Your art teacher had paired you and Damiano for a project, much to your dismay. He wasn’t exactly known for following rules or sticking to deadlines.

“You’re holding the paintbrush wrong,” you said, watching as he attempted to paint a straight line on the canvas.

“Oh, sorry, Miss Expert,” he teased, handing it over to you. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

You rolled your eyes but took the brush, demonstrating the right technique. He leaned closer, watching intently. “You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice so close it sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re distracting me,” you replied, your cheeks warming.

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk, his hand brushing yours as he took the brush back. “Or maybe I just like watching you.”