I’ve never actually written a story before, of any kind, so be gentle. Its too long to post the whole thing so here’s a teaser from part of it. Hope you like it.

I awoke Wednesday morning to the sound of knocking. I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep but the knocking continued and it got louder. I sat up and looked at the clock; 6:00 was staring back at me. I walked out of my room and the knocking seemed to be coming from my door. That’s weird. I walked over and looked through my peephole. Dawson stood in all his six foot glory. Oh.My.God. How can someone look that good at 6am? It’s unnatural! He knocked again.
“I know you’re awake, I can hear you padding around in there”, he called through the door.
Annoyed, I went back to the bedroom and grabbed my housecoat. Making sure the chain lock was on my door I opened it and looked out.
“Can I come in?” Dawson asked, as if we were best buds.
“It’s 6AM.” I replied.
“And you’re clearly awake”, he said.
“No thanks to you”, I said annoyance dripping from every word. “I really don’t make a habit of letting strange men into my apartment.”
I went to close the door but he held it open with his hand.
“Strange? I’m hurt”, he looked amused.
“Do you always make it a habit of talking to the first girl you see after you have a fight with your girlfriend?” I said. It seemed like I struck a nerve because his expression changed.
“She’s not my girlfriend”, he replied a little curtly.
“Well you could have fooled me; I’m going back to bed.” I pushed my door a little harder until it clicked and then I locked the deadbolt. I looked back through my peephole and watched Dawson stand there. His expression was a mixture of surprise and amusement. I padded back to my room, but didn’t think I could sleep. I mean, what the hell was that? I grabbed a towel and headed for the shower.
I decided groceries were first on the agenda. The box of pop tarts I had left from my first shop weren’t going to cut it for very long and with it being so early I probably wouldn’t have to battle a throng of people. Sticking a pop tart in my mouth, I tossed on jeans and a graphic T and grabbed my backpack before heading out. As I walked out the front door of the building I heard someone call behind me,
“It lives.”
I stopped, turned, looked. Standing against the wall by the front door was Dawson. You have got to be kidding me. He was wearing dark wash jeans and a blue t-shirt that stretched over a well-muscled chest. My god, this man had the body to match the face. I kept walking, but I could hear him following me.
“Wait up, pop tart”, he said jogging up to me.
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face him. Chomping the rest of my pop tart, I stalked up and poked him in the chest.
“Look, I’m sure you’re a great guy, but this stalk-ish behavior is getting really old, really fast. You show up at my door at six in the morning like we’re somehow friends and then start calling me things like pop tart? Just leave me alone!”
“What else am I supposed to call you if you refuse to tell me your name?” he replied.
I stared up at him incredulously. Was this guy for real? I turned and started walking again.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
I decided my best bet was to just ignore him.
“Oh come on, don’t be like that pop tart,” he continued with a smirk.
I glared at him.
“Look I’m sorry. Can you at least tell me your name?” he said.
I looked over at him and he was pouting. He stared at me with these big violet eyes looking like a wounded puppy. This was not fair.
“Alice”, I grumbled. “And I’m going grocery shopping.”
“Perfect”, he said, “Since I no longer have a kitchen, I could use some food. By the way, the grocery store is this way”, he added.
“I got that, thanks”, I said and stalked off to my right where he pointed.
This guy was infuriating.

Categories: Creative Writing | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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