottery, but it would be nice to be moderately decent at it. Seeing as the jittery energy I was feeling earlier is gone, I can’t complain too much.
The wheel is still spinning, and I watch the ruined piece go round and round, wondering if I could fling it all the way off and into the trash, since that’s obviously the only suitable place for my failed creation.
Mr. Gray’s dirty apron comes into view in front of me, and my gaze jerks to meet his. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear him over the screamed lyrics. I ease off the wheel and pull out an ear bud.
“What?”
“I was just wondering if you wanted help?”
“No.”
He rears back at the abrupt reply. “Okay.” His forehead crinkles, but he shakes his head. “You’re going too fast. If you slow down a little, it might help.” And with that unsolicited advice, he goes back to his station.
Right where he belongs.
I scowl at his back, squint down at the mess on my wheel, and then stare at him while he starts on a new piece. I said I didn’t want his help, so why did he still offer it? My technique has worked before. Was he watching me work?
That’s rude.
Wait. I’m watching him.
I’m being rude too.
Whatever. Gah, I’m in such a crappy mood. This last week has been the strangest week of my life. Not the worst, obviously, but definitely the strangest.
I insert the earbud again. Dropping my gaze, I start over, smooshing all the clay together and working with my tested methodology. This is how I was taught, and it’s worked before. The alpha can mind his ownI practice a lotbusiness.
Three failed attempts later, I release a soft growl and scoop the clay off the wheel. I march to the trash and throw it away. A startled, “No!” fills the space between songs, and I glance at the alpha, arching an eyebrow.
His eyebrows are pinched together, and his eyes are wide and filled with disbelief.
Sighing, I take out the earbud. “Are you okay?”
Okay, so maybe I’m being a jerk, but I’m tired of dealing with alphas. This studio is almost always empty. He has his own studio. I wish he’d stayed there. Between Javier and Lycus, and now this guy, I’m surrounded.
