In His Arms. Yasmin Sullivan Y.

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter 3

      Michelle pulled her satchel from under her chair and starting dropping in her supplies.

      “I’m glad to see that you made it here all right,” Rashad said from the seat next to her.

      “Yes, I did. Thank you very much. Hey,” Michelle said to Rashad. They were both packing up after their second class at the Art League.

      “Yep?”

      “Is it okay if we exchange numbers? Only in case we ever have to miss a class or need a ride or something like that. I wouldn’t pester you.”

      “You could never pester me,” Rashad said. He wrote his numbers on Michelle’s page of notes. “That one’s my cell phone. This is my landline. Call me for anything. And this is my email. I check it all the time. Put yours here—if you’re sure it’s okay.” He held out his notes.

      “Yes, it’s fine. I trust you not to go crazy with my number, but if I catch you putting it on a restroom wall, we’ll fight.”

      He chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.”

      Rashad turned back to his portfolio and opened to a page. “Look at this. With all the design classes I’ve taken, I’ve never learned this trick.”

      Michelle looked at the abstract of an apple running.

      “That’s wonderful. You’re already an artist.”

      “Not yet, love. Let’s just say I’m working in my field. Let’s see one of yours.”

      Michelle was hesitant but opened her portfolio to one of their assignments. It was a cubist form of a female nude against a brick wall.

      “Wow. You’re already an artist, too.”

      “Not yet, but I’m trying. I think this one will look good with color. I’m going to paint it over the weekend and see if I can link it to a women’s organization or something. Maybe they’ll want it, and that way I might be able to put it in my portfolio.”

      “I’m sure they will want it. It’s beautiful, and I can already see it with color.”

      “I want to use various shades on the body—like a representation of multicultural women uniting or something like that. And— Never mind. I’m just yammering on.”

      “No, don’t stop. I like it when you’re excited about something,” Rashad said. “I want to hear more, but everyone’s leaving. Hey, do you have half an hour? We can stow supplies in my car and walk along the waterfront so that we can talk a little more. If not, I understand. Your son’s waiting.”

      “No, I can stay for a while. Let me just check on the little one and update them that I’ll be running late. I’ll be back here in two minutes.”

      Michelle headed to the restroom to make her phone call and found that she was as excited about the prospect of walking along the waterfront with Rashad as she was about finishing her piece and, she hoped, getting it accepted somewhere.

      “Hey, honey. It’s Mommy....I know. I’ll be on my way soon....You let Mrs. Miller put you to sleep now, and I’ll carry you home when I get there. And brush your teeth well, young man....Let me talk to Mrs. Miller.”

      Mrs. Miller was fine keeping Andre for an extra half hour, so the night was set. Michelle found herself checking her hair in the mirror and applying more lipstick. Yes, she was excited about being out somewhere—and out with him. But that wouldn’t do, would it? He hadn’t actually shown any interest, at least not that kind of interest. She took a breath and went back to the classroom to collect her things.

      “Do you know whether we have to turn in our portfolios at any point?” Rashad asked.

      “Yes, we do. Three times. That’s why we’re supposed to number the assignments.”

      “You’re right. I remember that now from last week. That didn’t make it into my notes. How’s the little one? Do you have time now, or do you need to get home?”

      Rashad’s voice dropped on the last question, as though he’d be disappointed if she had to leave. It was just a hint, but it made Michelle smile.

      “I have time,” she said, gathering her things. They started toward the elevators. “I bought an extra half hour, which is actually an extra hour, as I already gave myself half an hour of leeway—just in case.”

      “Excellent. My car is in the lot across the street again, and you can follow me to Greenbelt instead of using a street map, so you’ll get home quickly.”

      Rashad chuckled after he said it, and so did Michelle, but she also rapped his arm with the back of her hand.

      “No teasing the directionally challenged art student.”

      “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. But I can lead you home.”

      “You don’t have to, but it would be nice of you. My car’s in this lot, too. I’m the used Ford Fiesta over there. I’ll be right back.”

      While Rashad went over to his Kompressor, a Mercedes-Benz, Michelle headed to her Fiesta. It reminded her of the differences between them. Their ages were close, but he was finished with school and obviously doing well. She had gotten off track and was just СКАЧАТЬ