Draw Me In Read Online Free

me rent for his well-worn spot on
the blue velvet chair closest to my workstation.
    “ Oh, you ’ ve outdone yourself with this one, ” Harry commented, angling his cup
toward his face as he nodded in appreciation. Yesterday I had perfected the art
of frothy star-shaped latte drawings; today it was the fleur de lis. “ So tell me, when are you heading
back? ”
    It
had been eight months since my last trip to Florence, and I didn ’ t have another one on the schedule as
of yet. My calendar was a blank grid of empty, eventless boxes. There was
nothing to anticipate, other than my monthly visit from Aunt Flo. Not something
to really look forward to.
    “ Nothing planned yet, but I love that
you know Florence ’ s
symbol, Harry. That ’ s
why you ’ re
my favorite customer. ” I gave him a toothy grin and a wink, not at all flirting because he was easily
three times my age and that wasn ’ t
my style, but because this was the sort of relationship we had. Harry was a
fellow lover of all things Italian. I appreciated that camaraderie.
    “ I thought you loved me because of the
hefty tips I leave. ”
    “ Yeah, ” I laughed, nudging the empty plastic
tip jar with my nail like a dog that scoots his food dish closer in the hopes
of gaining another treat. “ Those
don ’ t
hurt, either. ”
    Three
crisp ones fluttered into the canister.
    I
made at least a dozen more fleur de lis foam creations before my morning shift
was over and it was time to head to Anatomic Drawing 201 over on campus. With
my messenger bag cutting fabric lines into my shoulder, I shoved my weight
against the coffeehouse door, the bells chiming as it slammed back into place,
announcing my exit like the applause after the curtain falls. Any more latte
artwork would have to wait until tomorrow. That act was over. Now it was time
for scene two of my day, and the main characters would be graphite and paper.
    It
was a hot afternoon in the city; a tangible heat, heavy with the weight of
humidity. The bangs I ’ d
recently lopped off stuck to my forehead and perspiration glued them into
place. I tried adjusting my bag a million different ways, but there was no
avoiding the inevitable sweat stain that crossed diagonally over my peach tank
top, a sash that could ’ ve
read, “ Perspiration
Queen 2013. ” In a New York minute I ’ d
quickly become quite an impressively hot mess.
    “ Hold up, Jules! ” an unmistakable deep voice rang out
through the air from over a block away. Ian ’ s feet fell in loud footsteps on the
pavement as he raced to catch up to me, a stride both anxious and eager. He
quickened his pace and I slowed mine. “ Wait
up! ”
    Ian
was wearing a tight heather gray tee that hugged his upper body like spray
paint.
    “ Where are you headed? ” I asked, angling to face him as we
continued walking side by side down the congested streets.
    “ Class. ”
    “ You don ’ t usually have class right now, do
you? ”
    We
stepped out into the intersection amid the yellow taxicabs that flanked us on
either side like we were suddenly swimming in a sea of disoriented goldfish.
    “ Not my class, your class. ”
    My
grape chewing gum shot out of my mouth so fast it landed in the purple coif of
the elderly lady crossing in front of us. I ignored it, hoping she wouldn ’ t notice. At least it was the same
color as her violet helmet of camouflage. “ Get
out, Ian! ” With a balled up fist, I slammed a hand into his chest. “ You are not our model for today. ”
    “ Not just any model. ” His light brows shot up playfully
into his hairline. “ Your nude model. ”
    “ For the love of everything holy, you
can not be our model, Ian. ” My stomach dropped out. “ I can ’ t draw you! That is all kinds of
wrong! Incestuous even! ”
    “ I agree, there is absolutely no way
you can recreate this perfection. ” He fanned a hand up and down the length of his tall body, a wand highlighting
his frame. “ But
you are the best sketch artist I know,