“I suppose so.”

“So are we still friends?”

My lips betrayed a small smile. “Yeah.”

He returned the smile and gently put his palm over my hand. “Am I allowed to put my hand on top of yours?”

“I suppose,” I said, relishing the warmth from his skin more than the warmth from the coffee in my other hand.

“Are you going to stop blowing me off?” His dark gray eyes were wide and fiercely tender.

How could he attack me with such adorable puppy-dog eyes?

I felt myself becoming immediately disarmed. “I can’t promise anything,” I grumbled, taking a sip of my drink to hide the smile on my face. “But I’ll try.”

“Good enough.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A flyer. It’s for an art portfolio competition. I saw it hanging up on the student board in the Barnyard and thought about you.”

I took the paper from him, dimly musing about how silly it was for the school to name the main cafeteria as “The Barnyard”. I unfolded the flyer and scanned the details. The winner would get featured in a major art gallery in Chicago and a good chunk of cash.

“Thanks, Hunter. It sounds exciting but I don’t think my stuff is exactly a fit for this kind of competition.”

“What are you talking about? You’re a great artist! Don’t sell yourself short.”

I pointed at one of the example pieces in the flyer. “This is ‘high art’.” I pulled out one of my previous sketches from my backpack and showed it to him. “This is not.”

He looked at the sketch and jolted backward nearly falling out of his chair. “Whoa.”

“See? I told you.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, this is good! Like really good. It’s so realistic. Man the shading and everything. Scared the hell outta me when I saw it.”

I looked at the drawing again. It was a giant fly head with a human body like the one in the movie Hunter and I rented.

“It was just a quick sketch,” I said a little bashfully. I’d never really shown people my sketches before because I didn’t think they were that good. Hunter’s positive reaction surprised me.

“How quick?”

“Like ten minutes.”

“No way you did that in ten minutes. Lorrie, is your real last name Picasso? Is that why you haven’t told me it? Because that’s some serious talent you’ve got there. ”

“If you like it so much, you can keep it. Here.” I handed him the drawing, feeling it to be an appropriate gesture since he’d thought of me when taking the flyer.

His eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

I giggled.

“But really, Lorrie. I think you should enter that competition. Submit your portfolio. Worst that can happen is you don’t win. But you’ll kick yourself if you didn’t at least try.”

Feeling a little excited by Hunter’s encouragement, I looked at the sketch again and found myself having a greater appreciation for it. “Alright, fine. I’ll have to do some more pieces but I’ll enter the competition.”

He grinned. “Sweet. You going to give me a portion of your winnings? Don’t forget I was the one who convinced you and brought you the flyer. Consider it the manager’s cut.”

“How about if I win, I’ll cheer for you at one of your fights?”

His grin became wider. “My very own cheerleader? Even better. I could use the support during my fights.”

“I think you get plenty already.”

“You can never have enough support from ‘friends’.”

“True that.”

He offered his coffee cup out for a toast. “To Snorrie and Gunther. May their friendship be filled with miscommunication and drama.”

“—Or not.” I smirked and met his latte with my black coffee.

Hunter stayed with me in the cafe until we finished our drinks. Then we parted ways to go to our classes.

Chapter Eleven

CURIOSITY

I went out Saturday and picked up some art supplies at the school bookstore. Watercolors, pastels, and some charcoal to go along with the pencils I already had. I was thinking about mixing media by coloring in some of my pencil or charcoal drawings with the paints or pastels. It would take some experimentation, but maybe the results would be portfolio-worthy.

I spent the next few days messing around with coloring in sketches. Thursday came, and I went dutifully to Econ in the morning, then killed some time before my drawing class at one. By the time I got back to my dorm, it was about three. I sprawled out in my bed and started coloring in some sketches I had done between classes in the coffee shop. I was considering whether to use pastels or watercolors on a sketch of a steaming mug of tea when my phone started vibrating on my nightstand. Startled, I got up and picked up my phone.

“Hey Hunter,” I said brightly.

“Hey Lorrie, are you busy?” There was a combination of loud music and men’s voices yelling in the background, so I could barely hear him. I put my hand over my other ear to concentrate on what he was saying.

“I was just working on my portfolio,” I said. “Why? What’s up?”

“Oh cool, you’ll have to show me what you have when it’s ready. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come down to the gym to help me out with something.”

He was being vague and I couldn’t tell why. “What is it?” I asked.

Someone yelled in the background wherever Hunter was, which I was guessing was his gym. “It’s a surprise. Can you come?”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“A good one, I promise. If you’re too busy it’s okay, but I’d really appreciate it if you came by.”

I thought about it. Tomorrow was Friday and that was pretty much the start of the weekend since I didn’t have any classes other than swimming, and it wasn’t like I was in some super groove on my art. I could spare an hour or two to find out what Hunter’s surprise was.

“Okay, I’ll come by.”

“Great! The gym’s called Bigg’s. I think it’s like a ten or fifteen minute walk from your dorm.”

“I’ll figure it out. Should I just walk in?”

“Yeah there’s a woman at the front desk. Just ask for me and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, see you in a few.”

“Thanks so much. See you soon.”

He hung up. I opened the maps app on my phone and typed in Bigg’s Gym. Hunter was right: my phone said it would take twelve minutes to walk there. I put on my coat and headed out, curious what he had in store for me.

I had to look at my phone to make sure I was at the right address. The place had darkened windows and no sign I could see. The address above the door matched the one I’d punched into my phone, but this building seemed deserted and the sidewalk was strangely empty.

What is this sketchy place? Should I call him? It would be embarrassing if this was the right address and I didn’t just walk through the door. I cupped my hands above my eyes to block out any other light and pressed my face against the glass of the door. The glass wasn’t just tinted black: it was actually covered. Very sketch.