The Girl in Seat 23 {l.r.h.}

six.

He watched me struggle to carry my limp friend around him for a moment, until finally scooping her up and flinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. "You're welcome," he muttered.

"That's news to me." I crossed my arms across my chest.

Eventually we found my car, and I kindly told him to put my friend down and buzz off or I'd call the cops.

He glared at me, getting in my face. Boy, he was tall. Really really tall. And I was all but 4'11 and 17 years old. Spent my whole life feeling like I had something to prove.

His Polaris eyes turned from the blue sky in May to the stormy tides of Newport in April. "Look, babe, frankly you're a real jerk. The most stuck up broad I've ever met. But there was beer backstage, I'm feelin' a little tipsy, and this whole rejection thing is new to me." He took small scrap of paper from the pocket of his jeans and scribbled something down on it. I stood on my tiptoes to try and see what he writing. I hope he didn't notice. "This is my phone number. Call it sometime and we'll see."

"See what?"

"If I like you this much when I'm sober."