The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

twenty-six

Dillon

I stare at the blank Word document in front of me. The cursor blinking at me.

What am I going to write about?

I have some ideas saved, but they’re on my laptop back home. I’m using West’s laptop that he’s kindly lent to me.

He went to training early this morning. Said he’d be back home later this afternoon, so I have all this free time to write.

I can do this.

I pick my coffee cup up and take a sip. God, that’s good.

West has this fancy built-in coffee machine that he had to teach me how to use. The coffee is divine. I could live with this coffee machine and be the happiest gal in the universe.

The lifeblood of any writer is coffee. And wine. Also snacks.

I currently have coffee and snacks. The snacks are Haribos because they remind me of being on the island. The wine will come later. I have to be a sensible adult and drink after five. Unless the writing goes shit, and then I’m cracking open a bottle early. That’s when I pull out the it’s five o’clock somewhere line to make myself feel better about drinking in the early afternoon.

Maybe I should have a mid-morning mimosa. Might get the creativity flowing. I could pretend I’m still in the Maldives.

No. Don’t be a lush. Coffee now. Alcohol maybe later.

Okay, definitely later.

But now, words.

What to write?

What to write?

Nothing. I literally have nothing. I now have all this free time to write, and I have nothing to write. Bloody typical.

I can’t waste this time that I have though. Because at some point, I will have to go home. I can’t stay here forever. Even though I would love to.

Yes, my crush on West is still thriving. Maybe growing a little.

Okay, a lot. But I have it under control. Kind of.

I open my notepad and pick up my pen. West bought them for me yesterday. It was kind of sweet. Okay, a lot sweet.

He ordered them on Amazon. Did you know they have same-day delivery with Prime in America? Yeah, me neither. I wonder if we have that back home. I have Prime, but my deliveries come next day. I feel so cheated.

Anyway, we were talking about my writing, which was when he offered to lend me his laptop so I didn’t have to buy a new one to work on. He has a MacBook. Like top-of-the-range MacBook. I have a shitty laptop back home that cost me two hundred quid. I feel so swish right now, using his MacBook. Also, I am nervous as fuck, having liquids around it. Not enough to stop me from drinking coffee though. Or wine later, of course.

Anyway, back to the notepad. He said he had a surprise for me and pulled out an Amazon box from behind his back, and I opened it up to find this notepad, pen, and a mug. Which is what I’m drinking my coffee out of. All of them with funny quotes on it.

Apparently, another thing I told him when I was drunk was my love of coffee mugs with funny quotes on them.

On the front of the mug, it says, And then God said, “Let there be sexy people.” So, he made writers. And West Oakley.

I have a feeling that he added the last part at the bottom.

It’s cheesy as fuck, and I love it.

The notepad says, Please do not annoy the writer. She might put you in a book and kill you.

And the pen’s quote says, Fuck off. I’m busy.

Honestly, they are the best gifts I’ve ever received. I love them.

And I really should use them. Meaning, Write something, woman!

I stare at the blank page. Sigh. Put the pen down and take a sip of my coffee. Then, grab a handful of Haribos out of the bag, shove them in my mouth, and start chewing.

I stare out the window for a little while. Get up and walk around. Do some stretches. Consider putting the television on and then talk myself out of it because I really do need to write.

Sit back down and stare at the blinking cursor.

Pick my coffee up and drain it.

Then, I go make another coffee and get some crisps—or chips, as they call them here. Pour half the bag into a bowl so that I don’t eat them all and take them and my fresh coffee back to the table and sit down.

The document is still blank. The cursor is still blinking at me.

For Christ’s sake, why is this hard?!I love writing, and I’m a good writer.

I can do this.

Grabbing my phone, I select the Music app and put some songs on at random. “Cruel Summer” by Bananarama starts to play. I love this song. Hearing it play gives me a warm feeling in my chest, and for some reason, it makes me think of West and being in the Maldives with him. Maybe I heard it playing when I was there with him.

Holding on to that warm feeling, I close my eyes and try to think of some of the ideas that I wrote on my laptop back home. I shift through them in my mind, but nothing sticks. Maybe it’s because I’m still in the holiday mood. This song definitely has me feeling that way.

Ooh. Maybe I should write a book where the heroine is on holiday, like I just was.

Maybe she meets a guy while she’s there. Like I met West.

They hook up. Have lots of sex. Like West and I did …

Wait.

Holy shit. I think I have it.

No, I don’t think. I definitely do have it.

My mind starts to spin with ideas. My heart beating with the excitement of a new story.

I think I can do this. I really do.

Then, I blink open my eyes, press my fingers to the keys, and start typing.