“Are you going to finish your painting?” she asked, eyes flicking to the paintbrush I was no longer holding.
I wrinkled my nose. “Nah. I’m kind of bored with it. I havethe most random urge to set it on fire.” I flipped my palm up and grew a flame in my hand.
Her eyes widened. “Don’t do that. You can still fix it.”
The fire disappeared. “I’m not upset about it or trying to fix it. Just tired of painting the same scene as everyone else.”
“So do something different,” she said. Then she took my paintbrush, dipped it in bright red paint, and swiped it across my canvas. “There. Now you’ll have to work hard to figure out what to do.”
I stared at her, shocked.
She gasped, looking down at the brush as she realized what she had done. “Oh gods. Did I really just do that? I’m so sorry, Liam. I ruined your painting. I was trying to be spontaneous…or maybe funny…but?—”
She yelped when I stole the brush in her hand, dipped it in green paint, and ran it down her nose. A laugh burst out of me at her incredulous expression.
“Did you just”—she looked around the classroom—“Did you justpaintme?”
I dipped the same brush in blue and swiped it across her cheek, grinning.
“Liam,” she hissed, snatching the brush from my hand and painting a line of blue-green along my chin.
“Are we about to have a paint fight like immature children?” I asked. We were now getting curious looks from our classmates.
“You started it,” she retorted, but she was holding back a smile.
I dipped my finger in purple and ran it down the side of her throat. She swiped the brush still in her hand across my forehead so quickly, she knocked over a glass of water, the echoes of it shattering silencing the class.
“Excuse me,” the teacher, an older woman with bright red curls, called as she walked our way.
“You’re in trouble now,” I murmured in her ear.
“Me?” she gasped. “This was allyou.”
Patrons were muttering, some laughing, others giving us harsh glares. The instructor reached where we sat, hands on her hips. “If you two can’t behave, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Cerise pressed her lips together. “We’re so sorry.”
The woman sighed and marched back to the front of the room.
“We’re not sorry,” I whispered before I dipped two of my fingers in yellow and painted another spot on Cerise’s cheek.
She dipped her brush in pink and flung it at me, spraying me and the person behind me with bright speckles of paint.
“Hey!” my neighbor said.
“All right, you two. Leave. Now.” The teacher shouted.
Cerise started giggling as I grabbed her hand and pulled her after me, leaving our half-finished canvases behind.
Pausing at the door, I took a bow. “Sorry about the mess folks. Having a paint fight in public was a lifelong dream of my girlfriend’s. It’s kind of a weird sexual kink and all, but I couldn’t say no to?—”
Cerise clapped her hand over my mouth and shoved me out the door. “You are horrid!”
I pulled her into an alley between the painting establishment and the next building. “And you're trouble. What were you thinking, Cerise? Misbehaving like that in there.” Gripping her hips, I yanked her against me.
“Me?You’re something else, you know that? And sexual kinks? I can’t believe you?—”
I flipped us around, pinning her against the brick wall as I kissed her. She immediately melted, opening for me. My tongue dove into her mouth and she whimpered. Every kiss with her was as good as the last. I never wanted to stop.
