The Write Stuff (Write Stuff 1)

"Taylor texted me. They got a booth."

After weaving through a sea of bodies gyrating on the dance floor, we came upon a row of booths tucked into a far corner where Taylor and Alec were sitting. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as we approached. At least Alec hadn't run for the hills. I could take that as a good sign. My hope was that everyone would let my embarrassing move slide and I wouldn't be forced to explain.

Taylor stood from the booth when we arrived, allowing us to slide in to join them. A fresh round of drinks sat on the table and as we got comfortable, a waitress arrived with a plate of appetizers.

"Wow, talk about good timing," Olivia said, snuggling close to Taylor.

Alec answered, winking at me. "It's all about who you know."

I crossed my legs under the table, willing my body to behave. If I was going to have any shot at even starting a relationship with Alec, I would have to learn how to handle the winking that turned my insides to mush. "Perks of the job, huh?" I asked.

"Most definitely." He slid his arm along the back of the booth where I was sitting, angling his body toward me so we could chat over the music. "So, Olivia tells me you wrote your first book when you were a freshman. That's pretty awesome."

These were normally the types of situations when I looked to Olivia to rescue me, but she and Taylor were wrapped up in their own little private world. Sink or swim. If I wanted Alec, I would have to jump into the deep end myself.

"Uh, yeah," I answered reaching for one of the glasses of water the hostess had brought out with the food. I took a quick sip to gather my jumbled thoughts. Come on, Nicole. Pull your head out of your ass. "It started as an assignment for my creative writing class. My professor asked for a ten thousand-word short story, but once I started writing, I couldn't shut the story up. Before I knew it, I had seventy thousand words written."

"That's seriously impressive. Would you judge me if I admitted I struggle with three thousand-word thesis papers?" His eyes lit up when he laughed, giving him a different dimension of charm.

"Not at all."

"What if I told you on one paper I resorted to lots of quotes and narrowed the margins slightly in order to hit the ten-page requirement?"

I laughed. "Been there, done that."

"Really? I thought writing came naturally to you."

"Oh, hell no. I love to write, but about something I'm passionate about. Ask me to write a ten-page microeconomics paper and you might as well be asking me to have my teeth pulled."

"That's funny. You're passionate about love stories, I guess?" He moved his hand from the booth behind me and began lightly stroking the back of my neck. Luckily I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, hiding the goosebumps that I felt covering my arms. His touch felt warm and inviting, tempting me to roll my head forward to give him more access. I resisted the urge, not wanting to embarrass myself more than I already had.

"I'm a sucker for romance," I answered.

"Me too." His arm continued forward past my neck before settling across my shoulders. He gently nudged me toward him. I took the hint, sliding along the booth until I was tucked against his body.

"Is this okay?" His breath tickled the inside of my ear.

I merely nodded, not wanting to take the chance that my tongue would refuse to cooperate. This was more than okay. This was exactly where I wanted to be.

"Are you coming out to the shoot tomorrow?" Alec asked, distracting me from my runaway thoughts.

"I'm not sure." Normally I stayed away from Olivia's photo shoots unless she asked me to be there. Creatively, we both had different styles, and I had grudgingly learned that Olivia's eye for good covers surpassed mine. Occasionally, like yesterday, she would get me to come by to approve something, but beyond that, I trusted her judgment.

"That's too bad. It would have been nice to see you again," Alec said, lacing his fingers through my left hand and placing them on his thigh.

If it were possible for a person to spontaneously combust, it would have happened to me the moment my hand touched his leg. "Are you going somewhere now?" I worked to maintain my composure, splaying out my fingers to feel the muscles beneath his jeans.

"Not unless you want me to leave," he murmured, tracing his fingers over the back of my hand.

"Good, then stay," I said bravely. Olivia was right. All the signs were pointing in the right direction. Unless I was completely misreading things, tonight could be the night if I wanted it to be.

"Would you like to dance?" He stood from the booth and extended his hand.

I looked warily at the dance floor. Everyone seemed to move effortlessly in sync with the music. I learned early in life that I was rhythmically challenged. When I was six my short stint in ballet ended when Mom and Dad figured out I had no balance. After that, they put me in jazz/tap classes, which also came to a screeching halt when my instructor informed them that I must be tone deaf. She claimed I couldn't find the beat if my life depended on it. I really wasn't devastated since I preferred to spend my spare time reading anyway. Zachary and Tony, who had been blessed with natural athletic ability, still liked to tease me mercilessly about how uncoordinated I was anytime the opportunity arose.

Despite my lack of dancing prowess, I didn't want to reject Alec's invitation. I felt I should warn him though. At least so he would know his toes were in danger. I needed a warning label on my forehead that read: May cause bodily harm when dancing within close proximity. >I couldn't believe Olivia pulled this shit on me. We had both decided after the disastrous blind date she set me up on two years ago that I would handle my own love life. The guy patted my ass so many times during our date it resembled a bruised eggplant. I finally ended the evening early, believing I was on the verge of drinking a roofie cocktail and not waking up until the next morning. The guy was a creep. Of course, the prospect of Alec touching my ass didn't sound like a bad idea.

Alec refilled our glasses again before heading around the counter to join us. We all clinked them together in the air before downing the contents and slamming the shot glasses on the counter. Everyone except me seemed to be able to handle their liquor like old pros. I remained on the verge of coughing with each drink.