Lahat ng Kabanata ng A Sketch Away From Perfect: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

*​​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

*​​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

*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

*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

*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