Also, as part of my new routine, I turn and head the other way, fully running. Thoughts of exhausting myself so I can sleep well form in my head. Or maybe I’m just trying to forget things I’d rather not think about. Like how my mom texted me earlier tonight asking if I’m coming home for Thanksgiving. Jesus. That’s only two months away. And why would I want to subject myself to her torture? My body glistens with sweat, the moonlight bright tonight. Slowing down to a jog, I stop for a moment to catch my breath and to take a drink from my bottled water. Putting the cap back on the bottle, I start to turn around to head back, suddenly tired. Something catches my eye. I watch as a piece of paper floats down from a deck at the apartment building a small distance away. Jogging over, I pick it up as it settles onto the sand. I shake it a bit, watching the grains of sand fly off and hold it up to the bottom deck light. My brows lower as I take it in, anger sweeping through me. What the fuck? Looking up, I determine which deck it flew from and storm around the building.
I enter the front door and race up the steps, out of breath but knowing it’s due to anger and not that I’m out of shape. Not hesitating, I knock on the door in rapid successions. Looking down at my watch, it’s nearing one in the morning, but somehow I don’t care. No sounds come from inside so I start knocking again, a little more forcibly. I continue, my knuckles becoming sore, when the door flies open, mid knock. My fist still raised, I scour the girl before me. It’s her. From Johnny’s. Her blonde hair is darkened slightly as it hangs over her shoulder, wet. Her hand is pressing a towel with several strands folded into it. There’s little droplets of water on her cheek, that slender neck, shoulders, and what little I can see of her chest from a tank top. I take in the silkiness of her legs and even notice that her feet are even small, yet pretty. I open my mouth then close it, suddenly unable to form words. She’s beautiful and still seems somewhat familiar, but I just can’t place why or where.
“Eyes up here, buster!” My eyes snap up to her mouth and suddenly mine goes dry. “Who are you and why in the hell are you banging on my door at this time of night?”
Clenching the paper in my other hand, I’m reminded why I’m here. I lower my fist and raise the paper up in the air. “Just what in the fuck is this?” I wave it around for good measure. Her eyes follow it back and forth. “THIS! Is an invasion of privacy, not to mention, since I obviously didn’t give you permission to do it, it’s a… a… a copyright issue! Just who in the fuck do you think you are?”
I watch her Adam’s apple on her slender neck as she swallows. Down. Up. She knows she’s wrong. It shows in her face. Then she surprises me by placing her hand on her hip and tilting her head. “You’re Weston Minton.” Shit! Her brows lower in confusion. “You went to Northwestern High. Weren’t you playing guitar earlier tonight and singing at Johnny’s? I thought you went away to play pro football.” Shaking my head, I’m still trying to place her from school. So weird that we both went there and now we’re here. She lets out a laugh. “Don’t strain yourself, Mister Big Popular Star Quarterback. I’m sure you don’t remember me,” she says a bit sarcastically. Now my brows lower as I concentrate on her face. Nope. Still can’t place her.
“Wait! This is all beside the point!” I shake the paper at her again. “Who drew this?”
My anger swells again but it seems that the picture of me is not the only thing that’s causing it. Why can’t I remember her? Just another thing I hated about all the fame in high school. There were so many others that went there, and I probably didn’t even give them the time of day. I was so shallow back then, forced to see the glory from dear ole’ dad. I was sorely disillusioned.
“I did.” She lowers her head, a little, looking up at me from under those long dark eyelashes. She reaches out and tries to take the paper from me but I pull it away quickly, causing her to almost fall. I bring up the paper and study it. It’s a good likeness. It’s when I was jogging on the beach. It must have been hard for her to see me all that well since I mostly run late at night. What am I saying? It’s damn good. “Hey! C’mon! That’s mine,” she says, matter of fact. She tries to grab it again, but I’m too quick for her and hold it against my chest.
Raising my brows, I tsk her. “You drew me without my knowledge. I’m sure there’s some kind of law that says you can’t legally do that.” She takes a step back and gives me a look. “Okay, maybe there really isn’t a law for that.” I look at it again, studying it more. She really gave it a lot of detail. I look back up and hold it out to her. She snatches it quickly from my hand. “Why’d you draw it? I mean – why me?”
Suddenly, she thrusts the picture at me and takes another step back. “You can have it,” she whispers nervously. Strange yet intriguing. Definitely a beautiful girl.
I give her a smile, trying to relax the situation. “Ha, you’re not getting off that easily. Not until you tell me why. It’s really good, ya know?” She looks down, bashfully, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. I take a step toward her which puts me right inside her apartment. “No, really. I don’t know how you got such a great likeness when I normally run after dark.”
She looks up, her lips part. “Um. I sketch really fast, and you were going in and out of the light outside and I kinda can remember what I see pretty well?” She’s cute. We stand in awkward silence.
“Well, it’s really good. You have talent.” More silence. I look around behind her. “Guess these buildings are pretty similar with their apartments. She looks around, over her shoulder, then back at me.
“Oh! Did you want to come in?”