You're walking down the streets of New York with your best friend when you trip over the untied shoelaces of your battered vans. You mutter a few profanities under your breath as your shopping bags go flying. Sitting up, you start to gather up your scatters belongings. Your friend kneels down, laughing at your clumsiness, to help you.
"Here, I've got this." You hear a deep voice say as you glance up to see a boy who looks about 17 with a perfect blonde quiff stooping down to assist you. You flash a grateful smile in his direction as he places the last apple bag into your grocery bag.
"Thanks. You didn't have to do that."
"Oh, but I did." He puts out a calloused hand. "I'm Luke, by the way." You do a double take as you put it all together- the blonde hair, the hot Australian accent, and the punk rock lip ring that makes girls swoon.
"You're Luke Hemmings," you stutter, eyebrows shooting up.
"Shh, don't say it that loud," he laughs, putting one finger on your lips. "Someone might overhear!" He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm kind of a big deal."
Your friend clears her throat behind you, and you realize that you were still holding the bag of apples between you. You blush and look away, embarrassed. "I'm still here, you know."
"Oh, sorry. I'm Luke, and you are...?" He stands up and brushes the dirt off his tattered black skinny jeans, outstretching his hand like he did you. Your face falls; he must do this for every girl, not just you, you think disappointedly.
"y/b/f/n," she replies.
As if he can read your mind, Luke spins around to face you again and reaches in his pocket to fish out a scrap of paper. "So you're a fan?" he stalls, looking into his back pocket for a pen. Finding only a pencil stub, he walks over to a nearby building and and scribbles something onto the paper against the side.
You watch his antics with a smirk on your face, not saying anything. "What are you doing?" Your friend asks what you were afraid to. He walks back and hands you the note.
"See for yourself." After reading it, you glance up, smiling, but he has already disappeared into the crowd. Your friend gives you a questioning glance, and you show her the slip of paper. It consists of a hastily scratched phone number followed by 'call me - Luke xx'.
