Curved Edges ✔

(3) Amalthea's Assets

♡ AMALTHEA

Did he just quote Daniel? What the actual fuck? Men like that exist? Men who read Bridget Jones' Diary or at least saw the movie? 

He's trying to hide his smug expression but completely fails at it, a smirk pulling at his lips. I have to admit that was a smart move.

"Did you just quote Daniel?"

His smirk is full-on now. Oh yes, he's feeling victorious.

I smile at him a little. "Sister or girlfriend?"

He seems confused by the question and stares at me for a bit like he's waiting for me to help him out. Not going to though. I really like it when they are confused. Men I mean. There's only one thing better, that's when they're shy. And blushing is like the holy grail. 

Yeah, I'm weird. And he won't be blushing any time soon. I also doubt he will ever be shy but he sure is confused right now.

He repeats my question and mulls it over. 

Suddenly, he gets up, walks out of the kitchen and I lose sight of him. I hear footsteps on what I assume are the stairs and hear him walk around above me. 

He comes back down the stairs and enters the kitchen again, handing me a worn-down copy of Bridget Jones's Diary. 

I run my fingers across the cover and try to feel the history in all the ridges and folds.

Oh yeah, another weird thing about me; I like old stuff. Old furniture, books, even people. 

I enjoy coming up with backstories for inanimate objects. For example; I have several stories that could explain the deep grooves in the tabletop of my dining table that I got from a thrift store. It could be from a kid, playing with his toy car on top of it. Or someone having earth-shattering sex bent over on it. Maybe the movers scraped it when they tried to get it into a previous owner's house...

Anyway... weird.

I feel his stare on me and he probably thinks I'm totally insane. As I open the book my eyes land on a hand-written message on the first page. 

'My dear boy, may this book help you find your own Bridget. It will at least help you understand women better. Merry Christmas! Love, Mom.'

His mom wants him to find his own Bridget. What the...? I don't even know what to say. As if I wasn't confused enough already.

And looking at this book it's clear he has read it more than once. Or is it a trick? A way to win women over? But he doesn't want me. I'm pretty sure I'm not his type. He probably likes girls like Ashley, my lovely assistant. Lips in a pout and tits out. Ponytail so tight that she can't close her eyes anymore and a skirt so short you can basically read her lips.

Yeah, that sounds like his type. Girls who think a rice cracker is lunch.

There goes my mind again. I'm on a roll today. This guy must be glad I walked out earlier this morning. I'm a handful, in every way imaginable. 

I look up page twenty and read the line that makes me laugh and breaks my heart at the same time.

'I am afraid of one day being found dead in my flat, all alone, half-eaten by an animal.'

Imagine the type of animal that must be, to be able to eat half of my curvy ass. Would it be in one go? Or a small animal that comes in to take a small bite out of me on a daily basis? All while I lie on my living room floor, eating ice cream soup from the tub.

I chuckle and look up at him, straight into his amused and curious hazel eyes. 

Oh fuck, I did it again.