Love and Scripts free writing
"Come on," I say. I say it flirty. I don't know why I'm saying it flirty, but there you go. "Rip me to shreads." I motion my hands over my work, realizing I've just set up a That's What She Said moment. He doesn't bite, though. I'm not dealing with a high school guy. "The script, I mean. Rip my script to shreads."
"I don't really think I need to," Reese says. "You've got some good stuff going, here. You're funny."
We both reach for our mugs and drink at the same time. I am nervous, but Reese seems to be concentrating on the last few pages of the script. I hear loud banging from the kitchen. The cafe is about to close. I imagine Felix back there, slaming metal on metal as a warning for us to get out. That guy can be such a crab.
"It's impressive," Reese tells me. "You're eighteen and you're turning out stuff like this. I'm thirty, and I teach at a community college. I can't see you wanting to waste your time on someone like me."
But I already want to.
A Little Literary (a lotta Coffee)
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