Chapter three

I'm so happy everyone likes it! :)

Emma had been calling non-stop after I told her that I talked to Sidney Crosby. She’s a huge hockey fan and apparently he’s like, the best of the best. I had no idea. I don’t watch hockey. I don’t care. But more specifically, I don’t have time.

“Aves, you have to tell me what he’s like!” Em screeched at me before I left to go to his place this morning. She was over at my apartment and we were giggling like high-schoolers about another guy she managed to pick up.

“Em, calm down. I’m sure he’s just like any other person. I’m sure he puts his pants on one leg at a time,” I stated as I picked up my portfolio in one hand and my coffee in the other.

“I’m pretty sure he jumps into his pants. None of that one legged business,” she joked. “I think you should ask for an autograph and a picture,” she continued dreamily with a smile.

“No Em, that’s you. You should ask for an autograph and a picture. Me? I should ask what his style is and what color he wants to paint his dining room,” I snapped at her before walking out of my apartment and getting in my car.

Now I’m standing outside his house and I’m not too sure about the whole normal thing. His house is gargantuan. A ridiculous size for a single 21 year old guy, as Emma has told me. It’s brick and stone and has this… thing at the top of it. Almost like a lighthouse. What would you call that, a turret? Whatever it is, I like the house. I actually love the house. It doesn’t just have a flat front either. There are so many different dimensions to it, I can’t stop looking. As I’m still looking at it, walking up the front path, he opens the door. Oh God. Emma was right. He’s extremely good looking, except for the hair. I’m not too sure what’s going on with the hair. It looks like there’s roughly 5 pounds of hair gel caked on top of his head. Other than that, I can’t stop looking at him. I almost trip over a big decorative boulder in the middle of the walkway. How could I miss that? I finally make it to the steps and walk up to greet him. I have to tell myself over and over that he’s a client and to stop drooling.

“Hi, Mr. Crosby, I’m Avery,” I say, holding out my hand.

“Sidney,” he corrects me. “Nice to meet you Avery,” he says with a smile. “I hear you’re one of the best interior designers around.”

“Well, I try,” I say, blushing. “So, what do you need done?” I ask as I walk over the threshold, but before he answers, I hold up my hand. He has no furniture, no paint, and no style. This is an interior designer’s dream, to create something from scratch.

“I picked the floor out myself,” I hear him say behind me. I turn around to look at him in shock and disbelief.

“The floor is a start… But how long have you been living here?” I ask quizzically.

“I bought the house at the beginning of the season, so almost 6 months,” he says with a smile. I just stare at him. How could someone live in such a blank canvas of a house?

“This is going to need a lot of work…” I say, trailing off, wandering through an archway into the dining room that has a beautiful inlaid ceiling. “This,” I say, pointing at the high ceiling, “is beautiful. I can’t believe you haven’t done anything with any of this. You have a beautiful house.” He shrugged.

“I haven’t had time.”

“Well now that you have me, we’re making time,” I say, turning around to look at him. “We need to start with the basics. Paint colors. What are you thinking?” I ask, gazing around at the white walls.

“I’m not really sure what I like,” he says almost apologetically. “I grew up in a pretty dark house. Everything was a dark color, so I think I want to get away from that,” he says, staring at me with those mesmerizing hazel eyes. I had to rip my gaze away.

“Well, we can go for sort of a soft, almost beachy feel,” I state, waiting for his response.

“I think I need something, a little more, you know,” he says, gesturing around. I got it. Manly.

“You want something a little more manly?” I ask with a slight smile on my lips.

“Yes,” he says, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“I got it,” I say, understandingly. “What about gray? Like a warm homey gray. And what do you think about yellow? To liven this place up a bit,” I say with a laugh. “What does a 21 year old guy even do with a house this big?” I ask suddenly, taking a queue from Emma. He seems taken aback and takes a few minutes to answer.

“I don’t know. It’s my first really big purchase. I figured I’d go all out on it,” he says, blushing a bit, but he countered quickly. “Do you want to see the rest of the house?”

“I’m going to have to see it eventually if you want any help from me,” I say with a light tone.

“Right this way Avery,” he says, leading me through another open archway and into the kitchen, which is massive. The cabinets are a beautiful chestnut color and the counters a rich black. I run my hand over the counters, gazing at the many designs hidden within.

“It’s called Super Galaxy,” he says from somewhere behind me, I’m assuming, of the counters. “I picked that too.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I say enviously. “Good job.” A thought popped into my head. “This room is really dark,” I state, abruptly looking around and noticing he has no lights of any sort anywhere. I narrow my eyes a bit at him and he, once again, blushes.

“I haven’t had time?” he says it like a question.

“That excuse is no longer acceptable,” I say with a playful edge to my voice. This guy is so easy to be around, and more importantly, he seems like he’s going to be a good client. “When can you come out with me and look at paint colors?” I ask as I wander through to the blank living room.

“I don’t have a game on Monday. I can go after practice,” he says, coming up behind me. When I turn around, he’s inches from me, and I can smell his cologne. Oh God, what is he trying to do to me? Whatever it is, it’s working.

“Uhm,” I splutter, trying to create the words I need. “I can do Monday,” I say breathlessly.

“Well then, it’s a date,” he says, stepping away from me. I want to step with him, stay close. What is happening? I never get like this. This is Emma, this isn’t me. Now he’s smiling? I feel like melting into a puddle on the ground.

“A date,” I say playfully. “Well, I have to get going. So Monday, just meet me in the paint section at Lowe’s. Their paint is better,” I say, my business side coming back out.

“Okay,” he says, walking me to the door. His eyes seem to be sparkling, for what, I’m not sure. “I’ll see you then.”