[re-post from former blog]
“Sir,” a timid voice interrupted him.
He glanced up. The waitress stood next to his table, the plate with his steak on it in her hand.
“Oh, sorry.” He picked up his PalmReader so she could set the plate down.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She would be perfect.
She blushed under his scrutiny and hurried off.
Like a mouse, he thought. She was dark, and her features were cute, if not pretty. She looked young. If it hadn’t of been for her large belly, betraying to the world that she was pregnant, she wouldn’t look much older than sixteen. For all he knew, she could have been sixteen.
She was perfect. He had to talk to that girl.
- from Chapter 21, Marc’s PoV
Copyright (C) 2011, Hannah Mills. Please do not copy without prior written consent. Thank you!