The winter air whips at my hair and book violently. I enjoy winter, but this was beginning to annoy me after a long shift of helping parents-not knowing what their odd children would want for the holidays- guess at names of books and bands. Four hours of "Panic! At the 'party'", "Fall Out Toys" and "5 Minutes of Spring" took a massive toll.
Waves of split ended, dusty brown hair blocks my view of my beloved new book, a hard back that is easily over four hundred pages.
I just wish it would take me more than two days to reach the end.
The wind bit through my sweater and I think of how much I regret not bringing a thicker layer. An extra 5 dollars rests in my pocket. An idea sweeps through my mind as I finish the paragraph and toss my hair from my face with a flick of my hand as I look up.
Before the idea of buying a light jacket was fully approved in my mind I felt myself hit a smudge of gray and black caught in my peripheral vision. A crackle of plastic made my heart drop and a moment later the front of my sweater became drenched with a hot, sweet smelling drink.
My hair drips with coffee and is clogged with discolored whipped cream. I drop the book and gasp at the scolding hot then rush of cold I feel all over my body. I look up at the person, all six foot of him, his hair is swept into a golden quiff and his light pink lips part in unsaid apology. His lip ring hold traces of the whipped cream and his blue eyes convey more apology. A light jacket hides a Misfits muscle shirt and his black skinny jeans hang in shreds at his knees.
I feel my cheeks go red.
"I'm so sorry!" he says as he surveys my soaking sweater and jeans. I thought he lingered on my shoes, grey Nikes with orange soles, but I dismiss the thought quickly. He was wearing black converse after all.
"Ugh, it's f-fine," I shake harder after every passing minute he stares at my whipped hair and orange shoes.
He kneels down in front of me and gingerly picks up the coffee stained book, he looks at the cover and laughs. "Twilight, really?" he asks and the flush of embarrassment turns into one of annoyance.
"Yeah," I say with fury and challenge in her voice. "Have you read it?"
His eyebrows raise causing creases in his forehead and flashing his baby blue eyes. "No..."
"Then what gives you the right to criticize it or Stephenie Meyers's work?" I cross my arms and feel liquid squish onto my sleeves. I was still dripping with coffee and fluffy cream.
The man that couldn't be much older than me, 21, stood with a light blush on his cheeks. His eyes dart about for an out to my confrontation, he looks down at my sweater. "Let me get you a new sweater-" he waited for me to supply a name.
"Kat."
He holds a laugh in and conceals it with a smirk, "Okay, Kitty. Let me buy you a new sweater. I'll replace the book if you want." My face flushes with heat and anger, why did his Australian accent have to be so prominent?
"Don't call me Kitty." I bite my lip and turn around and start walking back towards the book store. "Wait, where are you going?" I smile sweetly as I turn around, secretly enjoying the witty remark that was going to leave my tongue.
"To the bookst-tore, Luke Hemmings, you're r-replacing my book, remem-mber?" I turn back around and continue walking wanting the comforting warmth of the bookstore and oddly enough the first waft of brewing coffee and cakes.
~ ~ ~ ~
I jog to catch up with Kat, intrigued. "You know me?" I ask my eyebrows tugging against each other. She laughs. It was short, but loud and infectious. I resist a smile and that irritates me. Who is this girl? "What's so funny?"
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
She Doesn't Wear Skinny Jeans
ФанфикKat Perns was walking down the street innocently, nose tucked in a book, when she was drenched with whipped cream and coffee. Luke Hemmings was not-so-innocently walking down the street, nose tucked in his phone and lips deep in cream topped coffee...
