Page 21 of Walkoff Wedding

I can’t do this.

He can keep my sketchbook, and I’ll replace it. Easy.

But it’s not easy. Just the thought of losing all the work inside my sketchbook for my thesis makes me feel ill. The foundations to my project are all inside it. What’s worse… losing all of my art or the fear of finally meeting Jockboy face-to-face?

I turn on my heel and start back in the other direction. Nope, I can’t do this.

“ArtGirl?” A deep voice from behind me stops me in my tracks. The heel of my worn loafer skids along the sidewalk, keeping me in place.

No, no no no.

God, what am I supposed to do now? He’s already seen me, so I can’t just take off in a sprint and literally run the other way, although a very large part of me wishes that I could.

Doing that would be far more embarrassing. God, this was a terrible idea, and my heart thrashes in my chest as my feet stay glued in place while I try to determine a new plan of action.

The previous plan was to take off in the other direction. However cowardly that may be.

No. No.

I’m not running. Get it together, Addie.

I’ve waited this long to… see who he is. Not only that, but I really want my sketchbook back.

Slowly, I turn, my eyes squeezed tightly shut as my hands fold over my stomach, and I exhale the jittering nerves, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin in an act of confidence that I don’t truly possess right now.

“Addie?”

My eyes snap to his, and my mouth falls open, shock rippling through me in waves.

“Grant?”

He actually looks as surprised as I do, his deep blue eyes widened in shock, the sharp contour of his jaw hanging open, mirroring my own. His dark blond hair is tousled and mussed from running his fingers through it, and for a moment, I find myself wondering if it’s as soft as it looks.

The black hoodie he’s wearing is fitted to him, Hellcats Baseball Department stretched across his broad chest. Even the light-wash jeans he’s wearing are molded to his thick thighs, fitting him perfectly.

Somehow, he’s even more handsome than the first time we met. The first time we met…

“You’re… ArtGirl?”

“You’re… Jockboy?”

Our words run together in a tangle of consonants, and he chuckles, deep and low, a sound that tugs at the invisible clasp in the pit of my stomach, freeing a flurry of butterflies.

“Wow. Talk about fucking fate,” he says quietly, stepping closer, so close that I can smell the fresh, crisp cedar scent of his bodywash. “I mean… I considered for a brief second that the girl I met at the party could potentially be the owner of the mystery sketchbook… but honestly, that seemed too… kismet to be true.”

Jockboy is… Grant.

“I… You…” I trail off, my brain still trying to make sense of what’s happening, but it seems to be short-circuiting because I can’t find the words. The right ones, anyhow.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I can’t believe that I’m finally meeting you. I can’t believe that you’re you…”

Immediately, I feel the heat rush to my cheeks as I drop my gaze from his. Is he disappointed by that? I can’t tell, and suddenly, I feel stupid for even showing up to do this.

“Um… thanks?”

“Fuck, I said that wrong. No…” he says in a rush. “What I meant to say is that I can’t believe that you’re ArtGirl. That we actually hung out the other night, and I had no idea it was you. I would’ve never let you leave, Addie. Not without finding a way to contact you. Shit, I have so many questions.”

I nod—if I had to guess, some of the same ones that I do. “This is unbelievable. I… You finding my sketchbook, the fact that we were around each other and had no idea who the other was. All of it…”

---