He just sucks as a person in general, I think.
But I feel like we could be good friends right now.
I have writers' block and he hasn't come up with an original idea in his entire career as an author, so we'd have a lot to talk about. We'd sit in a Starbucks somewhere in Arizona. I'd drink something sugary and he'd get coffee black, just to prove that he's a man. We'd make idle chit chat about how it feels to think the same things as everyone else. How we didn't want to grow up. How life is a journey.
Blah blah blah bl blah.
He'd lean across the table, slide his hand onto mine and whisper a cheesy line from one of his best-sellers into my ear. And at this point, I'm afraid I might just go home with him and drink fancy wine, instead of kicking his shin and walking out of that coffee shop. I'd listen to him brag about how he writes great love stories. Smile. Nod. Twirl Hair.
Just me and Nick in a decked out condo. Waiting to be seduced by something original.
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