Sketch Space

Ever since I moved to Losanti, Ohio, I've been doing my best to find my place here. The thing is, in such an insular city — where the first question people ask when meeting someone new is, "Where did you go to high school?" — fitting in is a tough task for an outsider.

"Callie, have you looked into HobbySpace?" my roommate Nora asks me while we're sharing a dinner of homemade chicken stir-fry and rice.

"No, what's that?" I ask.

She swallows a forkful of carrots and bamboo shoots. "It's a website where you can find these 'spaces' or groups for all kinds of interests. It's a perfect way to meet new friends, and maybe even some cute guys..."

I push back the thought of romantic connection, or even dating, for that matter. Ever since walking in on my then-boyfriend Dax cheating on me with my much thinner best friend — former best friend — back in Michigan, I'm done with all of it.

"Nah, I'm not even thinking about guys right now," I tell her, "but I would love new friends."

***

After buying supplies in preparation, I walk into the classroom at Losanti Community College, where the Saturday sketch space event is taking place. Wearing an orange tee, skinny jeans that skirt my thick curves, and beige Mary Jane flats, I sit in the back of the room.

Before everyone else piles in, I take my mirror out of my purse and snag a quick look. My curly brunette pixie cut is in place, which looks alright with my round face...at least hair grows back, I guess. Light makeup is done, and a small pair of hoop earrings and silver ball necklace tie it all together. Not bad.

As I slip my mirror into my purse, I'm startled by a "Hey!"

I look to my left, and I see him. Shaggy, windswept brown hair with a few light streaks, and deep, dark eyes. Most see him as average, but there's something about him I can't put a finger on.

"My bad, didn't mean to scare you," he says in a deep voice that lives somewhere between tenor and baritone, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his strong, thick neck with each word.

"No, you're fine. I just wasn't paying attention."

He pulled a sketchbook from his bag. "I've never seen you here before. Welcome, I'm Sawyer."

"Hi, I'm Callie."

He smiles gently. "Nice to meet you."

The meeting starts, and we're sketching a potted fern. But while I sketch the leaves, I begin a secret drawing on the next page, which I work on like a long-term project.

Once we run out of time, we share what we've sketched. As he gives us the details of his work, I feel like I'm melting into him.

After the meeting, with a few other people, we make small talk. He loves the Southwest, too. Everyone else leaves, and we're finally alone.

"I swear, Pikachu's tail has a black tip!" I say, thinking back to playing handheld video games when I was a kid.

Sawyer shakes his head in such a cute way. "Nope...I'll show you." He takes out his phone and shows me pictures.

No black. All yellow.

I laugh...he's the right kind of nerd for me.

"Callie, have you ever heard of the Mandela Effect?" he asks.

I have no idea, and I tell him so.

"It's when people misremember some fact about pop culture. When the South African leader Nelson Mandela died, many people were surprised, because they thought he had died decades before in prison. That's where the name comes from."

"Whoa." This new tidbit of information is quite intriguing, much like the beautiful man saying it.

He smiles at me as if there's a spark. "So, Callie...now you know."

In bed that very night, my thoughts fixated on Sawyer...his solid, stocky body standing in front of the classroom showing off his completed fern drawing, with extra details included solely from his vivid imagination. We're meant to be, but am I meant to be with anyone, really?

Regardless, I can't get him out of my mind. The idea of him stimulates me. I slip my hand beneath my pajama bottoms and work it out.

That feeling is not going away anytime soon, but there's no way anything's going to happen. Men like him don't give women like me a second glance, and surely, in that way, Sawyer's no different.

***

"I swear to God, Callie, if you don't stop talking about that Sawyer guy..." Nora complains as she and I eat wheat cereal at the kitchen table of our two-bedroom apartment.

"I can't be talking about him that much, am I?" I protest.

Nora looks at me cynically. "You've been going to that sketch space for over a month, and I barely hear about new friends or anything you actually do there. All you talk about is Sawyer...'Sawyer said this,' 'Sawyer did that.'"

"I've met other people there, Nora. Trust me, I'm not that focused on him...I think..."

I hate when I get like this. Every once in a while, I find some man to be absolutely stuck on. He becomes my special interest, and I want to learn everything about him. He's like a drug, and I can't get enough. It lasts awhile...years even, but it always concludes the same way. I finally confess, or I get exposed, and he never sees me the same. What's worse, I'm often told in the most soul-crushing ways possible. I'm thirty now, and it's frustrating that this is still my life.

I once had a boyfriend — Dax — the only one I've ever had. He wasn't the object of my intense affection. Instead, he was a random guy my so-called friends set me up with. He treated me as if he were doing me a favor by being my boyfriend, and to be honest, I wondered if I deserved anything better. But in the end, I would rather be alone than pitied.

The one thing I wish for is to be loved the way I love. Mutual attraction, mutual desire...if only.

***

Before stepping onto the college campus, I give myself a quick once-over: a navy V-neck blouse accentuating my cleavage, a flowing brown skirt that skims my full hips and hits just above the knee, and strappy tan sandals. After sketch space, the plan is to go to Blake's house for a casual hangout party. I wonder to myself if Sawyer's going to be there. But first, sketch.

Our object for this session is a peach...a juicy, round, luscious peach. As I draw the curvature of the fruit, I steal time to draw lines of my secret sketch, and steal glances of my subject.

Once time runs out to complete our sketches, we show them to each other.

"Callie," says Blake, the organizer of our space, "it's your turn. Let's see what you came up with."

As I turn my open sketchbook toward the group, my fingers turn to butter, and my art slips out of my grasp onto the floor.

Shit.

Just my luck, the sketchbook opens to the secret drawing, and the secret subject picks it up before I do.

I could die.

He hands it to me with a small smirk. My face is undoubtedly solid crimson.

"Here...you go..." he hands it to me, sounding unsure. Ugh...yet another time when I'm sure my feelings are unrequited. And the worst part is, I had no intention of sharing my desire in the first place.

I don't stay after this time to talk to Sawyer, or anyone. Instead, I call my roommate.

"Nora, just so you know, I'm coming home early," I inform her.

"Why? Jason's over and we're spending the evening together...we didn't expect you to come home so soon."

"Look, I'll just pick up Riverview Coneys for myself on the way home, and duck into my room once I get back. You won't even notice I'm there."

"What happened, Callie?"

I tell her about the embarrassing moment.

"The drawing must've been excellent if he recognized himself in it," she quips. "I'm not surprised, though. You've got talent."

"Yeah, but in this case, it's not exactly a good thing."

"It's really not a big deal. Go to the party...enjoy yourself, hang out with your new friends. Pretend nothing happened...I'm sure everybody's already forgotten about it."

"Alright, I guess I'll go. Have fun tonight with Jason."

"I sure will. Callie, nobody's gonna remember, alright?"

I make a right turn on the nearest major street to pick up a bottle of Merlot and head to the party after all.

Once Blake welcomes me into the spacious apartment, I gravitate toward the other guests from the space congregating around the millennial grey kitchen island. Once I place my contribution on the table, I pour from an open Cabernet bottle and swipe a small plate of tortilla chips with organic salsa. I'm chatting with my new friends, but a part of me is sad, forlorn even. I don't see my favorite person. Have I scared him off with my mistakenly revealed drawing? Maybe he has other plans...after all, not everything is about me.

As I politely listen to yet another tale of woe from Jeannie about her soul-sucking job at the proverbial salt mines, I see from the corner of my eye that Blake has let in another arrival.

My heart relaxes in relief. He's here. But shit, he's here.

Sawyer approaches the island, adding his contribution of hummus and pita chips. A few moments later, he whispers in my ear, "Callie, can I talk to you?"

Oh no. The script ruminates in my mind:

Callie, I can tell that you like me and you want more, and I'm flattered, but I don't see you the same way.

As I follow him to the balcony of Blake's home, I steel myself for the letdown.

I sit on a bench near the sliding glass doorway, and Sawyer joins me. At dusk, the Losanti skyline is on display just over the steel ledge. The orange sun slowly setting behind the collection of modest skyscrapers is beautiful and oddly serene. But it's only now that I notice he brought his sketchbook with him. He's dedicated to his art, that's for sure.

Relief washes over me. Perhaps, he simply wants my opinion on a piece he's working on.

"So...Callie, that sketch earlier that you dropped..."

He's having trouble looking at me. My relief is short-lived.

"It was very well done. It looked like me, but better than how I imagine myself. I'm flattered."

Alright, here we go, in three, two, one...

Sawyer opens the sketchbook that is now on his lap, and palms through to a page. Then, he turns it toward me.

It's a portrait...of me.

"Do you like it?" he asks.

I can't believe it. The drawing is clearly of me, but pretty. When I rediscover my ability to speak, I tell him. "Yes, Sawyer. I really do. It looks like me, but better."

"No, it looks like you. It's how I see you, Callie." He looks me in the eye. "This is stupid, I know, but I've noticed you ever since you started coming to sketch space. I adore everything about you...your beautiful brown eyes, the way you smile, your hot curves, the way you walk. You're captivating in every way."

Then, he leans in for a kiss, but it's not like any other. It's so enthusiastic, so much. This is happening to me, and it's so unreal.

In the moment, I welcome it. He kisses my lips and works his way to my neck as he runs his fingers through my hair. His other hand slips underneath my blouse and lace bra, cupping my ample bosom and caressing my hardened nipple. For the first time in my life, the fire burns inside me.

Just as quickly, Sawyer pulls back.

"Is everything okay?"

He glances at his belted khaki pants in express horror. On full display, I can't help but see a noticeable bulge and a wet spot on his left thigh.

"Oh."

His face turns beet red. "I'm so sorry, Callie. I've gotta go."

Sprinting from the balcony, Sawyer leaves without looking at anyone. When I glance at the space where he once rested, I notice his sketchbook, which he has left behind in his haste. I grab it, holding it against my side, and I make my own quiet goodbye.

***

As we carefully draw a stuffed Pikachu toy in sketch space three weeks after Sawyer's confession, I notice he is a no-show once again. Ever since the night he confessed his feelings for me on the balcony of Blake's place, he has disappeared from the group.

A part of me feels terrible...he loves the space, and drawing for him is life, yet he's gone because of me. But I'm not sure if I still see Sawyer the same way anymore. Gone is the desire a fingertip's length out of reach, and in its place is an obsessive man who wants me so bad that when I signaled our feelings were mutual, he came too early.

Yet, a part of me hopes to see him back, for no other reason but to return his sketchbook. If he never returns, if he has indeed abandoned his creative work, does it mean he's thrown me away, too?

As I color in the tail of Pikachu with my signature ebony touch on its tip, a voice calls behind me that stimulates me like no other.

"It's solid yellow, Callie."

He takes his usual seat beside me, like nothing has changed. I'm relieved, but unsure of what the future holds.

"Have you seen my sketchbook?" he asks sheepishly.

"Welcome back, Sawyer." I slide the lost treasure to him with a grin.

After the session, Sawyer leans over and asks me, "Instead of standing around after sketch space, why don't you and I go out to Marrakech Grill? It's on me."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes...yes, I am."

I nod.

At the cozy establishment, as I enjoy a fattoush salad and he consumes a chicken shawarma, I reveal to him, "This is my favorite restaurant."

"I know."

At this confession, the hair stands on the nape of my neck. "But how...how did you know?"

"I just do. Your favorite color is violet-blue, and you're from Royal Oak, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit. You're the oldest of three siblings with a younger sister and brother. Your brother goes to the University of Michigan, and your sister lives in Washington State."

I'm quite weirded out by what he knows...how? We've never discussed much about our personal lives, after all. But then again, I know too much, too.

Not wanting to sound obsessive, I play it cool. "That's funny, Sawyer. You're from Louisville originally, but you went to high school here in Losanti...Brother Callahan. You're an only child, your father is a psych professor, and your mother's a teacher. Oh, and I know where you live. West side, Valleytown."

Sawyer chuckles. "Touche. Since you know where I live, do you wanna come over after this and see the inside for yourself?"

Once I enter Sawyer's small green house and he closes the door, we magnetically lock lips. His teal polo shirt flies off to reveal his masculine, hirsute torso, which my manicured hands devour. Against the wall of his blue living room, he frantically ripped off my mint blouse and pink bra. With his mouth, he drinks my bust.

"Callie, I want you...I want you so bad," he whispers.

Moving into his small, cerulean bedroom, we kick off our shoes and fall onto his queen-size bed. He pulls off my denim shorts, and I undo his belt buckle and unzip the fly of his dark-wash jeans. We can't stop touching each other's aroused bodies, as a deep hunger has awakened in me, and as it seems, in him, too.

"You're so beautiful, Callie...I dream of you every night."

The strength of his yearning is off-putting, yet I deeply crave his desire and rapt attention. This is what I wanted, right?

"I need to have you, Sawyer," I breathe.

He pulls off my lace panties and uses his hand to loosen me up. Sliding down my soft middle, kissing me on the way down, his lips and warm tongue land between my thick legs. Eagerly, he takes me in, dedicated to my pleasure.

"Do you like that, Callie?"

"Yes, yes I do."

My hands grasp the navy comforter as electricity flows through my core.

"Oh, God, Sawyer!" I scream.

After a spell, I want to ensure he receives the same pleasure.

"Let me, please."

I place his girthy rod between my pillowy lips. I want every bit of this man, and he is more than thrilled to oblige.

Taking shallow breaths, he moans, "Mmm, that's so good, Callie."

As I bob along him, I glance upward, the colossal drawing on the wall coming into view. Above the head of the bed hangs a framed sketch of a curvy brunette in an orange tee and skinny jeans, seated in concentration.

That's me.

Shit...this isn't supposed to happen like this.

It's not the painful, familiar script. But I'm tired of the way it's supposed to go...and maybe he is, too.

I stare into his captivating eyes. "Sawyer, please...please fuck me."

"Are you sure, Callie? Do you want me to?"

"Yes!"

"I would love to, gorgeous."

He lays me down and spreads my legs to accommodate. At full mast, he plunges himself deep inside me, filling me with ecstasy. With every thrust, with each euphoric cry, the truth hits me — I want Sawyer just as desperately as he wants me.

This story was originally written late last year as an exercise in stretching my writing into romance as a genre. "Sketch Space" has the darkness of my literary fiction, and the setting is in my literary fiction "Losantiverse" world. But it also has a touch of dark romance.

If you enjoyed "Sketch Space," you'll likely love my Luscious Ladies of Clairborn contemporary romances I write under the pen name Stevie Alison. They're available on Amazon through Kindle Unlimited, ebook, and print.