“Yeah?”
“Yeah…” Another nervous smile graces her pink lips. Damn she’s cute. She leans over and pats Cobain on his massive head. He immediately sits, panting happily as he wags his tail. “I’m starting at NYU in the fall.”
“Oh awesome. What are you majoring in?”
“Creative Writing.”
“No shit?” I laugh because this is too fucking good. Too easy. There must be a god after all. She’s glaring at me and I abruptly cut off the laughter. “Sorry,” I say, swiping my hand over my mouth, “it’s just... I write, so just... random, you know?”
“You write, like write books?”
Oh god. One of those girls. “Yeah. Books.”
“That’s so cool.” She smiles.
“Justin,” I hold out my hand. “Justin Wild.”
Her green eyes pop wide, her smile fades just a touch, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. “Wait... wait, that name.” She snaps her fingers as she stares off into the nothing. “You’ve hitNew York Times... with um, what was the name of it... ” I grin, my chest swelling with pride. I love shit like this. “Perceptions. Oh my god. You wrote that book, didn’t you?”
Perceptionis the name of the series, not the book, nonetheless, I pretend to have a smidge of humility and turn my gaze toward the floor as I bashfully shrug “Yeah.”
“Shit. You’re amazing…” and she’s still shaking my hand.
“Thanks…” I narrow my gaze. “What was your name?”
“Oh, Amy. Amy Smith,” she says, dropping her eyes to her hand in mine before nervously snatching it away, her cheeks blushing red from embarrassment.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Amy Smith.” I pull out the bar stool next to her, order another drink, and by the end of the next hour, I’ve got a coffee date with this pretty little girl-next door.
