Page 20 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
“So, you are.” He chuckled, and to my surprise, he didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled out the chair beside me and had a seat. “But you forgot the bacon. You can’t have eggs without bacon.”
“I ate it already.”
“Nice.” He nodded. “I like a girl who enjoys her meat.”
Why did that feel like a joke? He was smiling. Should I laugh? If I did and it wasn’t a joke that would be bad. Or would it? Did I want to talk to him? I was so confused, mostly about why this guy was still here.
“Besides blueberries and eggs, what else do you like?”
Why did he want to know what I liked? Did he want something from me, or was this idle conversation? If so, how did I respond? Was I supposed to tell him what I liked or whatI thought he wanted me to like? What was the social norm? I needed more context.
Or, maybe you should just answer the damn question, Georgia.
“Rocks,” I blurted out. “I like rocks.”
“Oh, you’re one of those crystal girls.”
Confusion pulled my brows together. “What?”
What was a crystal girl? Did he mean literally or metaphorically, because people weren’t made out of crystals.
“You know, those girls who think crystals have healing powers and bring you luck.”
Why would anyone think that? “Crystals are minerals that exhibit a crystalline structure. They don’t have magical properties, and they aren’t rocks.”
He looked at me.
I looked at him while covertly trying to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Nervous didn’t begin to explain how I felt. That was most definitely not the thing to say. However, if I were going to make a friend, I would prefer one that didn’t want me to be someone else.
He eyed me. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
What was his first clue?
“Okay, let’s start with something easy. Hi.” He held out his hand. “My name is Kash, and you are?”
“Georgia.”
“See,” he smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
Not really.
“Now you take my hand, Georgia, and give it a shake.”
I looked down at his hand, then rolled my eyes back up to his face. “I don’t want to do that.”
My heart was already hammering in my chest. I did not need to add touching to my anxiety.
“Okay,” he nodded and dropped his arm. “Not a touchy-feely girl. I can respect that.”
Was I supposed to thank him?
“Tell me about yourself, Georgia.”
“Why?”
“Well,” he said. “That’s usually how these things go. I ask you questions, and you ask me questions. Or, you could tell me to fuck off.”
