Put Me Back Together(31)

“I’m not violent!” I said, insulted. My hand came up automatically to smack him for what he’d said, but I wouldn’t let it. That’s how non-violent I was.

Chuckling, Lucas let go of my face—I almost groaned out loud—and leaned down to pull something out of my bag.

“Maybe I’ll just let the art do the talking,” he said, pressing his sketchpad into my arms. “That’s what the cool guys do, isn’t it? I’d write you a song, but I’m not much of a writer.”

“You don’t have to write me a song, Lucas,” I said, shaking my head at him.

“But I would,” he said, pressing his forehead against mine one last time before backing away toward the stairs.

“Don’t you want to keep your sketches?” I said, holding up the pad.

“No,” he answered, showing me his dimples. “They’re for you, Hero.”

“Don’t call me—” I said, but he’d already started down the stairs.

I unlocked the door to my apartment and dumped my bag on the couch before making straight for the cupboard. I knew what to do at a time like this. I pulled out a jar of Nutella. I had a spoonful in my mouth when I flipped Lucas’s sketchpad open.

The first few sketches were of the game: a jersey in motion, a player doing a layup, the ball going through the hoop.

Then I flipped to the next page and sucked in a quick breath.

There were ten more sketches in his pad. They were all of me.





9





When I woke up the next morning there were three texts waiting on my phone, and this time they didn’t make me scowl or flinch or make my stomach drop. These texts only made me smile.



Lucas: Thanks for getting me back to the game, even if I wasn’t in the game.

Lucas: You really are my hero. :)

Lucas: Did you like the sketches?



Lying in bed with my cell gripped in both hands, I debated whether or not I should text him back. Our texting relationship had been very one-sided so far. The only text I’d ever sent him was to let him know I’d gotten a new number. I was actually impressed with Lucas for not giving up. I bet all the other girls couldn’t wait to reply to him.

The thought of all the other girls gave me pause as my fingers hovered over the letters on the screen. Then I pushed them out of my mind. Not even the blonde girl could ruin my memories of last night. I’d spent at least an hour—and the rest of the jar of Nutella—poring over his sketches, turning the pages so many times that a couple of them started to fray and I figured I’d better put them away. If he wanted the pad back, I didn’t want him to know how long and hard I’d stared at them. His drawing technique wasn’t the best; he often left much of the scene as a vague outline and then focused in extreme detail in one place, leaving the sketch uneven. If this had been an assignment, the professor would have chastised him for it, but I couldn’t. Not when his point of focus was always my face.

Biting my lip to stop from giggling, I typed out my first text to Lucas.



Me: Sketches? What sketches?



I threw my phone down on my pillow and went down the hall to make some toast. I figured he’d reply to my text when he woke up, which would be God knew when. It was eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. Emily never replied to a weekend text from me before three. But as I pushed the button down on the toaster, I was surprised to hear the three-toned sound of a text coming in. I flew back down the hall and flung myself onto the bed, snatching up the phone.



Lucas: Don’t tell me you didn’t even look at them. You break my heart, Hero.

Me: I ain’t your hero, buddy.

Me: And of course I looked at the sketches. They’re lovely.

Lucas: You’re lovely.



My heart was already racing a tiny bit from my mad dash down the hall, but now it revved itself up to triathlon pounding level.



Lucas: Oh no, now she’s blushing.

Me: Am not!

Lucas: The lady doth protest…and we all know what that means.

Me: That was some brilliant quoting right there. Well done.

Lucas: Don’t change the subject. I bet you’re still blushing right now.



Goddamn him.



Me: You have no proof. This would never hold up in a court of law.

Lucas: Well, maybe I should come over and get my proof. Want to go out for lunch with me?



I stared at the screen and thought of all the reasons I should say no, not the least of which being our utterly confounding friend-not-friend-not-boyfriend relationship. I thought of what Mariella would tell me to say, and what Emily would tell me to say, and what Katie of a week and a half ago would tell me to say, and then I thought of how I wanted to answer and everything suddenly seemed so simple.



Me: Yes.



Lucas seemed about as stunned as I felt, immediately replying that he’d come by my place at noon, which would give me a luxurious four-hour period to obsess over what to wear and what to say and what to do with my hair. As I stood in front of my closet, frowning over the possibilities, my phone rang and I picked it up with a smile on my face without checking to see whom it was, figuring it would probably be Em and wouldn’t she love to hear about my morning.