"In the long run we get no more than we have been willing to risk giving."— Sheldon Kopp


"Looking for something, love?" A familiar voice echoed behind me.


I should've known it was him. This guy is always stealing my fucking stuff...He's gotta stop.


"Listen, Harry. You can't keep taking—"


My sentence fell short after I turned around to confront the person who I thought had taken my sketchbook with a frown, soon realizing he wasn't Harry. I stood there with my mouth agape, throat beginning to dry. A part of me felt guilty for jumping to conclusions and assuming it was Harry who committed this act of thievery while the rest of me was just shocked. I never thought I'd see him again. And here of all places.


"I'm sorry. I don't believe I know a Harry." His eyebrows rose in confusion as he stared at me questionably.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry for yelling. I thought you were someone else. Please, lets just forget that ever happened," I laughed nervously, a dark shade of red colouring my cheeks.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," He grinned, happily playing along.

"Hey, um, it's Connor, right?"


Otherwise known as the guy who never called.


"In the flesh," He nodded.

"So, what brings you here?" I asked, trying to spark up a conversation.

"Just going for a walk on campus, and you?" Connor returned the question.


Oh my god. He's in college?


"Me? Oh, I was just um, drawing something for Mr. Rivera. I'm doing the art apprenticeship with him here for the experience."

"Armando Rivera is amazing. I'm taking his summer art course this year so I guess we'll be seeing more of each other," He announced.


Great.


"What year are you?"

"Just starting my Sophomore year."


Seriously?


"C-cool. By the way, are you done with my sketchbook?" I asked, quickly changing subjects. Call me self conscious, but I don't like it when people go through my personal stuff.

Connor apologized before handing the sketchbook back to me, "You're really good at drawing by the way." He added.

"Thanks, but you don't have to say that," I blushed while biting my lip.

"I'm serious. That stuff is scary good. The way you capture images on paper and bring them to life is just...It makes me wish I could draw like that," He sighed.

"Tip: don't stress over it. You'll be wasting your time. Besides, I remember someone once telling me that Mr. Rivera is amazing and because I know that's true, you'll be drawing like a professional in no time."

"I guess it's a good thing I'm taking his class then. I get to learn from one of the best," Connor smirked.

"Well, speaking of the best, I have to go show him something. I'll see you later, Connor."

"Wait. Before you go Lucy, can I get your phone number?" he asked.

"Um..." I hesitantly spoke.

"The one you previously gave me was someone else's," He confessed.

"Are you positive?"

"I have it in my phone if you want to double check," Connor said while pulling out his iPhone. He entered the password and handed over the device willingly.


I know I gave him the right number. I scrolled through his long list of contacts until I found my name and then viewed the digits. 216-277... (A/N: dots to protect whoever's number that may actually be) A frown came over my lips from reading the wrong numbers on the screen as I looked at him apologetically. He probably thought I didn't want him to contact me.

"I'm so sorry, Connor. This wasn't purposeful," I promised.

"It's alright. I guess I'll just have to remember to never ask you for anything while you're drunk. You were pretty hammered that night," He joked, lightening the mood.

"Oh, C'mon. Give me a break. I wasn't that drunk," I laughed.

"You really were," Connor chuckled, showing off his pearly whites in a smile.

He really was a sight to see. His eyes were the colour of rain clouds and when I stared into them for too long, I ended up dazed and confused like I was now. But his looks still didn't change the fact that he was too young for me. I averted my gaze away to his phone and touched the edit button, replacing the wrong numbers with the right ones before handing him back the device.

"Those are the right digits," I assured him.

"Are you positive?" He teased.

"100%." I smiled. "Anyways, I've really got to go Connor, but I'll see you around," I said to him before running off in the other direction.

---

I knocked twice on Mr. Rivera's door before letting myself inside the office. He was by his desk, looking through student art work, when I approached him with my sketchbook in my hand. I opened to the page of my drawing and placed the diary on top of his desk for him to see. I was quite nervous to see how he would react to it but very surprised when he barely glanced over my sketch before closing the book and sliding it back to me. What the hell?

"I don't like it," Mr. Rivera stated while separating the paintings into piles.

"But, sir, you barely looked at the sketch..." I mumbled.

"Child, I have been in this business for over 30 years. I've seen all I need to see. Your craftsmanship is weak and your technique needs improvement. It's no good," He actually sounded offended.


I should be the one who is offended. I knew that this was my first day, and I was in a professional setting, but I highly took offense to his criticism; I was only doing what he asked me to and for him to barely look at my sketch and tell me it's no good is not okay. I'd expect more from a so-called professional like him.

"I only did what you wanted me to, so of of course, everything isn't as neat. Drawing with your eyes closed is pretty difficult, you know. Oh, and I'm sorry its not picture perfect enough for you either. I wish I was Picasso, but I'm not," I rolled my eyes.

"Mind your manners, young lady. Looks like I'll have to teach you a couple of things in my class before you can start teaching alongside me," Mr. Rivera said.

"There's no need. I already have a bachelor's degree in the arts."


I didn't like where this was going.


"Oh, well, consider this a wonderful opportunity to master the arts. The course starts next Wednesday, and I want you to be in this room by nine am sharp. I don't tolerate lateness."

"But, Mr. Rivera—"

"Bye, Liz."

I sighed quietly to myself as I put my sketchbook inside my bag and left without saying another word. God. I cannot believe it. This isn't what I wanted to happen. I thought on my way out of the school building. I need a fucking drink. I took out my phone from my bag and texted Anya. At least that's who I thought I was texting. If Louis has her phone, hopefully he'll just show her the message. They've been sharing pretty much everything lately.

Me: Wanna go 4 som drinks @Clam's 2nite? My treat.
Anya: Sure. I'll meet u there in 30min.
Me: Kay.

I put my phone in my sweater pocket with a small smile as I crossed the street. Anya will definitely know how to cheer me up.

---

"Are you sure I can't get you anything, Luce?" Riley, the bartender, asked me for the third time.

"Thanks, Riley, but my friend will be here any minute," I told him.

"Suit yourself," He sighed while walking to the other end of the table to serve more customers.

I waited a few more minutes before taking out my phone again to check the time. 7:45 pm. It's been well over thirty minutes. She's probably not coming. I rolled my eyes as I scooped up my stuff and got down from the barstool. Walking over to the door I pushed it open with a frown. My best friend stood me up.


"Lucy!" A voice urgently shouted.


Anya? I looked to my left and then to my right only to have my heart drop at the sight of Harry running toward me with a smirk. Perfect. How did he know where I was?

"Harry, what are you doing here?" I couldn't hide the shock in my voice when asking him.

"I was...at your apartment with Louis and Anya...She told me to tell you she couldn't come for drinks so I came instead," He sounded out of breath.

"Oh, that's nice of you, but I'm not in the mood to drink anymore," I lied.

"How about dinner?" Harry grinned.

"What?" I asked with confusion.

"Remember our little bet? If I recall this correctly, I believe that the loser has to cook the winner dinner, and I'm starving."

"Any other night would be better, Harry. Today's not good for me," I frowned.

"But it has to be tonight," He insisted.

"Why?" I asked skeptically.

"Just because," Harry smiled, dimples on full display.

God. That smile. He's lucky he's so attractive. The dimly lit street light centered on his green eyes perfectly, making them sparkle in the night. The next thing I knew I was taking in all of his features: the killer dimples, sharp jawline, emerald eyes. Before I could stop myself, my lips began to part and the word "okay" involuntarily fell from my mouth.

"Great. Follow me, love." He said cheerfully while walking around the corner.

What did I just agree to?

I surprised myself by following him down the street to his car and opening the passenger door before going inside. Harry kindly shut the door for me while I buckled in and jogged around to the opposite end before hopping into the automobile. With the twist of a key he quickly ignited the engine and drove down the road.

"So, how was your day?" Harry questioned.

"Not so great," I answered honestly.

"I know a great listener if you wanna talk about it," He said encouragingly.

"Trust me, you don't want to hear about my problems..." I muttered after scoffing.

"You're right. All I really want to do is get in those sexy pants of yours so I'm trying to be nice," Harry winked, seductively biting his lip.

"Harold!" I playfully hit his arm, and he acted like it hurt.

"Bloody hell, woman. I was only kidding. But seriously, you can tell me." His tone became serious again as he turned his blinkers on to switch lanes.

"Well...lets just say things aren't going as planned."

"What happened?"

"For starters, I thought I was going to be working with the artist of my dreams, but it turns out I'm going to be his student. Not to mention the guy can't even remember my name."

"He sounds like prick."

"But who knows? Maybe being a student won't be so bad. I mean, I do pick up things rather quickly."

"You sure about that, love?"

"What are you trying to say Harry?"

"We should put your learning abilities to the test with another bet. I bet that you won't be able to cook me dinner without messing up something," he smirked, "and if I win, which I will, you have to give me a nice...long...backrub."

"What's with you and bets, huh?" I rolled my eyes.

He shrugged, making a right turn. "They're fun to make when you know you're going to win."

"Hmm... Harry, you have yourself a deal. But if I win, you're gonna have to paint my toenails. Navy blue," I smiled.

"You're joking, right?"

"Does it look like I'm joking, floppy?"

"Alright, alright. Lets do this." He chuckled. "Wait a minute, did you just call me floppy?" Now it was my turn to laugh.

Notes

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