After Jasmine made up a ridiculous but reasonable enough excuse as to why she had to leave him so abruptly, she said her goodbye and shut the door.

Once her door was closed she huffed out in frustration... she wasn't sure yet if it was sexual or mental frustration, but it sure was one of the two.

She took her time as she walked back over to her office and thought of getting back to her work. She needed to focus.

She sat herself down infront of her desk and opened up her laptop. "Okay brain, time to get down to it." she opened back up the brainstorm of ideas for her book and got to work, her fingers fell across the keyboard as she pieced together plot device after plot device, she made her characters, setting them out individually as she set forth to solidify them so she could fit them into the rise, fall and or resolution of her story scheme.

~ ~ ~

While the young author worked on focusing her time into writing out her story outline, across the hallway Marcus stood in his kitchen stirring his peppermint tea as his mind graced over the image of that lovely human that he now knew lived across from him. She was a sight to behold. He thought.

When he saw her answer the door, he could barely help himself from running his eyes all over her frame. She was curvy in all the right places, her hips, her thighs... and gosh did she have some pair of legs.

She had answered the door in nothing more than a gray booty shorts, an overly large gray hoodie and a simple black tank top, sans bra. Her brown eyes were warm and her light mocha colored skin looked so soft and smooth. Her thick black curls pulled back into a loose bun ontop of her head, with rebellious strands breaking free, it made him tempted to brush them back into place... and her lips, her lips, urgh they were so full and tantalizing, the slight pinkness lined with soft chestnut. Her facial features were flawless, the smooth grooves on her cheeks, her eyes a lovely oval shape with a seductive curve at the ends. Taking all of her had heightened his artistic spark and he badly wanted to draw her, he needed to, his fingers tingled with the need to capture her beauty on paper.

He lost himself in thought as he stirred his tea, Jasmine Summers huh. He wondered what genre she wrote. He wondered if he hadn't passed any of her books at a store anytime. He needed to know more about her. She was too much of a buzz in his mind for him not to be so inquisitive.

She seemed as sharp as a nail, with an even sharper tongue, her sarcasm was strong, but it seemed well used. She was smart too, he concluded.

Smart and beautiful, what more could a guy ask for? And she appeared to be a skilled writer if she had stalker fans. He may create art with a brush and paint, but she uses her imagination and her intellect. She uses her mind like an artist would use their heart. It was a tool that all artist far and wide obtained, the power of imagination and the tools to make it happen.

His tea had gotten slightly cold while he'd been stirring mindlessly but he didn't seem to notice. He was going to enjoy his new home. His hand stopped stirring then he looked back on his new apartment. It was large and for the price he got it, it almost seemed like a steal, almost. But he wasn't about to regret moving here. He had just gotten off of a long tour and he needed rest, his last place wasn't what he wanted and he had roommates, none of which he actually knew personally but he just couldn't do it. He needed his own space and now he had just that. Now he couldn't wait to get started with his art. He'd missed putting paint to canvas to creature magnificent things. He took his cup and sipped the cold tea. "Yuck!" he spit it out and shook his head. He set the tea down then he spotted his box of tools. He smiled and left his cold tea, going towards the box.

He fell to his knees and pulled at the cardboard flaps, he opened up the box to reveal his brushes, paints, color palette, etcetera.

He needed to set them up and thankfully he had a three bedroom apartment one could be turned into a store room for his pieces and the other into a work station.

Yes, yes, he saw it now saw how he was going to love living here. He smiled as he picked up one of his brushes. "A writer huh..." he muttered as his twisted the hairs of the brush between his fingers.

~ ~ ~

Marcus stayed up, hours flying away his hands racing over his canvas with paint and precision. He was seeing the colors of what he thought of as pure magic, a wonderful happening on canvas.

He smiled at his work four hours, four amazing hours... his new masterpiece was done. It had been long but he finally made something since his last day at home before his modeling job. He sat back satisfied with it... but I lacked something. He sighed as he ran a hand back through his hair, he needed sleep.

~ ~ ~

Jasmine hadn't found her path to sleep. She had stayed up pass the wee hours of the night scribbling away ideas upon ideas and trying to find something that would stick as a passable plotline but the knowledge just wasn't on her side. Her creativity was limited and she felt the questions of how she became an author filling her head.

"Urghh, what the hell is wrong with me!" she thumped her head on her desk, finally tired of thinking. It had been way pass night and the sun would begin to rise, yet she still didn't have anything solid enough to carry her novel into its second chapter. The first chapter consisted of a young woman, an author—she thought why not go the unexpected expected way of a writer and talk about what she knew, writing. The author was a good hearted, strong writer, much like herself and she was promoting her new novel before heading back home to the states. Now she could have given the character a bit more umfp to her life, but when one does not know a million things, it's best to stick with what one knows.

Jasmine was stumped, the book tour was up and she needed something exciting to write for her main character when she got back home. The journey of a new novel perhaps, or maybe a love spark, but nothing cliché, cliché's always ruin a book, makes the reader less interested in finishing and she refused to let that be her novel. She wouldn't reduce her book to bad critics or anything less than four stars. She wanted to write her fans something different, out and away from the normal woodwork that regular writer's go to. But wow, with her life being summed up to closed quarters and writers block, the raw talent in her bones refused to surface.

She decided that some research needed to be done in turn for her to accomplish something that her character could live off from, praying it wasn't going to be a pointless waste of time.

Sleep finallycaptured our young writer, stressed from her writers block guided her into adream state. Her mind finally decided that it was time to put her to rest forthe next day was already upon her and slumber shall not overlook this tiredauthor so soon.