A/N: This story is going to be completely fun and silly and not really angsty - unless you consider sexual frustration to be angst. It might get a little citrusy too, you just never know. I wanted to thank SassyKassie and Naughty for their beta and pre-reading skills. One knows the plan with this one, or at least the inspiration, the other does not - but we're going to keep it that way for a bit. For now, just sit back and enjoy. Disclaimer: I own nothing, I just like to play with other people's toys - I'm good at sharing.

Chapter 1 - Scenario

"Fucking November!" I mumble under my breath as I huddle further into my coat.

It's days like this that I can't seem to remember why I don't own a car, even if I live in New York City and just parking one daily would cost an arm and a leg. It's easier, and cheaper, to get around by subway, or bus, or even cab in the city than it is to own a car. Half the time, when I had one, I'd end up having to park so far away from where I was headed that I should have just walked anyway. We don't get a ton of snow here in the city, not nearly as much as they do up-state, where my parents live and where I grew up, but it does get really cold. You think I'd be used to the cold by now, but I'm not sure I'll ever really get used to it.

As I sit on the bench at the subway stop I glance around at all the people going about their day. Men in business suits and knee length coats carrying briefcases, teenagers in jeans with holes - I'm not sure how they're not freezing in those things - and hooded sweatshirts and puffy coats. Everyone seems to have somewhere to go, just like me. I get lost in my thoughts about the meeting I'm on my way to and barely notice the petite brunette who has taken up residence next to me on the low, wooden bench. She's got earbuds in her ears and is bopping her head to what sounds like some old-school hip-hop. From the sounds of it, it's A Tribe Called Quest, Scenario. Love that song.

Yes, I can tell what she's listening to just from the beat. I'm a fan of 90's hip-hop, even if I was only 5 when the 90's started. I listen to all kinds of music, but when I was a kid I kind of wanted to be a rapper. To look at me, you'd never guess that, but we all have our secrets. Music is my life, literally. I'm a songwriter and music producer. I even dabble in recording and playing open mic nights every now and again, but that's all just for fun. I've been writing songs since I was a kid, and selling them since I was 19. Kind of young to get started in the songwriting business, but they say I was some sort of child prodigy or something like that. I don't know, I was always just able to capture emotion on paper. It was the way I dealt with things in my life - happiness, sadness, anger, everything.

I glance down at my feet hoping this train will be here soon and I might be able to feel my fingers again once I get into the warm, steel box. I notice the bright red shoes on the girl with the earbuds listening to Quest. Nike high tops and Quest; interesting. It's a sort of retro flair that I like for some reason. I feel myself starting to drag my eyes up her form, from the cherry-red shoes to the black skinny jeans. Damn, whoever invented skinny jeans deserves a big, wet kiss...or a good fuck, you know, whichever. Her legs are long and thin and oh, so sexy in the painted on denim. My eyes drift further up her form and I can't say I'm completely surprised when I glance at a fitted, black leather jacket with gold zippers at the pockets. She's wearing one of those overly large and colorful - reds and deep blues and stunning golds - scarves that girls like to wear. I don't really understand the loud scarf trend, but what do I know? I'm just a 27 year-old guy. It does, however, make me curious about what's underneath it; her neck, the 'just the right amount' of cleavage that's probably showing at the neckline of her tank top. Maybe that's why they wear them.

My eyes keep moving and suddenly I'm staring into a pair of dark brown eyes, wide with surprise. The browns are so deep and rich that in this light they almost look black. Oh, shit!I think to myself, she's caught me checking her out. I can feel the tips of my ears start to warm with embarrassment. Her hair is long and dark with a slight wave to it, not that stick-straight, bleach-blonde hair all the industry girls have going on. I've been to my fair share of release parties, Grammy-night after parties, and other industry events. There's something so fake about most people at that kind of thing, especially the girls. They think that they'll just get handed a record deal if they're willing to go down on the right people. Sad part is, most of the time, they're right. Not that I haven't had my fair share of fun at those industry parties as well, if you get what I'm saying, but I'm just starting to feel tired of all the games. Everyone that I've met in the industry is so fake, I just want to have a real conversation for once in my life. I can't remember the last time that happened.

I feel my eyes grow wider as she continues to stare at me like I'm some psycho. Then, I realize that I probably look like one, just staring at her while we sit on this bench waiting for our train. I clear my throat a little awkwardly and force myself to say something, anything.

"Quest?" I ask as I quirk my eyebrow at her with a little bit of my usual smirk while nodding my head at her, indicating I was talking about her music.

Her cheeks seem to flush a bit, although I can't tell if it's from the bit of wind that's found its way down the subway stairs and across our bench or if its from embarrassment. Either way, it's beautiful and I want to see it again.

"Um...yeah...you recognized it?" She asks, shyly.

Now, I know I'm not a bad looking guy. Like I've said, I've been to my fair share of industry parties and I've had my fair share of girls follow me around like lost puppies looking for somewhere warm to sleep. I'm also not dumb. I know that a lot of that has to do with my writer and producer status, not necessarily how good-looking I might or might not be. I was always pretty popular in high school. I dated most of the cheerleading squad and had my pick of dates for all the school dances. Hell, I was even homecoming King, but, this wasn't high school, and I wasn't really interested in all that anymore. I wanted someone I could just bewith. Be myself with, laugh with, talk with. I'm so sick of all the air-headed girls who only have one thing on their mind. I'm so tired of being lonely - even when I'm almost constantly surrounded by people. Lost in my thoughts, I realize that she's probably thinking I really am a freak. I haven't answered her question yet.

"Oh, um, sorry, yeah...I love Scenario...one of their best..." I stammer.

And then she giggles. She actually giggles and it is the best sound I've heard in a long time. And that's saying something, I am a music producer after all.

After that awkward first minute or so, we fall into easy conversation about music and who we currently have on 'repeat' on our iPods. Its so natural, it's like breathing. There's nothing deep to the conversation, just easy banter about bands and trends and I revel in it. She knows what she's talking about, there's no doubt about that. The girls I usually find myself surrounded by are lucky if they know the difference between Creedence Clearwater Revival and Lady Antebellum. No, really. I'm not even kidding. It's so nice to be able to share an interest with someone.

I hear a noise build from down the tunnel and I know that the train is on its way. I don't feel the cold so much right now and I'm not dying to get on the train like I usually am. And then it hits me, I'm sitting at a train stop talking to a girl I know nothing about, except that she's rocking red Nike high tops and listening to hip hop.

The train pulls up to the platform and she smiles shyly at me as she gets up. This isn't my train, but it seems to be hers. She gathers her too-big purse (why in the hell do girls have to carry everything they own with them at all times?)and her iPod and steps onto the train. She doesn't move to sit down, but stands just inside the door with her back to me. I notice a slight shake of her head as if she's saying 'no' to someone, but no one was speaking to her. The doors slide closed and the announcer's voice crackles over the intercom; "Next stop, Brooklyn."

As the train starts to pull out slowly, she turns her head, looking over her shoulder at me, our eyes meet and she looks away, shaking her head to herself one last time, then she's gone.

Chapter End Notes: Thanks for checking out my story. This writing thing is new for me so do let me know what you think. I look forward to sharing chapter 2...and the rest of the story...with you all.

Thanks for reading and thanks for your reviews!