Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

I set my bike up in an open corner of his instrument room and opened one of the only closet doors near the entrance. I pulled out a large rubber pad that Charlie kept inside for my motorcycle and tossed it underneath the motor.

I turned around and caught her watching me. It reminded me that I was alone, with an unbelievably beautiful girl, and that no one was around. I tucked my hands in my back pockets to keep from seizing this stranger and kissing her until she gasped for air.

“So,” I said, rocking back on my heels. I grabbed my bag. “Listen, I’ve done this a couple of times. It gets old fast but the one thing I’ve learned is to take advantage of anything you can while you can because you may not have the opportunity to do it for awhile which means I recommend we shower, then take any dirty clothes we have to the laundromat close by.”

“This isn’t your first rodeo then?”

“Not by a long shot. I’ll go first, ensuring you’ll have privacy later.”

I grabbed my towel, something noticeably missing from her “luggage”, also something I plan on addressing later, and head for the shower with my soap and shampoo in hand.

The “shower” was a drain in the floor, a poorly pressured spout, and a thin plastic shower curtain in the corner of what at one time must have been a pre-war locker room. The water was lukewarm at best but better than I’d had for the past two days, which was sponge baths in subway restrooms. Even though the water temperature was crummy, I had never been in such a good mood and was positive it was from meeting Harper. There’s nothing more thrilling than meeting someone new for the first time, especially if that someone new was freaking gorgeous as hell.

I stepped from the shower feeling better than I had in a very long time and toweled off. Shit, I thought as I looked down at myself, I forgot my clothes. I wrapped my towel around my lower half and trudged along the hall back to Charlie’s studio, already turning beet red at what I was about to do.

As I near the studio though, I can hear loud music trembling through the air and one miss Harper Bailey singing at the top of her lungs. I edged toward the slightly ajar door and quietly pushed it open, hoping to grab my bag next to the wall nearest me and holding my breath that she’d be too distracted to notice me but when I catch a glimpse of her, I become engrossed.

Forgetting my towel and my bag, I leaned against the door jamb just watching her dancing around, singing Aerosmith’s ‘Dream On’. I couldn’t believe how remarkably entertaining it was to see her shuffling over the floor like she was, her hair falling over her shoulders and in her face. I can tell it was probably the most free she had felt in quite awhile making her face flushed and excited and her body swaying to each beat. I wondered if the words meant anything in particular to her and suddenly didn’t know if I was intruding. If this was some sort of therapeutic ritual for her, I’d feel like an ass if she knew I was watching. I leaned forward and grabbed my bag just as she turned and saw me standing there.

o;Obviously, I’m insane. I’m defending myself as if I was Roman. Listen, I took the language in high school because I thought it would give me a good foundation vocabulary for my intended college major.”

“Oh, I’m dying to know what major you’ve chosen that Latin could possibly create a good foundation for,” she teased.

I feel the corners of my mouth twist up. “I’m going pre-med.”

Her eyes bug wide, “Seriously?”

“I know it’s a lofty goal, even for people who come from money but I’m determined and it’s been a dream of mine since I was small, so...”

She’s staring at me.

“It’s not lofty Callum. It’s brilliant that you have dreams. You should do it.”

I was taken aback.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” I grinned. “I mean, my teachers were always supportive but I got conflicting messages growing up. My foster parents constantly told me I’d amount to nothing.”

“But you didn’t listen to them, did you?” She asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

She shook her head. “Like what?”

“Like I’m already a physician,” I grinned.

“What kind of doctor do you want to be?” She asks, ignoring me.

“Uh...a pediatrician.”

“How ya’ going to do it?”

“Well, there’s this thing, see, it’s called a university. You apply...”

“Very funny. Seriously, how are you going to pull it off?”

Before I could answer though, a woman came out. Harper didn’t know it, but we were about to get word that we were sleeping outside that night.

“I’m sorry,” the woman callously announced, “but we’re full tonight!" And with no other explanation, she shut the door behind her. The veteran homeless scrambled to the nearest restaurant dumpsters in hopes of finding new cardboard, resigned to their evening’s fortune. Others stood gaping, unsure of what that exactly meant. I turned toward Harper, ready to speak but instead found myself studying her. She brought her hands to her mouth, her fingers trembled against her lips. She felt lost, I could tell, her tough outer facade was beginning to crack.