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Alle Kapitel von A Sketch Away From Perfect: Kapitel 31 – Kapitel 40

81 Kapitel

Goodbye is the Loneliest Word

*Harper*Three months. That’s how long it’s been since my life became a balancing act between love, ambition, and enough sexual pleasure to power a reality show. I’m basically the poster child for chaos, except now it comes with a wardrobe upgrade and a much better skincare routine. Unfortunately, it hasn’t come with a bigger closet.These days, I basically have to shove myself into my closet head on just to squeeze through the tight space between the rows. With all the designer dresses Damien’s sent me, I’m having a hard time finding space. McKenzy says I should just get rid of all my old clothes, but it’s not like I’m going to lounge around in our apartment in Dolce and Gabana.“Rich people problems,” she always says with a sigh whenever I complain about the closet space.Of course, I’m still far from rich. But I’m definitely in a better place than I was when this all began. My paintings have sold so well, I’ve been able to put aside rent money for the rest of the year. It’s such

Selfish Solution

*Harper*I wake up to the sound of Rafe singing very off-key to some ‘90s alt-rock song in the kitchen. It takes me a second to remember where I am, why my legs are tangled in a sheet that smells like him, and why my heart already aches before my feet even hit the floor.Today’s the day.I sit up, blinking at the sunlight pouring in through the half-open blinds. Rafe’s room is packed up, a cardboard box labeled TROPHIES + RANDOM SHIT sits by the door, and his dresser drawers hang open, mostly empty. It feels wrong, like the room itself is bracing for the goodbye we’re both pretending isn’t coming.I pull on one of his T-shirts, feeling vulnerable and pathetic, and follow the smell of coffee into the kitchen. Rafe is standing at the stove, shirtless, flipping pancakes like a domestic god who doesn’t know his own biceps should be illegal.“Morning, sleepyhead.” He grins, flashing me that too-charming smile that got me into this mess in the first place.“You’re making pancakes?” I ask,

Dance With Me

*Harper*The afternoon sun pours through the studio windows, spilling delicate golden light across the floor. My latest painting is sitting on the easel, half-finished, all the colors still swirling together, but I’m not satisfied with the result. I dip my brush into my favorite cobalt blue, dragging it over the canvas, blending it into the burnt orange sunset I’m trying to capture.It’s almost there. Almost perfect.I’ve been at this for hours. My back aches, my fingers are speckled with dried paint, and I’ve barely moved since lunchtime. I’m so focused until McKenzy texts me a meme about a disastrous DIY project. At that I laugh, stretching out my stiff shoulders before turning back to the painting.That’s when my phone rings.I consider ignoring it, until I see Tomas’s name flashing across the screen.I bite my lip, warmth spreading through my chest as I answer. “Hola, Profe.”“Hola, preciosa,” Tomas’s smooth, accented voice flows through the line like a slow dance, making my pul

Carnivals and Other Rides

*Harper*The painting is massive, much bigger than anything I’ve ever sent to a gallery before. It’s propped against the wall, and every time I glance at it, my heart does a weird little flutter. This is the piece I’m sending to The Whitney Gallery. If I overthink it, I’ll keep making changes, trying to make it perfect. But art isn’t about perfection, right? I don’t know if it’s good enough. I don’t know if I’m good enough. But I know I’ve poured every piece of me into it… my chaos, my love, my fear, my hope. It’s all there, dripping down the canvas in colors that feel like my soul spread wide open.What I do know for sure is that I can’t shove something this big into the back of an Uber. And the car McKenzy and I share is barely bigger than a shoe. So, naturally, I call Scott, the only person I know with a pickup truck.“Hey, babe.” He answers on the second ring, his voice warm and relaxed. “What’s up?”“I need a favor.”“Name it.”“Can you bring your truck over and help me take my

Go Team!

*Harper*My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I nearly knock over a half-empty mug of coffee trying to grab it.Damien: Pack your bags, little red bird. My jet leaves at 10:00 A.M. on Friday.I grin, biting my lip, and another message pops in before I can reply.Damien: And bring the other two along. I suppose they can sit with the peasants in the back.Scott: I’m taller than you.Tomas: And I’m more charming.Damien: But I’m richer.I can’t stop laughing as the group chat explodes with the kind of snarky chaos that has somehow become my new normal.Scott: Don’t care. I’m bringing snacks.Tomas: Do not let Scott choose the snacks. I beg you.Damien: Fine. I’ll stock the jet myself. Only the finest artisanal chips and caviar-flavored popcorn.Rafe: Wait. What’s happening?I snort. Rafe’s been so laser-focused on training camp he’s missed half the group texts lately.Me: We’re all coming to your first home game, baby.Rafe: What? How? Who’s “we all”?Damien: Me, little red bird, her f

Lap of Luxury

*Harper*Damien’s jet is my new favorite place in the world. I mean, I love my apartment, I love everywhere I go with my guys, and I even love my tiny little Prius back home. But this is luxury wrapped in silk, dipped in champagne, and handed to me on a silver platter.Scott is playing with the massage chair, testing every setting like a kid on Christmas morning. Tomas, ever composed, reading something on his tablet, pretending like he’s not secretly enjoying the five-star treatment. And Damien? Damien is lounging like a king, sipping whiskey in a glass that was probably hand-blown in some exclusive European workshop.“I could get used to this,” I say with a sigh, stretching my legs on the reclining seat.“You should get used to it,” Damien says, swirling his drink. “This is your life now.”I snort. “Oh, is it? Just like that?”“Just like that.” He smirks. “I refuse to let my favorite people travel like peasants.”Scott groans, adjusting his chair. “Damien, I don’t know how to tell y

Reunited

*Rafe*Harper is here. In my city. In her own apartment. In my arms.I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. The past few weeks have been a blur–a new team, new city, new life–but now, finally, it feels like I can breathe again. She’s actually here, curled up against my chest like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there. And she always has. Her hair’s a little messy from where she fell asleep on me earlier after our first round of sex, strands sticking up in every direction, and I swear I’ve never seen anything more perfect. She’s got on one of my old sweatshirts, her bare legs tucked under her, scrolling through some takeout menu like it’s the most important decision of her life.“I’m getting you the spicy basil chicken,” she announces without even looking up.I raise a brow. “Not even gonna let me pick?”“Nope.” She grins, so bright and cheeky it should come with a warning label. “I know you too well.”She’s right. She does. And I love her for it.The food arrives faster t

Nothing Too Extravagant

*Harper*The apartment in Mineesota is quiet except for the rhythmic strokes of my brush against the canvas. There’s a kind of peace in painting, something about the way colors blend together, the way shapes emerge from nothing, the way my hands move without me having to think. It’s one of the few things in my life that feels truly simple.Except today, my mind refuses to be quiet. I keep thinking about Scott and his stronger-than-expected feelings,and the fact that I can’t stop thinking about him.I dip my brush into the deep crimson paint, swirling it onto the canvas with long, sweeping strokes. I tell myself I’m just painting shadows, but I know the truth. I’m painting Scott’s lips, the color they turn when he kisses me, when he really kisses me.I press my lips together, remembering the way he looked at me at the carnival. The way he held my hand. The way he invited me to a family event without hesitation, like I already belonged.And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Scott seems to b

The Woman Scorned

*Harper*When Tomas calls a few days later and asks if I want to go salsa dancing at our usual spot, I smile so wide my face hurts.“Of course,” I say, already flipping through my closet for a dress that will make him sweat before we even hit the dance floor. “I’m dying for another night with you, Profe.”When Tomas knocks on my door, I’m already feeling dangerous.The dress I picked is deep green, tight in all the right places, with a slit high enough to make a statement. My heels click against the floor as I open the door, and the moment Tomas lays eyes on me, his whole body goes still.His gaze travels down my body, slow and deliberate, before snapping back to my face with a heated intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.“Helena,” he breathes, shaking his head as he steps inside. “You are . . . imposible.”I grin, letting my fingers trail along his chest before resting on his shoulder. “Impossible to resist?”“Completely.” He finds my waist, pulling me closer. “Let’s get to t

Grandma's 100th

*Harper*Scott is sprawled on my couch, scrolling through his phone, looking completely relaxed.At least, he is until he looks up. The second I step out of my room, his phone drops onto his lap, his lips parting slightly as his eyes trail over me.The white sundress with pink flowers had been an impulse pick–sweet, flirty, innocent enough for a family party, but still tight in all the right places. My hair is curled, cascading over my shoulders, and my perfume smells like fresh strawberries and summer dreams.I barely make it two steps into the living room before Scott lets out a low, audible gasp.“Oh, no,” I tease, placing a hand on my hip. “Did I break you?”He blinks once, then twice, before clearing his throat. “You’re… I mean–” He stumbles, trying to gather his thoughts.I bite back a smile. “You mean?”Scott shakes his head, standing up slowly. “I mean I’m going to need a minute to remember my own name.”Laughing, I step forward, running a finger lightly down the front of his

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