FOR TEXT MESSAGES!
Bold = Stranger
Italics = Sam Hunt
Sam Hunt, a twenty-five year old writer, glanced at his phone in confusion. His warm green eyes narrowing as he read a text message from a stranger.
-You know, it was damn rude to leave me stranded at her house last night.
-...Who is this?
-Calvin you jerkface. Don't act all innocent, dweeb.
Sam let out a snort.
-No one says "dweeb" anymore, novice.
-Okaaaaaay. You are definitely NOT my brother.
-I'll just pretend this conversation never happened.
-Because this is the most entertaining shit that's happened to me since Tuesday. No joke.
-Tuesday? Do you even SPEAK the English language?
-I rolled my eyes, Stranger. I'm glad we don't know each other.
-Because you're gonna be my dumpster for all the weird shit that I am.
Sam let out a sigh as he tossed his phone onto a large stack of unedited manuscripts. He could already tell that this stranger was going to be a pain in his ass.