Page 26 of Isabela

Glancing over, I see the girl I shared a bench with quite a few months ago. Her dark brown hair is piled at the top of her head in a messy bun and she’s hunched over her own computer as she works. I can’t remember her name…

Blinking, I answer her question. “The breeze took me by surprise,” I lie. I can’t tell her I’m having sexual thoughts in the middle of the university square. She seems sweet, while I have a darkness that lives under my skin.

It’s one of the reasons mafia stories are my favorite thing to write. At least, they used to be. Lately, words are hard to come by.

“It tends to do that,” she says with a smile. I want to ask her what her name is, but I can't find the words as I stare at her. This girl is stunning with her mesmerizing brown eyes that seem to get lighter as I watch them, and her fun style of clothing choice.

Today, she’s wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that says, “Have the Day You Deserve.” My lips twitch in amusement the longer I stare at her.

“I love your shirt,” I giggle. “Get any fun comments over it?”

“Oh?” she asks as she glances down. It’s easy to forget what you’re wearing in the moment so I totally get it. “Oh, that explains Dr. Kelp’s surprised look when I walked into my Probability class.”

We giggle together because the poor man is in his sixties and grew up in the South.

Her laugh is low and light, and her body seems to melt as she leans into the action. God, she really is beautiful.

“What are you working on?” I ask as I pull out my computer.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m doing some work for my family’s company. I’m starting at the lower levels. Apparently it builds character,” she says, scrunching her nose adorably.

“That’s usually a bullshit excuse for cheap labor,” I say boldly as I open my laptop and turn it on.

The girl next to me snorts as she types something into a spreadsheet. “You’re right, because I’m working for free,” she mutters. “What are you working on?”

“I am trying to work through my writer’s block,” I say honestly. “I have a story I’m writing and it’s just not flowing. I think I’m broken.”

“I doubt you're broken,” the girl says with a smirk. “What if your characters want to go in a different direction and you stopped listening to them?”

“What?” I gasp. Glancing down at my doc without focusing on the words, I chew my lip as I think. “Holy shit.”

“Is that a dumb idea?” she asks with a wince. I can see she’s starting to pick up her things and I reach out and grab her hand. A little jolt of electricity runs up my arm, and I hear her gasp as well.

I’m unsure if it’s because it happened to her too or because I’m holding her hand. Since I’m already in her personal space, I squeeze her hand, making her turn to face me.

“Babe, I’ve been struggling forever with this! I think you’re a genius, and this idea isn’t dumb at all. I’m going to just see what comes and not try to mold this story into the little box my publisher thinks it should live in so it’ll sell,” I say with a grin.

Her lips twitch slightly, and I’m sure it’s because I’m a bit infectious. You can’t help but smile back when I do. It’s my super power.

“I don’t really care for boxes,” she chuckles. “As you can see, I don’t fit into any of them.”

I’m still holding her hand as I tug her closer to me. I take in her gauges, her darker eye makeup, and outfit. On her feet are shit kicking, stompy combat boots, and a part of me wishes I was this cool in college. I’m in my mid-thirties now, so my university years are far behind me.

“I think you’re perfect,” I tell her with a smirk. “All I see is a young woman who doesn’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks. That’s kind of what college is supposed to be about. Figuring out who you are.”

The gorgeous stranger leans against the tree with me, and I let go of her hand now that she’s no longer leaving. She tilts her head toward me, her eyes dropping down to my screen.

“Your compliments are a lot to unpack for someone who isn’t great at receiving them,” she says, blushing. “I don’t know how old you are, but you’re writing about double penetrating cocks in the middle of the day. I think you’re the one who doesn’t give a fuck.”

Startling, I look down and realize where my document opened up to. Oops.

Dropping my head back and cackling, I bump her shoulder as I laugh. “I write really dirty romance,” I tell her. I am having a much better day than when I started rage baking this morning.

I’m so used to having a story running in the background of my mind all the time, that I don’t know how to function now that it’s so silent.

“Like the reverse harem stuff where the girl doesn’t have to choose?” she asks, her eyes lighting up.

Yeah, I definitely am crushing on her right now.

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