Page 11 of Brutal Titan

Victoria

Every single hallway I turn down throughout the school day, Elliot’s there, happy and smiling, joking until he looks at me with disdain. I’ll gladly return it. This time, as I walk past him toward the parking lot, I’m irritated that he’s casually dressed in a dark-gray school T-shirt bearing the Golden Olympus crest and maroon basketball shorts, yet still pulls at my desire to strip the clothes off of him and enjoy what’s beneath. Damn it. Thankfully, my back is to the taunting jerk, so I don’t have to worry about him reading my explicit thoughts. Hard as it might be, nothing about him should be anywhere near the forefront of my mind, neither should his fiercely dark brown eyes, vivid in my thoughts. I shake my head, slide into my car, and make a quick escape before spotting him and his stupid enticing face again. Surely, it’s just a side effect from the brief yet arousing kisses, and the stupidity will wear off soon, at least I hope so.

Heading out of the parking lot, I drive across town to the local art studio that always has an abundance of the best supplies readily available. It’s a place I’ve spent tons of time browsing, and that’s what I’m doing, attempting to clear out my head but it’s useless. Stopping at the window, looking in at the art class in progress, my eyes study the painting of the student nearest. He’s seated at the back of the enormous room as the instructor, Mr. Maynor, walks around glancing at each painting, pointing here and there before moving to the next student.

“There’s still some openings available.” A deep voice startles me, and I spin to find a guy I’ve seen around the studio a good bit but have never spoken to. “Or there’s another one starting up next month, if that works better for you.”

“Oh, no. I’m not here for class.” I look away from his charming smile, having enough to think about already.

“Are you sure? My dad is the best instructor around.”

“Mr. Maynor is your dad?” Didn’t see that coming, but even so, I don’t want an instructor. I already have the only person I trust to guide me.

“Yep. Dalton Maynor.” Holding out his hand, I place mine in his.

“Victoria,” I respond back, purposely leaving off my last name on the slim chance he’s familiar with my father. For once, I’d like someone to base their opinion off of me, just me and not who my dad or brother are.

“Nice to meet you, Victoria.”

Yep. There’s that charming smile again. “I’m just here to pick up some supplies.”

Dalton falls into step beside me as I walk to the back of the studio where the supplies are housed. “Can I help you find something?”

“I’m just grabbing some pastels.”

“Ah, so that’s your weapon of choice.” He reaches down, selecting a box before passing it to me.

“No, this is for a friend. I prefer charcoal pencils. What about you?”

“Yeah. No. I can’t draw a straight line to save my life. Unfortunately, the artistic talent passed me over, but my brother was lucky enough to catch it. Art history is my wheelhouse. I’m going into my second year at UT this fall. Are you an art major?”

“No. I’m not majoring in art.” It’s a hobby, my release, I don’t want it to become something that I’m required to do. I reach down, grabbing two sketchbooks before looking back to Dalton. “I’d better get going.”

Motioning to the front register, he rings up my purchase, placing the books in a paper sack before I swipe my card. There’s an awkward silence as he hands me the receipt before he speaks. “It was nice to meet you, Victoria. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Nodding, I give him a half-smile and walk out of the store. His charming smile is in my mind, but it’s overpowered by a taunting smirk, and I curse under my breath. Even when Elliot isn’t around, he still manages to drive me insane.

Dropping into the driver seat, I crank up the car quickly, darting out of the parking lot. Upon arriving at my destination across town, I pull into the same spot I’ve parked in the last five Wednesdays. Each time I’ve visited, guilt weighs heavily on me. If Elliot hated me before, he is sure to hate me when he discovers this one.

Removing one of the sketchbooks from the bag, I toss it onto the passenger seat. The guilt lessens when I envision my old one floating in the murky pond water. Dickwad.

Throwing the car door open, I try to shake off the feeling of losing countless sketches. Letting out a frustrated breath, I step through the entrance as the automated door whooshes open, the familiar receptionist eyeing the items in my hand.

I set the art supplies on the counter, signing in as I ask, “Are these okay?”

She looks over the items, giving me a nod of approval. “Yes, those should be fine, but they’ll double-check everything upstairs.”

“Thanks.” I reach for the visitor sticker, placing it on my shirt as I make the agonizingly slow ascent to the fourth floor. Stepping out, I walk to the counter where an unfamiliar nurse watches my approach.

“How can I help you?” She gives me a warm smile.

“I’m here to see Olivia Bass.” Emptying my pockets and setting everything on the counter as I speak, I unfortunately know the drill all too well.

She nods, approving the items. I put my key fob back into my blazer pocket, tuck the pastels and sketchbook under my arm, and she motions to the door behind her. Signaling to the man behind the glass, they both press a button to buzz me into the next room.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Olivia Bass,” I repeat Elliot’s mother’s name as I look around the room.