What A Secret Looks Like | ✓

03: tessa

It'd been two weeks since my one night stand, and it was my first day back in New York. I couldn't think of a better way to spend my day than going to the Met. There's a calmness that comes from sitting there, testing myself about how much I know about each painting or drawing, before I let myself look at the information on the pamphlet.

I'm dressed down, wearing jeans and a sweater because even though it's nearing the end of April, it'll be freezing inside the museum. I spent a lot of time here while I was getting my degree at Columbia. It was always the place I went when I needed time to myself.

I've been staring at this drawing for over thirty minutes, observing the strokes that were used with what I'm presuming to be is red chalk.

The grade of chalk used shows the emphasis on the contours of the male figure, and has extreme detail added in the form of short white strokes. It's quite marvelous how meticulously it was done, even though it seems as if he was only practicing.

"You clearly dressed for the weather inside here and not outside," A man remarks next to me, removing me from my thoughts.

"Guess you can't say the same," I reply, giving him a quick once over, taking note of his jeans and short sleeve. He's emanating this cockiness that cancels out his attractiveness, and I have no problem redirecting my attention back to the drawing. Still, I don't hear him leave, "Can I help you with something?"

He's staring at me, "I'm pretty sure I recognize you from somewhere? It's right on the tip of my tongue, but I can't recall it for some reason. It's a shame though because I always try not to forget a pretty face."

"I've been told I have a familiar face a lot," I smile politely, moving on to the next drawing.

"No, I'm sure that's not it. Because you have these striking eyes I just can't stop looking at." He continues following me, but when I look back, it's definitely not my eyes he's staring at.

"Wow, I really couldn't tell with the way your eyes are glued to my ass."

Except he grins, not even phased that he got caught. "Sorry I'm trying to figure out how to ask why a woman with an ass like yours is standing in a place full of boring stuff."

I can't help but laugh because of how blunt he is. "You might be right about that, but I think the better question is how do I tell you that I'm not interested?"

The smirk on his face drops, he was clearly expecting me to fall all over his feet. Even if he hadn't sounded like a total asshole, I wouldn't have done anything regardless. I haven't been able to get the man from two weeks ago out of my head. I didn't know why, and it's driving me insane.

It wasn't the first one-night stand I've had, but it's also been the only one that I can't forget.

I'd fully intended on returning the clothes. It wasn't until I woke up the next morning in his shirt again, that I realized I'd never gotten an address because of the rush I was in. But I also can't bring myself to throw them away, on the off chance I see him again; no matter how unlikely it is.

So in the carry-on bag I travel with, I've managed to fit them in there, thanks to losing the dress I also conveniently left in the taxi that morning. I've been hoping that I'd miraculously run into him, awkwardly hand him the clothes, before putting it in the back of my mind like it'd never happened at all.

I tuck my hair behind my ears as I walk through the halls of the museum towards the exit because I've been here long enough. I need to check into my hotel because this bag is getting a little heavy, even though it's only a carry-on. Little did I know what was coming for me as I headed to the hotel I was being put up in.