Won't Go Home Without You (temporary title) - Andy Samberg

I haven't written in a while but I was just recently inspired to write some fanfiction spurred by my newfound obsession for Andy Samberg! "Won't Go Home Without You" is one of my favorite Maroon 5 songs. I thought it would fit in perfectly with this storyline, but I'm not sure if I should title it something else. I have 3 other ideas: "Twisted" (Carrie Underwood,) "Us Against The World" (Mitchel Musso featuring Katelyn Tarver,) or "Just So You Know" (Jesse McCartney.) This will be mostly told by Andy (as it starts out,) and occasionally by the point-of-view of Catherine (I cast myself as Andy's love interest hahaha.) Let me know what you think! Enjoy.

-Catherine

Intro.

I drove into the lot and parked in front of the hotel. I made sure my bags were safe inside my car before I went inside to check in. Another car parked behind me as I walked through the revolving doors and up to the front desk.

"Good afternoon sir, welcome to the Hilton Hotel. Name please?" the friendly hotel worker asked with hardly a glance up from the computer.

"Samberg, Andy," I stated. She froze for a moment, as if star-struck. As she looked up at me from the computer, I nodded, confirming for her that I was and am in fact, Andy Samberg, from the sketch TV show "Saturday Night Live," and the infamous comedy group, The Lonely Island, consisting of me and my best buds, who would be at the hotel any minute now to spend my birthday weekend partying together, Akiva Schaffer and Jorma Taccone.

"Alright Andy, here are your three room keys. You'll be staying in room 310. Please enjoy your stay here at the Hilton."

"Thank you," I politely took the room keys and turned to go back to my car to get my bags, but not before I saw her, standing behind me in line.

She had the same star-struck gaze as the lady at the front desk. But this girl had blue-gray eyes, which widened and sparkled at the sight of me, her round cheeks blushed a pale pink, and a mild gasp escaped from her full-lipped mouth. Her dirty blonde, wavy, shoulder-length hair blew gently across her face in the breeze from the fan a few feet away. As I gazed back down at her, a few inches shorter than me, a thought crossed my mind.

She's beautiful.

I knew I had to find out who this girl was before I went anywhere. Her features suggested she was just a few years or so younger than me, which sparked my curiosity. I had to ask her.

"Hi. How old are you? I'm turning thirty-one this weekend," I asked. She snapped out of her gaze to answer.

"I'm 14 and a half."

And with that, my life changed. Forever.