Page 23 of Off-Limits
Chewing on the end of my graphite pencil, I ruminate over my recent sketch, until a knock on the door has my head popping up. Glancing up to see who it is, I find Harry standing in the doorway looking sheepish, or is that nervousness? Pulling the pencil from my mouth, I offer him a smile and wave him in.
He cups the back of his neck and steps in. He has that cute boy-next-door vibe: clean skin, shaggy hair and bright eyes fullof innocence. Not badass at all, which unfortunately means even if he wants to pursue me, it will be fruitless.
“What can I do for you, Harry?” I ask, looking up at him from my spot on the floor.
Harry looks over his shoulder and I do the same, only to find a couple of the young guys trying to be inconspicuous as they watch him, watch us.
I arch a brow.
“Are you busy tonight?” he rushes.
My stomach drops. I try and muster a smile, but from the look on his face I’ve failed.
“Shit. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just not dating?”
“Did you mean that as a question?”
“I’m terrible at this stuff, Harry. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, but if you want to have a couple drinks as friends then no worries. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.” I close my sketchpad and push off the floor.
“Damn! Way to rip out a bloke’s heart.” He jests, gripping his chest in a show of humour, but I see the hurt flickering in his eyes.
I shrug my shoulders.
“Like I said… I don’t want to lead you on. Not to mention, I’m only visiting and helping my cousin before I head back to Sydney.”
“It’s only four or so hours away.”
He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.
I force a tight smile.
“It is. Still doesn’t change my mind though.”
Harry nods.
I need to tread carefully with him. Something tells me a guy like Harry doesn’t like taking no for an answer when he has his mind set on something.
“I appreciate you being honest, Dottie. Maybe we can have some drinks sometime? Let me know when you’re free if you can’t make it tomorrow.”
He turns his back to me, and I must admit I feel a little bad.
“Harry?”
“Hmm?” he hums, turning around.
“Let me get this sketch sorted, and if I have it finished tomorrow, I’ll come out.”
His sour face morphs into a hopeful one before he waves goodbye.
Shaking my head, I move to the couch in the office and open my sketchpad. Glancing around the space, I try and picture what I could paint here, and then it hits me.
It’s perfect.
Hot Rods.
What car enthusiast and mechanic doesn’t like Hot Rods?
