You aren't the social butterfly. The closest you got to being one was your senior year at Northwestern when your crazy roommate who surprisingly went on to be one of the most successful lawyers in Chicago, dragged you out to celebrate being a senior. That was back when clubbing was actually cool to you. Waking up with a hangover and staying in bed all day? Not your idea of fun anymore.
A movie was fun. Yes, a movie. Grabbing the paper from beneath the contract you've been avoiding all day to look at, you skim past the obituaries and socialite announcements and go straight for the entertainment section. No, no, no, scratching each movie off the list that's showing, you toss it aside. Were there any good movies anymore? The only flick that you're looking forward to this summer is Hairspray. Who wouldn't want to see John Travolta in a dress, right?
Taking a seat at the island, you look at the thick contract in front of you and take a deep breath. You're the one that wanted this, right? You tell yourself right and pull your hair back out of your eyes, flipping over the cover and glance at the tiny print typed out. You start reading but don't get past the first sentence when a knock on your door comes.
Not expecting anyone, you think it's most likely Marc wanting you to watch Sara, but it's not. Once you open the door though, you're surprised and don't even get a chance to speak before soft lips are on yours. You kiss back, not caring why or how he's here. You're just glad he's here.
