Pretzel Girl

"It's a good thing she likes cats."

"Can I help you, or are you just here to laugh at me?" I ask, blandly. "No, no, I'm sorry." He says, wheezing, trying to stop laughing. He stops whenever I blink at him, the opposite of amused. "Yeah, I'll have 2 pretzels, please."

My eyes wander to his bare chest again, and I smile, sweetly. "Sorry, no shirt, no service." "What?" He asks, blushing as he looks down and realizes that he's still shirtless. "Oh, gosh. Sorry." I shake my head, dismissing it as he pulls his shirt over his head.

Red bolded lettering spells out: VOTE PEDRO on his white t-shirt. "Napoleon Dynamite?" I ask, slipping some plastic gloves onto my hands. "Yes, one of my favorites." He says, grinning like a little kid talking about their new toy, and I can't help but smile back.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, as if in pain. "What?" I ask, placing the pretzels into napkins. "Your nose." I touch the tips of my fingers to the bridge of my nose and a recoil after a sharp pain fills my senses. Of course I have to fall off of a chair in front of the only cute boy in my path, but I also mess up my face in the process, ruining my chances of anything happening between us. "How bad is it?" He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of my face before I can protest.

The bridge of my nose is already a slight purple and it's swelled quite a bit. Well that's a shame, people have told me that I have an exceptionally cute nose. Not anymore. I cover the bottom of my face to hide it.

"Delete it." My voice is muffled from my palm, but I make it clear enough that I don't want him to have a picture of me, much less one where it looks like my nose is broken. I wonder if it is... He chuckles lightly, "No." His disobedience to delete the picture of me, even when I look hideous, makes my heart pick up the pace within a few seconds. The arrogance is really attractive but irritating.

Why is he acting like this? I was the one who fell off the chair, and embarrassed myself in front of him. I know that even though I'm never going to see him again, I'm never going to live that moment down. I'll be like 80 years old and be telling the other old people in the retirement home that the reason I never married is because I destroyed my one chance of love the day that I managed to damage my nose and pride by falling off of the metal chair in front of the Poshes model. God was probably up in heaven like, "Yeah, no. There's no way she'll recover from that one. It's a good thing she likes cats...she'll have a few."

"Crap," He checks the time on his phone screen, "I need to get back, my breaks almost over." I nod, handing him the pretzels. He thanks me and begins to walk away.

"Hey!" I call out, and he turns around. "How are you going to keep your abs if you eat pretzels?" I ask, smirking.

Hey, I've already humiliated myself in front of him, a little teasing won't be too much.

He shrugs, "I don't know. How are you going to keep your nose if you keep dropping your phone on it?" Touché.

My face contorts into a frown and he laughs, "I'll see you later, Unless you fall down the escalator." I glare at his back as he walks away, thinking maybe I'll throw myself down it, purposely. The smell of his cologne leaves a trail, masking the scent of the pretzels. I don't mind, though.