Secret Crush: From the First Meeting

"Larry Harrison! The same Larry Harrison from Class Eleven when we were in high school?"

I knew this was exactly how Lesley would react when I mentioned this to her.

Unlike me, Lesley had firsthand experience with Larry's reputation. While I'd only heard stories about him, she had witnessed him in action, brutally breaking eight of a classmate's ribs with a single kick.

Lesley had been passing by when it happened. The boy who got his ribs broken was someone she knew from middle school, though he wasn't exactly a good person either. In their circle of "troubled kids," right and wrong didn't mean much; they did whatever they pleased based on their whims.

Lesley couldn't fathom how my family ended up connected to someone like Larry, and she was vehemently opposed to it.

"Let's forget about his past. Just look at his face—every strand of his hair has at least eight hundred girlfriends," she warned.

Her words triggered memories of high school rumors about Larry and the queen of another class, Veronica Shaw. They were said to be childhood sweethearts, a perfect match, who had been inseparable since kindergarten.

"They only broke up when Veronica left for college abroad. What does that make her? His first love!"

Lesley's concern was palpable, but I couldn't help but find the whole thing a bit amusing. It felt like we were blowing things out of proportion.

Come on, we'd just met each other for the first time. It wasn't like I was agreeing to marry him or anything. Besides, it was clear to me that Larry and I were from entirely different worlds.

We weren't in the same world back in high school, and we certainly won't be.

7

On the eve of Valentine's Day, I received an invitation from Jamie for dinner.

During our conversation, I learned that Jamie was an only child and that his mother had been in poor health, having undergone surgery this year.

After much consideration, Jamie decided to return to the city to be closer to his family. Naturally, the blind dates were arranged by his parents.

Jamie suggested that we pretend to agree to see each other, as a kind of mutual cooperation.

Remembering the nightmares that Mrs. Hansom's matchmaking had caused me over the past two years, I found myself wavering.

Sensing my hesitation, Jamie asked if I had found someone I was interested in.

For a brief moment, Larry's face flashed in my mind.

Jamie smiled faintly and nodded toward something behind me.

I turned and found myself locking eyes with Larry, who was sitting among a rowdy group of boys, some familiar, some not.

A few of them I recognized as those "troubled kids" from high school—the ones who used to sit in the back row, the ones I never dared approach.

Larry was slouched on the couch, wearing a baseball cap, one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, and the other holding a beer bottle.

His long legs were crossed, and his sharp jawline was visible as he tilted his head back slightly.

He wasn't wearing glasses today, and his clear eyes were fixed on me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

When our eyes met, Larry blinked slowly and then looked away.

"Alright, Dr. Brown, let's do it your way."

I agreed to Jamie's request, though my mind was still reeling from the intensity of the gaze I had just encountered. I struggled through the rest of the meal, and even after we left the restaurant, I didn't dare look back.

Before leaving, Jamie reached out to pat my head. I instinctively dodged the gesture, which made him pause for a moment before he placed his hand on my head anyway.

"See you tomorrow."

When I got home, I told my parents about Jamie's proposal, emphasizing that we were only going to see how things went. I assured them that if it didn't work out, I would end it, but in the meantime, I hoped they wouldn't set me up with anyone else.

My dad couldn't hide his delight, though my mom looked a bit disappointed. Still, she didn't say much and I knew she would gently relay my wishes to the matchmaker.

Later that night, while struggling with a paper, I received a call from an unknown number.

"Phoebe, you're something else," a low, slurred voice greeted me.

It was Larry. I could tell immediately that he was drunk.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Huh?"

His words didn't make any sense to me, and I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Then stop playing games with me."

Okay, I admitted I was initially attracted to him, but we both agreed to the blind date. If it didn't work out, we'd just move on to the next one. It was not like we were ever serious enough to require any kind of explanation for turning each other down.

"Uh, sorry?"

I cautiously apologized, but he let out a self-mocking laugh on the other end of the line.

He didn't say anything else, and I was too afraid to hang up, suddenly feeling a bit scared.

Yes, I was scared of him. From the moment I realized he was Larry Harrison, all those terrifying memories from high school came flooding back—memories that had kept me awake for countless nights.

Larry's voice softened, almost as if he were talking to a child.

"Phoebe, turn around and look at me, okay?"

I was certain he was drunk, and not just a little drunk—completely wasted, to the point of talking nonsense.

He spoke again, drawing out the last word.

"I'm begging you—"

I quickly hung up, a series of violent crime cases I'd read about online flashing through my mind—crimes of passion committed by men driven mad by unrequited love.

Wait! That was ridiculous. There was no way he was obsessed after meeting me just three times. I was clearly overthinking things, which explained my insomnia.

It took three pills to finally force myself to sleep that night. The next day, I showed up for my date with Jamie, sporting dark circles that no amount of concealer could hide.