Page 30 of Just Joshing
"Probably."
"Did you start writing?"
I liked the way her hand fit in mine. Her fingers were cool, soft but a little callused. They fit perfectly in my own.
"Josh?"
"Hmm?"
"Writing. Did you start a script?"
I made an affirmative sound in the back of my throat. I stopped us, lifting a hand to flag a cab.
Holding the door open, I slid in after her, calling directions to the driver.
"And?" She prompted as the cab pulled away from the curb.
"And?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Is it a rom-com?"
"Of course. One doesn't watch every Netflix Christmas special for no reason."
She clapped her hands together, shimmering in her seat. "A Christmas movie?"
I shook my head, lifting a hand to my mouth to mime zipping.
"Hmf!" She punched me gently, crossing her arms. "You're the worst."
"And yet you're in a cab with me."
"Somethings are unavoidable." The cab stopped at her address. "And you're paying." She kicked the door open, diving out.
The driver turned in his seat, hand out, offering me a sympathetic, "women."
I loathed Molly's apartment. I'd been here a handful of times for various family events, birthdays and what-not. Each time I entered I was overcome by a sense of wrongness. The apartment itself was bright and airy, modern. Full of clean lines and minimalistic furniture. Her dad had handed her the keys as a graduation present, her mother revamped the interior design every year or so.
Nothing about the apartment said Molly. It didn't suit her. Molly was warm tones and light that danced across earthy textures. Molly was nights spent curled up reading by a fire, hand knitted blankets and oversized scarves. She was warmth and comfort, mixed with romantic whimsy in a package as earthy and raw as it was beautiful.
Act Two: The hero makes his move. Beginning with eliminating the speed dating competition.
"I'll be right back." Molly said, disappearing into her bedroom.
"Take your time." I called, shrugging off my coat and taking a seat at the breakfast bar. I pulled out my phone, answering emails and getting into a twitter war with a friend while waiting.
"How's this?"
I looked up and immediately got hard. "No."
Molly's face fell. "No?"
Fuck. No.
Black jeans paired with knee high boots. An emerald green deep-v long-sleeved top that showed more than a little cleavage. She'd pulled her hair back but left it loose.
"I mean," I coughed, trying to pull my shit together. "Yes."
Make your move, idiota.
