AT THE BOOKSTORE
Saul isn't nearby and that makes me wonder. He always lectures me about never straying from him, but do as I say not as I do - men. I need to breathe, relax, let all the frustrations of this week go or I won't get anything written in my notebook.
A man stares a me, only a few feet away and a hint of fear rises up my legs. Why do you men creep instead of saying something? Open your mouth.
"Are you selling that book?"
The question surprises me and I almost forgot George put a few copies of my novel on the table next to me. Trying to manage a smile, I analyze him with more care. He's tall, with long flowing brown hair that hits him mid-back. Leaning towards me, he casts a shadow over my chair and that fear creeps higher into my belly. Why does this man give me the willies?
"Yes, sorry. I am...I mean, yes I'm selling the book."
Heat flushes over my face and I turn from him for a moment. At times even simple human contact fills me with anxiety.
"Are you going to tell me how much it costs or what it's about? Or am I to guess on both counts?"
My mind spins and I struggle to think of a response. Breathe, Ella, breathe.
"Ten dollars. The book...is about a female serial killer. Young, blonde, and beautiful, she butchers rapists in Las Vegas."
Running his eyes over my body, he glances at the book again. "Is it an autobiography."
"No, it's fiction."
"Don't," I interrupt him. "I don't want to hear it."
He whistles and leans an arm against the back of my chair, getting closer to me. "Can't be selling many books with that attitude. I was going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I'm guessing you already know."
"Listen. I've heard it all from men. Every stupid fucking attempt to pick me up you can possibly imagine...do you want to buy the book or not? Ten dollars. Take it or leave it."
Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table, but doesn't answer my question.
"I don't have change," I say.
"Give me two copies and your phone number."
Where is Saul?
Signing two copies, I hold the books out to him and notice his pretty hazel eyes. At least he's a handsome creep. I'll give him that much.
"And your number?"
"Trust me, you don't want that."
He laughs and stuffs the books into the inside pockets of his black leather jacket. "Don't say it like that, it makes me want it more."
Sighing, I grab a pad from the table and rip off a page.
"Your face is on the stationary? A girl going places."
I hand him the page with my number and cross my arms, hoping he'll go away and leave me alone. Instead, he takes the seat opposite me and plants his leather shoes on the carpet. I close my laptop and put it into my backpack. My writing plans are bust, why not research the next chapter?
"Tell me your name, sir."