Drawn to You: Volume 1

By: Vanessa Booke

“Stop doing that.”


Her startled eyes return to me with a look of confusion. I silently chide myself as my gaze wanders down her slender neckline to the top of her breast. The sight of her disheveled outfit taunts me as she sits slightly exposed. She isn’t old enough to be running around this party by herself. In fact, if it were up to me, I’d say she’s not old enough to be wearing a dress like that. I roll to my left freeing her dress and giving her just enough room to sit up. As if to avoid our awkward encounter, the crowd around us quickly returns to their polite conversation and drinks. I dust my slacks off, acutely aware that I’ve torn a hole in my pants at the knee. The truth hits me as I kneel down to pick up the shattered champagne glasses.

Fuck. Vivian is going to kill me.

I can only imagine how much it’s going to be to replace these stupid glasses. It’s not as if the hotel is just going to be like, oh, you broke three hundred dollar glasses? That’s okay. And it’s not like the fifty bucks I’m making tonight will cover even one of these glasses.

“I’m so sorry, my heels...” Her soft voice interrupts my thoughts as I gather the shards of glass together. I watch her as she brushes back a few loose strands of hair and leans over. “Let me help you,” she offers.

There’s something in her voice—a strand of despair that shakes my very core. I look over to find a bright blush staining her cheeks. My heart squeezes and I find myself drawn to her pink lips that are slipped between her teeth. I ignore the sudden need to reassure her that it’s all right, to touch the skin just below the base of her neck, and the growing desire to pull her back down on top of me.

“You should be careful where you’re going. You could’ve hurt yourself…” I say hoping to clear my head of tempting thoughts.

“You nearly killed me.” I smirk.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t look where I was going and then suddenly, there you were.”

Her shy smile only seems to draw my attention back to the beauty of her face. My hands itch to touch her, to hold her to me, but instead, I busy my hands again picking up the final remnants of glass.


A stream of blood gushes from her finger and palm as she pulls a shard of glass from her skin. Without thinking, I grab her hand and wrap the hem of my jacket around it. She looks up at me with a small smile and a look of curiosity as I squeeze the fabric to her skin. A trail of blood trickles down her wrist evidence that the cut is deeper than I had hoped. I look into her eyes, wishfully hoping in the back of my mind that she somehow remembers me, and that I’m not just a figment of her imagination because she was always real to me.

“Thank you.”

Several seconds pass and any hope of her recognizing me quickly dissipates.

“We can’t stand here all night,” I say. “Let’s get something else to wrap this.”

I pull her with me, and we silently head toward one of the employee bathrooms to look for a first aid kit. It isn’t until the touch of her skin makes contact with mine that I realize she’s touching me. A strange sensation fills me as I spot her hand in mine. I look back down at her, but she doesn’t look up. I almost chuckle at the sight of her brushing back a strand of her hair. The nervous tick is all too familiar.

Try as I may, I can’t ignore the feeling that her hand naturally fits mine—it’s just a little too right.

“My name is Emily,” she offers, with a blush.

My Lily Pad.



‘Emily, you’re always such a good girl.’ Ceci’s words replay in my mind as I stare up at the stranger walking so closely beside me. He ushers us through the crowd never letting my hand go, despite the cluster of people standing in our way. It’s strange to say I feel a connection to someone I’ve just met, but I do with him. There’s something about the way he touches me that sets my skin on fire. Although I know it can’t be true, it feels familiar in a way.

His long dark hair hangs just shy of his collar as it sits pushed black in one long swoop of gel. From the length of it, I can guess that he isn’t used to having it slicked back. It’s easy to imagine him wearing it down like some heavy metal singer from the eighties with leather pants and a black tee. He would look good in leather pants. Too good.

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