If someone had told me a year ago that I was about to fall in love, go on an epic road trip, ride a Triceratops, sing on a bar, and lose my virginity — I would have assumed they were on drugs.
Author bio: I am a lover of books, chocolate, reality TV, metaphors and similes, black labs, and cold weather. Seriously, if I had it my way I would be curled up on the couch with all of those things... everyday.
I live in Texas where I spend my free time writing and reading. My favorite authors are Mindy Kaling & Jonathan Safran Foer. I'm a comedy geek and love all things "funny". Women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Mindy Kaling are definitely the biggest inspirations for my writing, though I think my work tends to skew a bit smuttier than theirs.;)
Behind His Lens: http://amzn.com/B00HGK8ZWM
“What’s your name?” he asked the moment my ballet flats spun me around to face him.
His eyes were a light hazel with a bit of swirly green madness. I could see them perfectly now that we were in the sun.
He smiled like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery. It split his face in two and instinctively I felt the corners of my mouth lift in response.
“Abby,” he repeated. It sounded better surfacing from his throat than it ever had from mine.
“Yup.” I tapped my foot.
“I’m Beck,” he answered, pressing his hand over his heart. It seemed endearing even though I hadn’t decided what to make of him yet.
“Like the band?” I asked, squinting my eyes and holding a hand at my brow line to shield the sun.
I smiled then because I couldn’t help it anymore. It’s hard fighting relentlessly quirky charm.
“I want to go on your road trip,” he said it again, so confidently that I had to wonder if he’d ever been rejected before.
I cocked my head, and then shook it back and forth. “My road trip isn’t accepting any new passengers, but I’m sure there are plenty of other road trips occurring throughout the world at the same time that mine is taking place.”
He thought I was funny. He smiled at my comment, but I could see it more in his eyes. They were pinned on me, scrunched at the corners as he contemplated my rejection.
“I’m sure,” he began, “but something tells me that yours is one I don’t want to miss.”
I rolled my eyes and took a step back for reasons I later realized was my bodies last attempt at staying away from someone like Beck.
“How long will you be gone?” he asked. Maybe he had short-term memory loss. Either that or he was really good at sports as a kid. No one had beaten the fight out of him yet.
“Two weeks… but I’m not sure why you’re asking since I would never go on a road trip with a stranger unless I wanted to end up joining a cult and drinking the Kool-aid.”
He thought my rambling was funny enough for another smirk. “Not everyone drank the Kool-aid,” he clarified, “Some people were sleeping or deaf, and they missed the call. Besides, it was Flavoraid.”
My mouth hung open. Then I studied him with narrowed eyes. “You’re the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
He didn’t fight that comment. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked to be a beat-up business card and a pen. With a flick, he flipped it over and wrote something down quickly.
“Let me know if you change your mind about the additional passenger.” He smiled one last time and handed me the card. I took it even though I knew I wouldn’t be changing my plans.
He didn’t say bye or anything. In what I would learn to be true Beck fashion, he turned on his heel and jogged across the street like the last thirty minutes had never happened. I stood there frozen long enough to see him walk inside the gas station’s store. When he emerged a minute later, he had a blue slurpee in hand and a pair of wayfarer sunglasses masking his greenish hazel eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been feeding me a line about the slurpee, I thought.
His gaze lifted to me, and when I squinted I could see his wide grin across that expanse of suburban asphalt. No amount of sprawl could keep his charm from reaching me. He sidled over to an old blue Ford truck, hopped in, and pulled away without a second glance.