The boy next door (working title)

I'd like to start out by saying that he wasn't even that cute. 5'9'', dark brown close-cropped hair, nice frame- but no dicernable 6 pack, at least that I could see through the boring, styless clothes he insisted upon wearing. He was certainly not ugly, his clean-cutedness might even earn him a double take on the street, but his looks would not in any way warrent the rings of fire and forray through hell that I undertook to get his attention.

Call me desperate the first time I met him in the hallway of my brand new, first time on my own, apartment building, and you'd be absolutly right. I was pathetically desperate, mind-numblingly scared, and pants-wettingly anxious to get on with with the amazing life I'd cleaned out my savings and moved to NYC to find. It was my first full day in my new apartment alone and after 48 hours of constant fussing by my mother, sister, aunt, grandmother, and various other family members, I was finally feeling the sting of my freshly cut umblibilical. I was a few months shy of my 24th birthday, and while it certainly wasn't the first time I'd been away from my family, it was the first time I'd moved anywhere on my own quite so permanently.

I'd come back from a year and a half in Japan about 5 months before and enjoyed a breif vacation from responcibilty while I hid out in my old bedroom and applied to an impressivily diverse array of jobs. After a disheartening number of rejections and twice that many snubs, I got my first real job offer from a legitimate porduction company speciallizing in educational childrens programing. I accepted a position as the assistant to the assisant producer of "Science Surfing With Zoey!," proof positive that you CAN do more with an English major than teach or go back to school. I was making roughly 2/3rds of my salary as an English teacher in Japan, and spending over half of it on my new quaint little apartment's rent, but it didn't phase me much because I was convinced in the resilliance of my youth. Besides I had a dream... nay, a life-long plan... it was all going to work out... I was confident.

Ok, well I was mostly confident, on the good days, which that Thursday afternoon, the first day on my own, in my expensive, quaint, new apartment, was not. I'd managed to stave aside my panic all moring after my family left by arranging and rearranging all of my new Ikea furniture in my Barbie sized but brightly lit living room. I bravely made myself a sandwich with my own food gotten from my own refridgerator at around 11:00. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite 12:00 by the time my untouched bread was soggy with tears and I had to literally sit on my hands to keep them from dialing my mother and begging her to take me home.

At 1:15, I threw my ruined sandwich into the garbage and lugged my already fileld bag to the garbage shoot, which, I'll admit perked me up a bit because I'd never had a garbage shoot before and i'd always thought they were cool. I'd just let the shoot door slam shut and proudly dusted off my hands in the universal sign of a tough job satisfactorily done (now part of a taking out the trash tradition), when I met him.

He was the first sign of life I'd encountered since morning, and when he saw me by the garbage shoot, he grinned.

"So, you're the one who likes Craig David", he said as he walked toward me with his arm extended. "I'm Nigel." He seemed to have a bit of an accent.

I took his hand and grinned back "I'm Briana," I said. And then... "I don't think i"m the only Craig David Fan around here. It takes one to know one!"... yeah I'm still beating myself up over that line...

Thankfully, if he felt any pity for my lameness, he hid it well. He leaned back his head and laughed. A very nice laugh. "I'll admit it," he shrugged " I got to support my country men." Oh my God he was British. He hooked a chocolate brown thumb through his belt loop and leaned against my door frame. "If you need any help unpacking or anything, let us know."

I'd been melting into a pool at his feet (I. Love. British. Accents.) when I finally processed what he said. US? I started to solidify again. Shit. He had a girlfriend. He was married.

"Us?" I asked in a way I hoped didn't sound as flirty as I know it did.

He grinned again. "Me and my roomate. He's hardly in, but he's a really cool guy too." He glanced at his watch. " I actually have to get ready to meet some friends, but stop by whenever you get a chance. Apartment 247." I nodded and watched him stroll down the hallway, his keys dangling from his long beautiful brown arms (did I mention I'm an arm and hands girl?). He turned when he reached his door. "Nice to meet you Briana." he said, then went inside.

I sighed adoringly then slid the puddle version of myself back inside through the space at the bottom of my door.

Another not quiet finished masterpeice... still working on it, just an introduction...not sure where it's going. Sorry about the spelling errors, will fix them soon!