IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You by Anna Todd, Blair Holden, Rachel Aukes, Ashley Winters, Leigh Ansell, Doeneseya Bates, Scarlett Drake, A. Evansley, Kevin Fanning, Ariana Godoy, Debra Goelz, Bella Higgin, Kora Huddles, Annelie Lange, E. Latimer, Bryony Leah, Jordan Lynde, Laiza Millan, Peyton Novak, C.M. Peters, Michelle Jo, Dmitri Ragano, Elizabeth A. Seibert, Rebecca Sky, Karim Soliman, Kate J. Squires, Steffanie Tan, Kassandra Tate, Katarina E. Tonks, Marcella Uva, Tango Walker, Bel Watson, Jen Wilde Page A
Authors: Anna Todd, Blair Holden, Rachel Aukes, Ashley Winters, Leigh Ansell, Doeneseya Bates, Scarlett Drake, A. Evansley, Kevin Fanning, Ariana Godoy, Debra Goelz, Bella Higgin, Kora Huddles, Annelie Lange, E. Latimer, Bryony Leah, Jordan Lynde, Laiza Millan, Peyton Novak, C.M. Peters, Michelle Jo, Dmitri Ragano, Elizabeth A. Seibert, Rebecca Sky, Karim Soliman, Kate J. Squires, Steffanie Tan, Kassandra Tate, Katarina E. Tonks, Marcella Uva, Tango Walker, Bel Watson, Jen Wilde
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so.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Daniel asks.
You jerk your head toward the sound of his voice, surprised and intrigued. “Like where?”
“The beach just below us; have you been?” He points toward the sprawling view of the rocky shore through the window.
You shake your head and stand up from the stool. The class isn’t stimulating in the least bit, and you can’t remember the last time you had a thought-provoking conversation with anyone, let alone someone of the opposite sex.
You grab your bag from the floor and untie the drawstring. You take your sad little bundle of markers from the tray of the easel and toss them inside. You check the time on your cell phone and instantly regret it. It’s nearly three, and it’s a long slog back to your apartment.
Daniel’s still drawing, now working on the bridge of your nose. “I can’t, actually,” you sigh. “The last bus back to West Hollywood is at four, and the stop is farther from here than I knew. Sorry.” You’re disappointed that you don’t have the time to go with him. You’re having more fun talking to him in this art class than you’ve had in a long time.
“Bus? You took a bus all the way here from West Hollywood?” His mouth moves quickly when he speaks, like his hands when he sketches.
“Yeah; I didn’t realize how long it would take.”
“I can give you a ride back. I live in West Hollywood too.”
“It’s okay, it’s not that far.” You appreciate his offer and hope that he pushes for it again, but you don’t want to seem too eager to accept a ride from a stranger.
“Don’t be unfriendly,” he laughs, standing up from the stool. “It’s a long drive in a car, let alone a bus.”
You nod, agreeing without saying so. You would much rather sit in a car with him than have to pray to the gods for a seat on a bumpy, crowded bus. “What brings you all the way out here if you live in West Hollywood? Besides this rookie art class.”
“I like to get away from the city sometimes, and the beach here is my favorite on the entire coast of California.”
“Why is that?” you ask.
He tears from the pad the large white sheet with your half-drawn face on it and crumples it in his large hands. You’re shocked by this. You knew he hadn’t finished the sketch, but you didn’t expect him to destroy it. He tosses it into the nearest trash can, and you feel your face tighten into a scowl. He looks quizzical when he notices this; his eyes search your face, and you collect yourself. You force a gentle smile, one that you hope doesn’t come across as offended. It was his drawing, anyway, you tell yourself, you don’t have a reason to be upset. It’s not like you were thrilled with him drawing it in the first place, but you would have liked to see how it turned out.
“I like El Matador because it’s quiet and the waves aren’t very strong,” he says. “There’s these masses of rocks along the coast, and I like to sit there and drown out all the noise from LA. I love LA, but it’s nice to have some quiet, especially if I only have to drive an hour and a half to get it. . . .” His voice trails off, and you wish fora moment that you could get inside this stranger’s head. His hand is on his hip now, and his head is tilted to the side. He reaches his hand out for yours and you immediately pull back. You don’t like to be touched. You don’t know how to be touched. You know this isn’t normal, but you stopped trying to be normal a long time ago.
With a flick of his wrist, he’s grabbing your hand from behind your back. You want to push him away, but he smiles, and suddenly you’ve forgotten how to protest.
“Shall we?” He looks toward the door; his warm hand is holding your wrist like a parent does a child, and you try to ignore the stares of the other people in the room as you two leave. The instructor looks confused, but not a hint of annoyance appears on his wrinkled face. Daniel closes the door behind you and
“Do you want to get out of here?” Daniel asks.
You jerk your head toward the sound of his voice, surprised and intrigued. “Like where?”
“The beach just below us; have you been?” He points toward the sprawling view of the rocky shore through the window.
You shake your head and stand up from the stool. The class isn’t stimulating in the least bit, and you can’t remember the last time you had a thought-provoking conversation with anyone, let alone someone of the opposite sex.
You grab your bag from the floor and untie the drawstring. You take your sad little bundle of markers from the tray of the easel and toss them inside. You check the time on your cell phone and instantly regret it. It’s nearly three, and it’s a long slog back to your apartment.
Daniel’s still drawing, now working on the bridge of your nose. “I can’t, actually,” you sigh. “The last bus back to West Hollywood is at four, and the stop is farther from here than I knew. Sorry.” You’re disappointed that you don’t have the time to go with him. You’re having more fun talking to him in this art class than you’ve had in a long time.
“Bus? You took a bus all the way here from West Hollywood?” His mouth moves quickly when he speaks, like his hands when he sketches.
“Yeah; I didn’t realize how long it would take.”
“I can give you a ride back. I live in West Hollywood too.”
“It’s okay, it’s not that far.” You appreciate his offer and hope that he pushes for it again, but you don’t want to seem too eager to accept a ride from a stranger.
“Don’t be unfriendly,” he laughs, standing up from the stool. “It’s a long drive in a car, let alone a bus.”
You nod, agreeing without saying so. You would much rather sit in a car with him than have to pray to the gods for a seat on a bumpy, crowded bus. “What brings you all the way out here if you live in West Hollywood? Besides this rookie art class.”
“I like to get away from the city sometimes, and the beach here is my favorite on the entire coast of California.”
“Why is that?” you ask.
He tears from the pad the large white sheet with your half-drawn face on it and crumples it in his large hands. You’re shocked by this. You knew he hadn’t finished the sketch, but you didn’t expect him to destroy it. He tosses it into the nearest trash can, and you feel your face tighten into a scowl. He looks quizzical when he notices this; his eyes search your face, and you collect yourself. You force a gentle smile, one that you hope doesn’t come across as offended. It was his drawing, anyway, you tell yourself, you don’t have a reason to be upset. It’s not like you were thrilled with him drawing it in the first place, but you would have liked to see how it turned out.
“I like El Matador because it’s quiet and the waves aren’t very strong,” he says. “There’s these masses of rocks along the coast, and I like to sit there and drown out all the noise from LA. I love LA, but it’s nice to have some quiet, especially if I only have to drive an hour and a half to get it. . . .” His voice trails off, and you wish fora moment that you could get inside this stranger’s head. His hand is on his hip now, and his head is tilted to the side. He reaches his hand out for yours and you immediately pull back. You don’t like to be touched. You don’t know how to be touched. You know this isn’t normal, but you stopped trying to be normal a long time ago.
With a flick of his wrist, he’s grabbing your hand from behind your back. You want to push him away, but he smiles, and suddenly you’ve forgotten how to protest.
“Shall we?” He looks toward the door; his warm hand is holding your wrist like a parent does a child, and you try to ignore the stares of the other people in the room as you two leave. The instructor looks confused, but not a hint of annoyance appears on his wrinkled face. Daniel closes the door behind you and
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