Free Writing Mr. Right by Michaela Wright Page A

poster he’d been captivated by two days previous. Garrett chuckled as he watched her try to flatten her hair on the top of her head. That poster of Victoria Mason did the reality of Georgia Kilduff no justice.
    “Your middle name is Douglas?”
    “Aye, and my surname is MacCauley, no MacCready.”
    She stared at him a moment. “You’re kidding.”
    “Nae, lass. Garrett James Douglas MacCauley. Good, long Scottish name for ye.”
    Her face went blank as she watched him. He waited for her to say something. When she didn’t gave her an eyebrow wag. “Why? Who’s this Douglas MacCready , then?”
    “The perfect man.”
    Garrett snuck into the washroom for a piss. “Who’s this guy like? I’ll kill ‘im.”
    Garrett shook himself, and flushed before washing his hands. She didn’t respond. He came out of the bathroom to find her staring at her hands.
    What’s the matter, you?”
    She shook her head. “Your middle name is Douglas?”
    “Aye, it is. Almost had three middle names, but my mum told my dad tae stuff it. Ye hungry then?”
    Georgia sat there on the bed, silent a moment. She seemed to be transfixed by her fingers. Garrett stopped at the corner of the bed, watching her. “Ye hungry, love?”
    “What? Yes. Yes, I am. So what does a full Scottish Breakfast entail?” She asked, her hair still a mess, but a slightly smaller one.
    Garrett made his way into the kitchen, putting the kettle on as he passed the counter. “You’ve never had one? What were they feedin ye in Edinburgh, the bastards?”
    “I don’t know. All I remember of Edinburgh is an old, gray haired lady giving me an in depth description of her first experience with anal sex.”
    “Yer jokin!”
    “I’m not. Sadly.”
    He shot her a glare from the kitchen, and quickly realized he was still bareassed and freezing against the winter air, even in his apartment. He hustled over to his bureau for a pair of boxers and slipped them on. “Jesus, why do these people think ye want tae know that shite?”
    She chuckled. “Because I write about it, I guess. I think a lot of people are desperately looking for someone else who isn’t afraid to talk about the things they wish they weren’t afraid to talk about.”
    “Ye write anal sex in those dirty books of yours? Christ, woman! I need tae start reading more romance novels.”
    “They’re not romance. They’re fiction. They just have romance in them.”
    “And anal sex,” Garrett said, bracing as she smacked him with one of her many pillows as he snuck past. “Is this where I’d find this Douglas MacCready, then?”
    “It is.”
    He rounded the kitchen counter, collecting a few choice items from his fridge. If there was one great blessing he’d gained from his mother, it was his cooking. “Good. Was beginning to worry. Is this Douglas the one riding through the hillsides havin anal sex, then?”
    Georgia laughed and made another attempt to tame her hair, scolding him still. “Hey, if it happens, I’m gonna write about -”
    She stopped a moment, and Garrett continued setting his items across the counter, waiting for her to continue. He’d cracked two eggs into the hot pan before she’d said another word. He glanced up, finding her staring at him with an almost serene smile on her face.
    He felt his face grow hot. “What?”
    He didn’t think it possible, but she smiled even wider. “Nothing.”
    “What do ye mean, nothing? You’re staring at me like a loon over there, hen.”
    And he was smiling right back. He wondered how much longer he could hold her gaze before he cracked like one of the eggs on the counter.
    “It’s not my fault,” she said, covering her smile with her hands.
    “Then whose fault is it?”
    “Yours. You’re cooking half naked.”
    Garrett laughed. “That I am? Though no bacon, I assure ye. Does that do it for ye, then? A man cookin ye breakfast in the buff?”
    She shook her head, still covering her smile. “I guess so. God, you are -”
    He waited