She was attractive. Early 20s, maybe younger. Short blonde hair to her chin that hung at a sharp angle like she sometimes chewed it or got it stuck in...the lipstick in the corners of her mouth. She habitually pushed it back over her head, or tucked it behind her little ears, only to have it fall straight back again. She wore a short skirt and summer shoes, with the tops of her feet and ankles exposed, and a small denim jacket. She didn't look at me at all the first two times I passed her on my. ” So I go to my kitchen, make myself another coffee and stand there like a fucking deer in a truck’s headlights. “What the fuck. How am I going to manage that?” “Hey Mark, come here please.” “Done already?” I say getting back to my office. “Are you this author?” showing me my nick name. “Yep, that’s me.” “Shit, this is a great story. Did you also write The Niece one?”“Yep, that’s me.”“These are pretty hot. I’ll read them when I’m alone at home. I’ve taken a note about the group. I’ll see you. More

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