I haven’t seen Heath once, haven’t even gotten a good shag. The brunette with Mr. Mercedes called me the other day and I managed to go out with her for the sake of getting laid but she turned bashful by the end of the night and I was too distracted to try and take it any farther. We both went our separate ways and though I told her we should meet up again, it’s getting harder and harder for my brain to focus on anything but the story.
The best part of all this shit is that working at the store now is something I look forward to. Despite my ambitions as a writer I had never really taken advantage of the fact that I have a world of books at my fingertips, that this world of books will soon be my life. Now I’m finding inspiration down every shelf and I’m interacting with customers more and more, rifling through their brains to figure out just how to craft the best work that I can, what exactly they’re drawn to in the books they read. It’s even made me more inspired for my own work-in-progress and I find myself gravitating toward that when I have nothing else to do.
“I’m here,” I tell Heath, sitting back in my chair and watching the traffic flow down Wharf Street, the glittering blue harbor on the other side. In two weeks, spring has become an onslaught and even though it’s late March, the cherry trees are in full bloom and everyone is wearing shorts. Right now it’s t-shirt weather and knowing it could go back to being cold and rainy tomorrow, we’ve snagged a table on the patio in the square to have a few pints.
“You’re not,” Heath says. “You might as well be on your phone like everyone else.” He glances around us and indeed, most people are staring at their phones instead of the view or their company. “Last time I saw you, you were present.”
“I was drunk,” I remind him. “We both were.”
He studies me over his beer before taking a sip. “So then tell me, what’s the real reason you’ve been holding out on me these last few weeks?”
I look at him frankly. “It’s the truth. Sorry to disappoint you but there is no other reason. I’ve been writing. I’m caught up in it.”
He doesn’t believe me. “I’ve never seen you get so wrapped up in an assignment before.”
“I’ve never had an interesting assignment before.”
And, to be honest, I’ve never had an interesting work partner before.
I’m shocked at how much I’ve come to enjoy working with Amanda. Maybe enjoy is too plain of a word. I can do better: challenging. The whole thing is challenging. She keeps me on my toes. Not just in terms of writing and trying to better myself, because, let’s face it, if she’s competitive then I am too. We’re both trying to outwrite each other, which is kind of working in our favor (though I’m sure Professor Dumbass will be the judge of that).
No, she keeps me on my toes because every time I’m with her I’m not quite sure what’s she’s going to say. She’s completely predictable until she isn’t. She’s entirely too serious, uptight and while I retract anything prudish I’ve thought about her after she admitted she had a large stack of vibrating penises, she’s incredibly stiff at times.
And yet, sometimes the strangest things slip out of her mouth.
Her mouth.
Which I can’t help but focus on every time she speaks.
Those lips I keep imaging sucking my dick, slowly, loving every wet second of it.
Ignore it, Crawford.
Right. Where was I? Oh yes. She’ll occasionally say something that makes me think I may have pegged her wrong. With her penchant for fantasy, I knew she was already on the nerdy side but I had no idea how deep it ran until she admitted she slept outside the movie theatre in order to be one of the first to see the new Star Wars.
“My boyfriend thought I was crazy but I did it anyway,” she had said.
“Your boyfriend?” This was the first I had heard of him.
It turns out she did have a boyfriend, someone she was with for four years but they’d recently broken up. I tried to get more info out of her but she clammed up, something I noticed she does a lot whenever the conversation becomes about something personal.
And fair enough. I’m not exactly opening up to her either. After all, we’re just class partners and most of the time our conversation is entirely about the novella. It works for us anyway, at this rate we’ll be done the project long before it’s due, which will give me more time to work on my own stuff.
As if he can read my thoughts, Heath asks, “So have you pushed aside your book in the meantime?”
I take a long sip of my beer and tilt my head back to the sun. After a long and dark winter, the early spring feels good. “No, I’m writing it on the side. If anything I’m more motivated.”
Heath is one of the few people who know I’m trying to finish my science fiction horror novel, Blood Aurora, something I’ve been working on for a few years now. When Amanda poked fun at my Lord of the Rings reference at the library, I had to laugh it off even though it’s not something I advertise. Believe me, as much as women love a good fucking shag and a British accent, there’s something about nerd boys that turn them off. I thank the Big Bang Theory for that.
He runs his hand through his shaggy hair and smirks. “I’m guessing it’s the company you’re keeping that’s really motivating you.” His head swivels as two fit blondes in yoga pants walk past the patio and take a seat at the bar adjacent. “Two for two,” he comments.