Author's Note: I actually like this one...

Day Ninety-Seven: Hello by Lionel Richie

I've seen her a thousand times.

She always had a book with her. She'd sit in the same exact spot, drinking the extremely dark coffee, taking a sip every so often, and smiling during the funny parts.

Even though there were a few dozen people between me and her, it felt as though we were the only two in the room.

She was so gorgeous. I couldn't shake her from my head at all. I'd only seen her eyes once, but I seemed to remember every feature on her face. I remembered the way she'd tap her fingers on the table before turning the page of her book, or how she'd furrow her eyebrows when something confusing happened. I remembered how her lips would form into a pout whenever something happened she wasn't happy about. Her lips were a perfectly rosy color; they were the kind you just wanted to kiss until you saw stars.

I was sure that if you looked hard enough into her eyes—which were a beautiful, deep brown—you could see stars.

But anyway, I saw her every single day at the coffee shop I went to. I felt like fate was somehow bringing us together; like one of us was looking for the other.

I wanted to go and say hello, but I thought it would be too strange.

And then, one day, I just decided to go for it. Say what? I wasn't sure. But I knew I had to talk to her that day. I could no longer resist it. I wasn't sure why; maybe it was the way the sunlight gave her hair a golden tone, or how she finally looked up at me.

"Do you want something from me?" she inquired softly. It was half-sultry and half-playful. It made my tongue go numb. There was a fire in her eyes and a certain easiness in her smile. It told me that she was just as perfect as she seemed from across the room.

I shrugged, trying to stay as cool as I could. "I just…your book."

She looked at the cover. "Oh? You don't exactly look like the mystery type," she concluded. "Have you read this book?"

I nodded. "Several times."

She eyed me up and down. "Interesting."

"I never really pegged you for the mystery type, either."

She shrugged. "I'm really not," she answered nonchalantly.

"Then what type are you into?"

"Erotica."

The way she said that was so…blasé. It made me even more uncomfortable, if that was possible. It was like she knew exactly what to say just to make me feel even more uncomfortable.

"You know," she began to say before "accidentally" (purposefully) rubbing her foot against my leg, "they say that the best way to understand a novel is to reenact the scenes."

She knew how to make me squirm. I felt her smirk.

After a moment of extremely uncomfortable silence, she put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm joking. Not about the erotica, but the reenacting and everything. I'm just messing with you," she told me. "But if I weren't," she began mischievously, "would you be up for it?"

I had to think for a moment. "If you wanted me to."

I almost wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I didn't even know her name. I could still feel that ridiculous feeling of my heart overflowing with feelings of love, nervousness, adoration, curiosity, and a whole host of others. It was almost…embarrassing.

She broke me out of my reverie when she handed me a card.

"Hey, in case you ever want to take me up on that reenactment offer, this is my number," she said suggestively.

I watched as she left and then took a look at the card.

Later that night, I found the card as I was getting ready to go to sleep.

I slid back onto my bed, looking at the card. I finally learned her name: Spencer. I never pegged her with the name "Spencer", but now that I knew, it seemed to suit her perfectly.

I wondered absentmindedly where she was and what she was doing. I wondered if she was just as lonely as I was. Probably not; she was a gorgeous woman.

A little part of me was annoyed by the fact that I turned down her risqué, salacious offer earlier. But I knew if I accepted I would feel disgusted with myself.

But there had to be another way to win her over, right? I mean…sex wasn't everything, obviously. There were people who got engaged and even married before even having sex, so that obviously wasn't the key. In fact, I was fairly certain that in a lot of situations, sex did more harm than good.

But…I'd never been in a real relationship. I didn't even know how one worked or where even to start. Where did I begin?

There was only one way to find out.

"Hello?"

"Spencer? It's me. Toby."

Sarah: I actually did use Google Translate. And this one girl in French III. And common sense. And no, not really. You still get milk in a bag.

tobyequalshottness:...Perhaps. Thanks for reviewing!

LittleBittyAbby:I like to think that sometimes Toby changes in my one-shots, but idk. Yeah, I guess I'd agree with that statement.

MilaMizz:I can't wear heels because I'm like wayyyy too heavy to be supported on a tiny little heel and I always roll my foot whenever I try to wear them. But I can get really high up on releve with no problem! Well...they're spicy. Sometimes. not really.

AL3110: Legit, no. And are you kidding me? I'm like one of the dirtiest people I know. And believe me, Americans are generally not like that. We're not floity toity by any standards. John is the best.

Sorry for the terseness. I'm sweating and I'm going to be going home very soon.

The next one-shot is This Time by Carrie Underwood. This one is based off of a different couple scenario. I'll explain it tomorrow. And if not, just ask.

And as they say in John Green's hometown, don't forget to be awesome. -Kayson