Write Me A Love Story

10:

After selecting a random show on my Fire TV, Reece and I sat on my beige couch and made ourselves comfortable. He had given me time to change out of my jeans, into pajama pants and matching slippers, but once I'd returned, he'd removed his sweater and waited for me. I felt intoxicated from just looking at him.

"So," Reece sipped from his glass as I sat beside him, my thigh brushing against his leg, "what got you into writing?"

He went straight into the "writing" talk. I couldn't complain. This was nice. As the show's intro started, I smiled at Reece and shrugged. "I've always liked stories," I said. "Then one day I thought what if I created a story that I wanted to read, you know? Stories with characters that looked like me, like people I knew, with a world and background that was familiar to me. I thought it would be cool if I could do that."

"Aren't you?" Reece lifted his brows. When we locked eyes, he chuckled. "I can tell you like dystopian stuff, which is great. Everyone likes a good cyborg takeover end-of-the-world story. But yours has depth."

I took a sip. "I haven't written it yet."

"I know, but it's obvious in your notes and ideas." He used his glass of wine to point in the air. "It'll happen, I know it. And I can't wait to read it."

I blushed. He was a fan. I never thought I'd have one. And for it to be the hot librarian, how could I complain? He was intelligent as he was beautiful.

Reece noticed the cup in my hand as I took another sip, and grinned. "Should I bring the bottle here just in case you want a refill?"

I giggled at my glass. "Sure, why not?"

Reece didn't wait. He pushed himself up from the couch and walked into my kitchen. In one swoop, he went to the table, grabbed the bottle, and returned while strategically avoiding Francesca's eager prances around his feet. He put it on the coffee table and reached for my cup. "Let me get this for you," he said.

I let him, watching as he poured alcohol for me. Once it reached halfway, he gave it back to me with a big smile. It was extra, but it was cute.

"Thank you," I grinned, taking my cup back. "I appreciate it."

"Anytime," he said as he refilled his glass, too.

The awkwardness deep within my belly decided to make an appearance. I wasn't sure what to say to him next. He made himself comfortable and smelled like heaven, yet my brain sputtered like an old car with a faulty motor. What was I supposed to say next? Should I continue the writing conversation? Should we watch the show that we paid no attention to? Or should I—

"You're beautiful, Camila," Reece blurted out, yet it was also sensual. As I stared at my glass, my brows lifted high. I took a deep breath.

He chuckled, placing his glass on the coffee table. "Sorry if that came off strong," he said.

"No, no!" I squeaked, shaking my head. It wasn't strong. I liked it. I liked him.

Biting my lips, I wondered if his hands were strong, too. What about his kiss? Was this the wine talking? I wasn't one to think like this about someone, but as I looked at him, watching his hand pass over his neck; he huskily chuckled and reached for his glass, I couldn't help it.

It's the wine.

I gently placed my cup back on the table.

"I think I'm nervous," he said, sipping from his glass as he picked it up again. We locked eyes as he smiled. The sounds of Netflix shifting into another scene surrounded us. "I'm not trying to mess this up. Does that make sense?"