Page 77 of Official

XANDER

She blew me off… I think.

Sam didn’t answer my text about her hand, and I thought I might’ve been too late.

So, I went after the girl. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do? How every romantic comedy goes? Except I didn’t have the chance to confess my love for her because she blew me off.

That’s not a good sign for any happy ending.

But Sam also kissed me on the cheek and said she’d call me.

Which she hasn’t, and it’s been a whole day.

I’ve jogged a couple miles, had dinner with Klein at a pretentious restaurant with food portions the size of my big toe, and slept a full two hours since I last saw her.

And not a fucking word from Sam since.

What the hell am I supposed to think about that?

Pacing a hole in the carpet, I clutch my phone in a crushing grip, murmuring to myself.

Fuck, I’m pining.

This is what pining looks like. It’s exactly what I used to tease Easton Garrett over in college. He was in love with a girl, and he moped for weeks after she dumped him, eating nothing but ramen noodles and cold pizza.

I never understood him until now—the poor bastard.

Then again, he’s not so pitiful now. Just the opposite. Easton’s a bigshot and spends every night at some premier club, partying with New York’s finest. From what I can tell online and the pictures of him standing next to Carter Fields, the billionaire CEO of Fields Company, I’d say he got over his college girlfriend and probably doesn’t even remember her name.

Sam isn’t easily forgettable. She’s funny and full of life.

Sexy as hell, especially when she’s telling off scumbags.

I rub my twitching lips as I continue pacing the living room, recalling the way Sam shot Jason down yesterday like he was one of those targets at the ax throwing places.

And she launched her weapons right smack into the bullseye.

The way he raced out of the gym, his tail practically tucked between his legs, was so comical that I called Teddy the moment I left to tell him all about it.

He’d already seen the whole thing online, though. Coincidentally, he was just about to call me, but I beat him to it.

In any case, he and I have jokes for years to come, thanks to JasonDouche.

Sighing, I stick my phone in my back pocket and head out to the patio, where I left my laptop and character notebook. Between the pages, I’ve jotted down a web of ideas and notes from Maui, and if I were to rip them all out and post them to my wall, I’d look like a serial killer for sure.

Outside, I sit at the table and get back to work on the script I’ve been piecing together, but I spend most of the morning just trying to decipher my scribbles.

As if my handwriting wasn’t bad enough, some of the ink is smudged from saltwater and Bloody Marys.

So, I fill in the blanks from memory as best I can for this new project I started as soon as I returned—a satirical romantic comedy about a guy and a girl who run away from their problems to an island, where they encounter quirky but conspiratorial couples and sea turtles. The couple falls in love during the little moments in between this grand adventure.

I’m writing about Sam and myself.

It’s a mix of us both—romantic and funny with a dash of my brand of suspense, tied into pages of a unique parody.

All the elements fit like Sam and I do.

I’m in so much damn trouble over this girl.

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