Mr. Write [COMPLETED]

Chapter 8 - "So, is this the part where you murder me?"

Elliot flopped back on the couch, rubbing her eyes. The coffee table before her was littered with index cards and two empty coffee cups.

"Alright," Elliot said to Beck. "That has to be it for today or else my brain is going to jump out of my ear, walk around the room and I would be left brainless."

She shrugged, resting her head back in the couch.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've been left brainless. But it would be weird to see my brain parading its freedom in front of you," she added.

"I agree," Beck said. "It would also be clearly embarrassing for you."

"It would. I'm not sure this partnership would last much longer after such an odd occurrence."

"Then we should stop for the day."

"Agreed."

Elliot hoisted herself off the couch, as Beck pulled on his jacket and satchel. Collecting the coffee cups, Elliot moved to the kitchenette and dumped them in the sink. When she turned around, Beck was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. Elliot hesitated.

"I'm not sure I want to hear what you are about to say," Elliot said, moving cautiously back to the couch.

"How do you know that I'm about to say anything?"

"Because it's the only time that I can read anything on your face."

"I didn't realize I was such an open book."

"Please, you're as open as a bank vault."

The corner of Beck's mouth twitched. Elliot cocked her head.

"Are you going to say what you were going to say or should I just go through the list of criticisms I have laying around until I hit upon the right one?" she asked.

"My mother wants to meet you," Beck said.

Elliot raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

"Wow. I thought we had to be dating for at least a month before this came up."

"Three weeks, but I guess everyone has their preference."

Elliot nodded.

"Why does she want to meet me?" she asked, bending down and stacking the index cards.

She looked up at Beck with an odd expression.

"Wait. This isn't the part where you tell me that you need me to pretend to be your fake girlfriend, because she's dying and wants to see you with a put together, classy girl, is it?" Elliot asked.*

Beck arched one eyebrow.

"You can pull off 'put together'?"

"No, that's why it wouldn't work."

"Yes, only one of the many reasons it wouldn't work."

Elliot crossed her arms.

"When am I suppose to be meeting mother dearest?"

"Dinner. Tonight."

"Wow, you don't really give a girl a heads up do you? What if I said I had plans?"

"Do you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I did?"

"Not likely?"

"How come?"

"You usually announce them if you do. Right as we are packing up. Then you inquire into my plans."