Not Quite Enough

1.April

Cryin' // Aerosmith

The lines won't stop.

"Do I know you? 'Cause you look a lot like my next girlfriend."

I freaking feel sorry for his last girlfriend, which was likely his hand and his reflection in the mirror.

The creep won't leave me alone. I've ignored him for the past five minutes, standing in line to order, but he hasn't gotten the hint. He's tried three different lines on me so far, all of them as dumb as he must be. I haven't turned around, shrugged my shoulders or mumbled a single reply. But he won't.give.up.

"There must be something wrong with my eyes, I can't take them off you."

There's something wrong with him all right.

The first line about my phone number almost made me laugh because it caught me off guard. I always have my guard up but today is a different story. I'm hardly myself. Regardless I successfully held it together thinking that would be that. No reaction, not even a glance, and he would back off, right?

Wrong.

"Is it hot in here or is it just you?"

What is with him? Hasn't he ever heard of the #metoo movement? Sexual harassment is not cool. Although, he's really just making a fool of himself, not exactly harassing me, other than the fact that he won't stop dropping the lines. The guy hasn't discussed any body parts in his come ons so I have to give him that, at least. His voice is deep, smooth, just a little hum in his words. I want to turn around and glare at him, make him nervous enough to stop, but with how over the top he's acting I'm getting the idea that my glaring would just egg him on instead of scare him off. Plus there's a sick part of me that wants to hear what else he might come up with.

I shift my weight to one hip and tilt my head. Its universal body language telling him I'm not interested, but alas the boy is just too clueless to get the hint.

"Are you free tonight or will it cost me?"

That's the one that does it, curiosity completely killed, causing me to turn around and gah-lare at him with every ounce of pissed off I've got. I use all of the anger I brought into the place, thanks to the a-holes in my life, and aim it right at him. My mouth is twisted to the side, the words swirling on my tongue ready to launch right at him.

But then I look into his eyes. He's struck me silent.

I do a quick body check: mouth shut tight, eyelids narrowed, nostrils flaring, arms crossed...all good there. Nothing outwardly points to what's happening internally. Because holy hell. Who is this guy? Tall, at least six feet, scruffy disheveled locks bouncing on top of his head that some girls might think need a cut but I am imagining plunging my fingers into. He's got barbeque sauce on one corner of his mouth and a swatch of grease on the opposite cheek. But those eyes...

Oh my God those eyes...

My control is slipping and I fear that a whimper is eminent. Not an option. I let my mind wander back to just a half hour ago, school, all the assholes and rumors they were spreading like honey for flies. I feel the deep dark reserves of anger, hate, rise back to the surface and let it take over.

Not today, Satan. I won't be tempted by beautiful eyes and left with a broken heart. That is some other idiot's fate, not mine. Let this guy ruin someone else's life.

I let the edge soften the smallest touch. It's the lioness lying in wait, preparing to pounce. But I am once again successful in lulling the poor sap into a false sense of security. I know it the instant his lip curls on one side and the scar/dimple on the other side of his mouth makes an appearance.