Hawksweed
Prologue
As I opened the door of the café, the sudden camera flashes going off blinded us. Immediately, I tried to hide part of my face in my bulky scarf.
Somewhere between trying to swiftly reach to the car from the coffee shop I slipped on some ice. Before I hit the cold pavement and embarrassed myself in front of the cameras, I felt my arm being pulled up, putting me back on solid ground.
Feeling his arm go from holding mine to around my waist to support me, I looked at him.
Jack Grey was certainly different in looks than what I got to see on his picture when we would send emails back and forth. Online, he had a candid shot, where both he and his friend were wearing sunglasses and singing along to whatever they were playing on their guitars. I didn’t know until later after I asked that he was the one to the right, the one with brown hair. That’s all that I could see, the brown hair and the glasses. Now I could see the brown hair, a tad bit longer than in the picture, but no glasses to hide the rest of his face. He was beautiful, everything that I wasn’t, tan skin, green eyes, strong jaw and high cheekbones. Also, now he looked more embarrassed than he was in the picture.
He looked at me, almost as if to say “Sorry for putting you through this,” but I wouldn’t really know what he meant, I wasn’t good at reading people.
By the time we got to the black car, I looked back at the paparazzi, thinking over and over, ‘how did I get into this mess?’
Somewhere between trying to swiftly reach to the car from the coffee shop I slipped on some ice. Before I hit the cold pavement and embarrassed myself in front of the cameras, I felt my arm being pulled up, putting me back on solid ground.
Feeling his arm go from holding mine to around my waist to support me, I looked at him.
Jack Grey was certainly different in looks than what I got to see on his picture when we would send emails back and forth. Online, he had a candid shot, where both he and his friend were wearing sunglasses and singing along to whatever they were playing on their guitars. I didn’t know until later after I asked that he was the one to the right, the one with brown hair. That’s all that I could see, the brown hair and the glasses. Now I could see the brown hair, a tad bit longer than in the picture, but no glasses to hide the rest of his face. He was beautiful, everything that I wasn’t, tan skin, green eyes, strong jaw and high cheekbones. Also, now he looked more embarrassed than he was in the picture.
He looked at me, almost as if to say “Sorry for putting you through this,” but I wouldn’t really know what he meant, I wasn’t good at reading people.
By the time we got to the black car, I looked back at the paparazzi, thinking over and over, ‘how did I get into this mess?’
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its cliche, but a good start don't you think?