KAT'S POV
"I need a drink! Something strong, preferably whiskey. Actually, no, I want a scotch. On the rocks, if you don't mind. Yes, scotch on the rocks, that's what I need. That's what all the fancy guys with cigars drink in old black and white movies, and I desperately need to channel my inner cigar smoking black and white manliness."
I glared at the bartender, who was looking at me with a bored expression.
"Well?" I asked incredulously. "What the hell are you waiting for?"
"Kat, it's eleven o'clock in the morning."
I threw my head back and groaned, my wavy blonde hair tumbling over my shoulders.
"Niall, I don't care that it's eleven in the morning. I am a starving artist, and starving artists drink away their sorrows. That's how the world works, get with it."
Niall guffawed, wiping out the inside of a shot glass and shaking his head at me.
"You're the furthest thing from a starving artist, Kat. Have you forgotten that you're one of the world's best selling authors?"
"You haven't even read any of my books!"
"I don't have to, you basically told me your life story the first night you walked in here three months ago." He muttered, turning his back to me to straighten the liquor bottles.
The bar and grill was empty, it only being before noon on a Tuesday. And yet I found myself back here once again.
"Yeah I kind of took that whole tell-the-bartender-all-your-troubles-and-woes thing too seriously." I mumbled.
Niall turned around to face me, sandy blonde hair styled up perfectly as he grinned at me. "You think?"
I made a face at him and flipped him off, making him laugh.
"What exactly was it you said to me that night?" Niall asked rhetorically. "Oh I remember, 'hi, I'm Katherine Burke, but you're going to call me Kat, because I hate the name Katherine and I said so'."
I put my face in my hands, groaning. "No Niall, stop, we don't need to relive that night."
"Oh but we do." He said with a grin, leaning against the opposite side of the counter as he mocked me. "You spent that whole night bugging the hell out of me, talking about how you were so brave to move to London all by yourself from little old Georgia to do research for your next book."
I giggled, smiling at him. "Hey, if I hadn't annoyed you so much that night, we wouldn't be friends now, just remember that."
"Who says we're friends?" He asked incredulously, standing up to his full height. "I just tolerate you because I'm a nice guy."
"Well in my book, that counts as friends."
"I haven't read any of your books, remember?"
I huffed, grabbing a coaster off the bar and flinging it at him. He dodged it easily, sticking his tongue out at me.
I sighed, propping my chin in my hands. "I don't get it Niall. My first two books were so easy, y'know? The words just flowed from me, effortlessly. And they were great, everyone loved them, I was number one on the New York Times bestseller list for months!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Niall muttered.
"But this story Niall...this one is just killing me. It's like I'm stuck. I have terminal writer's block. Moving to London was supposed to help that writer's block, help me get a feel for the story since it's set here. But nothing is helping me and my publisher won't get off my ass about finishing a draft!"
