Addictive

three >>

Three >>

            We didn’t do anything crazy or out of the ordinary. In fact he, rather recklessly, drove us to the nearby McDonalds. I hate McDonalds and you better believe if Robert Ian took me to McDonalds I would have pitched a fit. But it was Drake and he was so pretty to look at and that voice, I’d agree with anything it said. So when he said McDonalds I couldn’t think of a better place to be.

            We got Big Macs and I got lemonade, he got sweet tea. I love lemonade by the way. For about fifteen minutes he said nothing, just shoved burger down his throat. When he finished, he extended his legs out to my side of the booth and folded his arms behind his head. He was looking at me so expectantly, as if I was supposed to be saying something. So naturally I sat there, wallowing in my own awkwardness.

            “I like you, kid,” He mused, flashing that lopsided grin again. “Yeah, you’re different and I like that.”

            I didn’t really know what to say, I’m pretty sure at that point I was too busy tracing his biceps with my eyes. So I didn’t speak, I just smiled and to my relief he kept going.

            “See the world needs more girls like you.” He took a long sip of his tea. “I don’t like those stereotypical girls with their designer shit as if that gives their life some value, you know?”

            “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I wasn’t lying either, I knew exactly what he meant. He meant girls like Taylor who were surface deep and belonged with kiddie pools like Robert Ian.

            “Girls like that don’t listen to good music, I bet you listen to good music.”

            “I think so.”

            “See girls like you deserve a good guy.”

            “Girls like me,” I sneered. “You don’t know me.”

            “Sure I do,” Drake insisted. “I’m good at reading people, you see.”

            “Oh yeah? Alright, read me.”

            Drake reached over and grabbed my hand, laying it palm up on the table. He then began tracing his middle and index fingers across my palm, eyes closed, a serious expression on his face. It took me a moment to realize he was also chanting something under his breath. I knew he was too good to be true; he was a lunatic.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said, jerking away my hand.

            But Drake was quicker than me and kept his hold on it. “Hush love, you’re disrupting the psychic spirits.” He finally cracked a smile and I realized he was joking.

            “Not funny!” I said, slapping his hand.

             “Alright I’ve got it.” He didn’t even flinch, just released my hand and clasped his together, resting his head on his knuckles.

            “Cora Fisher. Born into and upper-middle class family with no siblings. You like music and reading, and being a tortured, misunderstood soul. You also have a fetish with ferrets and probably have one as a pet, which is, in my humble and correct opinion, disgusting. Your favorite color is black because it matches your soul and you’ve secretly been hoping someone as charming and sensible as myself would come along to balance you out.” He smirked, satisfied with himself. “How’d I do?”

            I tried my best not to laugh, no matter how well he’d actually done, and tried to look troubled. Placing my hand over my mouth and taking a deep breath I said, “You said I’m an only child,” A dramatic pause and a short gasp. “How did you know about my sisters accident?”