Page 19 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
This couple had desire, sure, but it was sloppy and needy. When someone finally kissed me, I wanted to be so consumed by them that their breath was the only thing filling my lungs.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see that happening anytime soon. Or ever. In reality, I’d have to talk to someone first.
Attempting to ignore my breakfast companions’ smacking sounds, I flipped another page and turned my attention back to my food.
Maybe I should call my mom? Hearing her voice might make me feel better. Last year, after class, I could go home and talk to her. That was about the only good thing in my old state college. Here it was just me and an empty house.
Don’t get me wrong, it had everything I needed—bedroom, seating area with a loveseat and desk, a bathroom, and a small kitchen—and I was happy for the privacy, but it would be nice to have someone to invite over. Especially at night, when all I could hear were the hoots from the creepy owl who sat in the tree outside my window.
Normally, I didn’t mind animals, but that thing with his big yellow eyes was straight up evil. It watched me all night. It didn’t move an inch, just sat there perched on its branch and stared. Not even the curtain could block it out. Its eyes shone through the fabric, like a creepy nightlight. Yet another reason why I needed someone in my life. Then that owl could stare at them.
Change wasn’t easy, but no one was going to do it for me. So, I told myself this morning that I would talk to one person today. And I did try. While out on my run, I spotted a girl all by herself walking down the path, who was carrying a couple of geology books. But when she looked up at me, I panicked, asked her the time, and ran away.
That was an hour and a half ago, and I’d probably analyzed that moment a thousand times in my head. Would she have been nice? Would I have liked her? Would she like me? Did I miss my opportunity to make a friend? There was something I never thought I would want.
“Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”
That guy had no problem approaching someone. I bet it was easy for him. Just walk up and say hi. Why couldn’t I do that? I had no problem telling those guys off last night. I was too angry and frustrated to overthink it. I just reacted. Maybe I needed to get angry? Although I couldn’t imagine that would help me come across as friendly to people.
“Hello.”
A hand pressed down on the table next to my breakfast tray, causing me to look up at the warm smile of a dark-haired man. He was unquestionably homecoming king material. He had all the requirements.
Charming smile, aura of arrogance with a playful sparkle in his bright eyes, and fashionable jeans and shirt. Did they give the guys in this place a beauty enhancement drug, because I had yet to see a single unattractive man. At this point I’d settle for plain.
“There you are.”
Was he talking to me? That didn’t seem right. Guys who looked like him usually talked to cheerleaders and sorority girls. They didn’t approach girls reading a book while eating scrambled eggs with ketchup.
He tipped his head, causing that playful sparkle in his eyes to glitter. “Did you forget how to speak?”
Something was wrong here. This guy obviously worked out, and he took pride in his appearance. I was wearing ripped jeans and a Reba McIntyre t-shirt that I’d worn so much her name was barely legible. Clearly, he wasn’t speaking to me.
“You’re not deaf, are you?”
Or maybe he was?
His brow rose. “Are you okay?”
I was staring, wasn’t I?
Look away, Georgia, just look away… no wait. I should say something back. Hi. How are you? I could ask him about his day. Say anything!
“Blueberries.”
Don’t say that.
Well, there went that conversation. But I did talk to him, so it still counted.
“The blueberry muffins here are fantastic, but the ones in the diner down the street are much better.”
“Okay?” What was happening?
The smile on his face widened. “You should let me buy you a muffin sometime.”
Did he just ask me out? Was this flirting? Should I flirt back? Would that give him the wrong impression?
“I’m having eggs,” I said, despite the fact that he could quite possibly see what I was eating.
