He rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. I can’t help but notice the way his shirt pulls up and shows off his perfectly tanned and sculpted abs. Quinn obviously spends time in the gym, not just down here working on his art, and it shows.
He looks like he could pose for a sculpture.
I blush, and tear my eyes away from his stomach. He’s watching me with a small smile curling up the corner of his mouth. “I thought that it was for the eye candy. That seemed obvious, since you can’t get your eyes off of me. But the internship is mine. Everyone knows it, so you better learn that, too.”
“Not a chance.” My voice is louder than I mean it to be and a few students around us turn to look at what we’re talking about. “I’m here for that internship. It’s what I’ve been working for since I started high school.”
“Precious. It’s what I’ve been working for since I was old enough to pick up a paintbrush. You have a real cute innocent thing going on, Abigail, but there’s no way in hell that you’re going to get that internship instead of me. You might as well give up now, okay?”
“Go to hell.”
Quinn’s eyes widen and I turn back to look at Mr. Stanfield. I knew that there would be competition for the internship when I came here, but I honestly didn’t think that it would be a problem. Now, though, I’m beginning to doubt whether or not I’m good enough to stand up to the rest of the kids here.
No, I haven’t even seen their work. I’m not going to let myself spiral like that with my thinking when I don’t even know what everyone else is capable of doing.
Nodding to myself, I focus again on Mr. Stanfield. He’s wrapping up his talk, and when he finishes and claps his hands, everyone pulls a book out of their backpack. Feeling a choking panic, I look up, but Mr. Stanfield waves me to the front.
“I have a copy of our book here for you, Abby.” He hands me a thick tome and I slip it under one arm without giving it much of a glance. It’s a book on theory and design, I know that without even looking at it. “I’m glad you’re here. Your former art teacher spoke really highly of you, so it will be interesting to have a fresh perspective in class. Now, she tells me that you don’t have any formal art training, is that right?”
The feeling of inadequacy that’s been simmering below the surface since I got to Trinity Prep is threatening to burst out of me, so I just nod my head quickly, like that will stop him from being able to tell that I’m an imposter.
“Well, I know that you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t skilled and driven. It’s a cutthroat group, though, and you need to be aware of that. No matter how many hours you put in, someone will be working for longer. No matter how many times you practice something before working on your piece, someone will have practiced more.” He pauses, and I can’t tell if he’s gathering his thoughts or if he feels bad for what he’s telling me.
When he continues, though, the compassion in his eyes is gone. It’s been replaced by fire and desire. “You do your best, Abby, and we’ll see what happens. There’s just one internship from me, but there are others out there, okay?”
“Thank you, sir.” My voice is quiet, but inside I’m boiling. I don’t like being underestimated, and I certainly don’t like the idea of the internship I want so badly being within my reach but yanked away from me at the last second. I know that what I’m about to ask is probably foolish, but I can’t help myself. “Is there any one student in here that I need to watch? I don’t have the advantage of knowing who my real competition is like the rest of the students do.”
Mr. Stanfield sucks in a breath and looks at me like he’s considering answering my question or leaving me out to dry on my own. Instead of telling me who to watch out for, he turns to the class. “Abby here wants to know who her biggest competition is for my internship. What do you all say?”
Shit. I did not want him to put me on the spot like that. When I turn around I see that everyone looking at me looks hostile. Nobody is happy about what he just said.
At first, nobody moves or speaks, but then Quinn stands up. He pushes back his chair slowly so that the feet drag and squeak on the floor. His gorgeous hands rest easily on the top of our shared desk, and he locks his eyes on me.
“You want to know who your competition is, Abby?” Mr. Stanfield’s voice is low and he almost sounds like he’s in awe. “There he is. Quinn Masters.”
Fuck.
“It’s even in the name.” Quinn doesn’t smile. His bright eyes suddenly look darker than they did before, and I shiver under his gaze. I don’t know anything about Quinn as an artist. I have no idea if he’s any good or if I can easily swoop in here and take the internship from him, but the way he’s looking at me tells me that this is going to be much more difficult than I first thought.
I don’t even realize that I’m still standing at the front of the room until Mr. Stanfield lightly touches me on the shoulder. “Ready to go sit, Abby? We have a lot of ground to cover and I know that the rest of the class would love to continue working on their paintings.
Continue working? I turn to him. “They’ve already started their competition piece?”
