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The Painter (8)

For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t some teenager going through hormonal changes, so why couldn’t he stop thinking about Dorothy’s body and, even worse, smiling and blushing at the memory.

‘’I guess we can now deduce my idea wasn’t laced with foolishness after all,’ Steve said with the smug look still on his face

Aston scoffed, rolling his eyes at him, and said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I am still not convinced the class will do me any good.”

“We’ll see about that, mate. We’ll see.”

The whole weekend felt like torture to Aston. He longed to see Dorothy again, and it seemed the weekend was taking too long to end.

Everything was confusing to him; what he was feeling about Dorothy and why he was feeling that way didn’t make any sense to him, but he just wanted to see her again.

When Monday finally came, Aston could hardly wait till 3 pm when classes started, and by 12 pm, he was already at the building waiting for Dorothy to show up, but she didn’t.

Class started, and she was still nowhere
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