Page 25

Liza

I ’m a goner. Cause of death: Hartley Knox’s charm.

I’m still floating on cloud nine after he managed to pull off the most heartfelt and touching surprise.

I don’t always wear flowers in my hair, but it’s something that connects me to the beauty and artistry of nature, like it did when I was little.

Layne always reminded me how “childish” and “immature” he thought it was, but Hartley sees me for the real me without any walls or barriers.

The harsh reality is that I’m falling for him.

It’s not like I didn’t see this coming from a mile away, but I was able to live in my bubble of denial until he made it his mission to prove he can be it for me.

Maybe the growth I've been through this year has allowed me to open up again.

We’re less than twenty-four hours removed from our date, but I’m itching to see him again. There’s not much of a chance to steal a glance of him on my side of campus, so I settle for hoping that I’ll catch a glimpse in the lunch hall later.

My favorite class of the week is here, and I’m anxiously anticipating showing off my rough sketches for the portfolio project to my professor and some of my classmates. It always helps to get multiple sets of eyes on a piece before adding color.

“Welcome, Liza!” my outspoken professor shouts and saunters over to the table I sit at every week. Since this is a self-paced class, it provides more one-to-one coaching with the professor. “How are your pieces coming along?”

“So far, so good.” I flip open my sketchbook to the piece of Hartley in the locker room. Each time I look at it, I fixate on a new detail I didn’t see before. Today’s fixation happens to be his muscles rippling on the page.

“Wow,” he lets out as his fingers trace my pencil sketch. “I have to say, you’re stepping far out of your comfort zone.”

Insecurity creeps up on me and heat spreads up my neck, undoubtedly causing red blotches to form.

The thought of my piece not being good enough nauseates me.

“It’s just a rough sketch. I’m thinking about changing this.

” I point to the background behind Hartley’s body.

The small pieces of equipment in his locker aren’t bringing enough detail to the piece.

“I should have caught this already.” I reach into my art pouch to grab an eraser, when he stops me.

“Woah. . . what are you doing?” His eyes are filled with confusion.

I fidget through my pouch, unable to find that stupid eraser. “You’re right. This material is way out of my comfort zone and I need to fix some things to make it perfect.”

“Liza, take a deep breath with me.” He inhales deeply and rolls his hands in front of me to encourage me to do the same.

I let out a long breath and force my shoulder muscles to relax.

“This,” he runs his fingers across the page, “is amazing.”

“Really?” My voice lights up at the compliment.

“I can see how much this subject matter resonates with you. The movement of the piece is brilliant. It feels as if I’m in the moment with the subject.”

“Thank you.”

He pats my back. “Keep up the good work.”

A wide smile spreads across my face, causing my cheeks to ache. I spend the rest of the class working out the final kinks on my first two sketches before it’s time to leave. This class sucks me into a space where time flies, and my mind finds peace in the strokes of my art.

I leave the art building on the far side of campus and take the long trek back to the commons area to grab a pre-made salad for lunch.

My mind is still on the portfolio, and I don’t want to waste too much time before getting back to work.

Campus is bustling with loud students eating lunch, hanging out, and hammering out last minute assignments before the next class.

I dip into the small grab and go market and open the refrigerator section to pick a pre-made Caesar salad.

When I turn around to wait in line to check out, my body freezes, unable to move from the spot where my feet are firmly planted into the ground.

Standing a few feet away, with his backpack slung over one shoulder, is the boy I was hoping, but also not hoping, to see casually on campus.

He’s not alone. An entourage of football players surround him, but that’s not what triggers me.

Trying her best to keep his attention is a gorgeous girl with long, black hair.

A slit of her stomach is visible in a cream colored crop top with jeans that hug her curves.

She’s laughing and placing her hand on his shoulder, confident enough in herself to shoot her shot.

Not again.

He’s a player who entertains any girl who gives him the time of day.

You’re not special.

How could I be so stupid?

My stomach twists into knots, and I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.

Before I can duck behind a shelf to save myself from further mortification, Hartley’s eyes tear away from the rest of the players to the flirtatious girl before he lifts her hand off his shoulder and takes a step away.

My breath evens out at the sight of him shrugging her off, clearly not interested in her company or touch.

I turn to walk to the checkout counter, but before I can, Hartley’s gaze travels in my direction.

His stare stops on me, and the easiest, dimple popping smile spreads across his face.

She’s persistent and keeps placing her hand on him.

He shrugs the girl’s hand off his shoulder once again, giving her an annoyed look before he leaves the group and walks towards me.

“Goldie.” He reaches my frozen body, my hands still holding that stupid salad, and places both hands on my hips. He drops a gentle kiss on my cheek before taking off his hat and raking his hands through his messy hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“Just buying this.” I lift the salad up and try to squeeze around him to the checkout counter, but he steps over to block my escape. “I’m really busy.”

“When can we hang out again?” His hand reaches for the dangling strap of my backpack and replaces it on his empty shoulder. “We should meet up for your project soon.”

“Umm. . .” I bite the inside of my cheek to muster up an excuse to not see him. “I might go in a different direction for the project. My professor doesn’t think it’s working.”

“What?” Confusion fills his face as he takes another step forward, breaking the bubble I strategically placed between us. “There’s no way he didn’t like what you drew.”

“You’re spiraling, Goldie.” His hand reaches up to rub my cheek. It travels to my furrowed brows as he rubs to relax the muscles that have tightened. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The girl that was handsy with Hartley just a moment ago appears by his side, but his eyes never tear away from mine.

“Want to grab lunch?” Her chest touches his body, as she’s uncomfortably close to him. “My treat.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m having lunch with my girl.”

The girl’s eyes widen, zeroing in on me. Scoffing, she rolls her eyes and turns away, embarrassed by his blatant rejection. “Whatever.”

“You could have had lunch with her.” I point at the girl, walking away to grab another football player’s attention. “I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“Ruin my plans? Wait. . .” He looks behind him to the group he left and back at me. “Were you jealous?”

I point to myself and laugh. “Me? Why would I be jealous?”

“Because you think I’m him, and I’m not.” He laces his fingers through my free hand. “Let’s buy your salad and get out of here.”

We wait in the short line to purchase my lunch and begin the short walk back to the dorms. I haven’t said a word since my embarrassing overreaction in the commons, and I don’t intend to speak first.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he catches me off guard by scooping me up into his arms and carrying me the last few blocks to my dorm room, “I’m a one woman kind of guy these days.” He winks and holds me tight to his chest. “That woman is you.”