Let’s Chat Over Coffee Chapter 4
Two weeks pass as Colin looks at the picture of the cup that’s carefully placed in his night stand, as some priced possession sighing as he, failing tries to think of something else. Should I call him? Even though it’s been two weeks? I saw an episode by the Millionaire Matchmaker that the first 48 hours are the crucial and that I shouldn’t give it away…Wait… what the hell am I thinking. I didn’t go on a date with Bradley… ergh! Snap out of it Emerys. It’s been two weeks, he forgot about me. Just stop behaving like a twelve year old! As Colin tried to not think about Bradley and focus on his essay due tomorrow, because obviously he spent the time he ~should have dedicated to his paper he dedicates (as usual) in reading fan fiction of Doctor Who, watch America’s Next Top Model (‘cause Tyra Banks is fierce as hell and would beat Naomi Campbell in a model off), Project Runway, Misfits (‘cause Simon and Alisha could have it all!) and The Devil wears Prada (‘cause Meryl Streep is flaw-free and Anne Hathaway looked beautiful in those Dolce and Gabbana dresses ). Staring at the paper for the fifth time and hating his “European” professor he looked at his laptop and his thesis statement. This is so stupid. Why do I have to do this essay in the first place and why did tell him I would do an analysis of Les Sœurs Rondoli instead of Une Vie? Just as he wanted to throw his laptop to the ground and flip his desk in frustration. Just as he wanted to scream, his blackberry started to ring.
Maintenant je maudis le jour où j’t’ai rencontré,
J’aurais pas dû te regarder
Si t’es plus là tous ces souvenirs
Qu’est c’que j’en fais, je veux juste t’oublier
Tout ce qu’il me reste
C’est juste une photo de toi,
Juste une photo de toi,
Juste une photo de toi
Colin looked at his cellphone incredulously, he didn’t know the number but he had a feeling that he had to pick it up. Picking his phone tentatively he answered. Allô? “Um hi. Is this Colin’s phone? It’s Bradley” Said Bradley confused and dreading he called Colin. Damn it maybe Rachel gave me the wrong number just to mess with me! Thought Bradley. “Um. Hi, sorry… yeah it’s me I was just doing a French paper and once I start I continue to think in French and it takes a while to change back… um… Wassap?” Trying to sound as calm and collected while he tripped over his bag as he was standing up, thinking that would give him more confidence.
“Ok, ok. Sorry I’m calling, I asked Rachel to give me your number I kinda wanted to talk to you. My English lit professor just gave me the list for my final test and I’m sort of freaking out, ‘cause I don’t understand the material. I was wondering if you had some free time and help me out. If you can I can pay you.” Said the musician. Trying to recollect himself and trying not to hyperventilate, Colin replied “Um sure, but finals aren’t like in a month. Have you at least read your selections?” “Yeah I’m in the middle of three and I finished two and I’m kind of struggling with these… I asked Rachel, but she was busy and she told me to ask you…” Bradley’s voice trailed. “Oh my God, that Rachel. I’m going to kill her next time I see that bitch! Thought Colin as he casually responded, “Well, sure I could help you out. I can’t right now ‘cause I’m in the middle of writing a paper I have for tomorrow. I’m free tomorrow, if it’s urgent.” “Yes, that would be amazing. I have rehearsals up until like 6-ish, so maybe if you like we can meet wherever you like.” Said Bradley a bit too exited for his sake, doing a little jump and his guitar fell making startling Bradley. “What was that?” asked Colin. “Just my guitar, I didn’t secure it well apparently” Lied Bradley “So where should we meet?” Asked Bradley. “Well first of all I need to know the list, to know even if I can actually help you. Tomorrow at 6:30 at Perk’s?” Asked Colin. “Sure.” Said Bradley. “Let’s chat over coffee, my treat.”
Posted on February 20, 2012, in Uncategorized and tagged black coffee, Coffee, death cab for cutie, green lady, love, lunch hour, Merlin, Merthur, Music, musician, musician life, short story. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.