Love Exactly - SAMPLE

Chapter One

I took a deep breath as I let the dollar gas station coffee drip into the cup. That's all I could afford as a local journalist—a dollar coffee. I hated journalism, but my creative writing degree was a flop in the real world. As one publisher told me, every kid who ever wanted to write a novel has a degree in that, but it doesn't mean you can write. No one can teach you how to really write—grammar yes but writing, no. So, what do you have to show besides a piece of parchment paper?

I didn't want to wallow in self-pity, but I'd be lying to myself if I said my life had gone as planned. I couldn't wait to get out of high school, then college and finally start my life. So why did it feel like my life had come to a complete stand still as soon as I had graduated? I didn't feel like I'd moved any further forward than the moment I had taken my last step on the ground of my high school, and I had been gone five years. Five whole years.

As a student fresh out of college, all I had been looking for was an internship; anything to get me into that world. The first interview left me with no other choice but to find a job to pay the bills and my supposed passion just wasn't going to be it. I cringed at the thought and put the top on the coffee with a bit too much force before taking out my cell phone to check my email. At least in journalism I could work from home; being a recluse really appealed to me.

I heaved a sigh and stopped paying attention to anything around me but the email from the editor informing me—no, telling me—I had to go to a high school basketball game—again. I closed my eyes for only a second and found myself ramming into the guy in front of me, throwing my cheap coffee over my shoulder and falling right onto my bony behind.

"I'm so sorry," the hooded figure said, his face coming into view as he leaned down to help me up.

I blinked twice when I saw his hazel eyes, permanent five o'clock shadow and coy grin. Don't drool, act normal...it's just Evan Levesque. He held my hand as he pulled me up.

"Don't be sorry. It was my fault; I'm a total klutz," I managed to say in a collected voice. It was a miracle.

"I ruined your coffee," he commented, his hand still in mine. "I know how important coffee can be."

"It wasn't very good anyways," I replied with a nervous laugh.

"I still think it's my fault—let me make it up to you with a real cup of coffee?"

"It's no problem, really."

He cocked his head at me saying, "It's just one cup."

"Alright."

He winked, and led me across the street to one of those trendy coffee houses where a large wasn't a large and the drinks had names that sounded like a foreign language. I just couldn't believe Evan Levesque was holding my hand, let alone bringing me to coffee. Evan Levesque, the lead singer and guitarist for Red Moon, which was one of the hottest rock-pop bands since the early nineties.

"Evan?" someone called out, but he ignored them as we headed towards the road.

"You ever try this place?" He nodded across the street as we waited for a car to pass.

"I was just buying a ninety-nine cent coffee, what do you think?" I replied, smiling over at him.

"I think," he began as we rushed across the street, "you've been missing out."

"I bet—but if I get addicted and go broke because of you it won't be a good scene," I teased, hyper aware of the fact I was somehow acting normal.

"Well, this place is quite addicting; you can get it almost anywhere in the world now, which, right now, is very nice," he noted, glancing over his shoulder at me with his hood still up. "Who am I saving from a watered down cup of coffee powder?"