Except I think you may fall over from that rush of adrenaline. Do you need to sit?”
“No, I’ll be okay,” I say. “I just may throw up my lunch.”
“I won’t look.”
“What did you say to my dog? How did you get her to stop?” Kioto is sitting now, just staring at the Irish setter, perhaps telepathically daring the dog to move.
“Oh, I took some strict guard-dog obedience classes long ago, before I got Cherry here,” says the man. “The word I used is the most stern-sounding German word I know, so I used it, and it worked. Yeah, I know, Irish man speaking German—kind of funny. The instructor taught in German so that your typical stranger wouldn’t be able to give commands to your dog.”
“That was German? Di dn’t sound like it to me,” I add. But I must have been too far away. “Your dog is so beautiful. I’m glad Kioto didn’t get to her—him?” My head turns, trying to peek at where I may find the answer myself. I let the dog sniff my hand before petting it.
“Her. I have this thing for redheads, I guess.” He says it without breaking his stare, embarrassing me slightly, and definitely satisfying his manhood, but it’s non-threatening. It makes me feel...good.
I giggle girlishly. He’s attractive—tall and muscular, with glowing blue eyes that make me hold my breath as I decide whether he’s looking into my soul or just plain through me. My fingers want to reach out and sail through his sandy brown hair.
I collect myself, clearing my throat. Flirting is usually Amber’s arena, not mine.
“You live around here?” My mind tries to replay what I’ve just said, hoping I spoke English and not girly boy-intoxicated gibberish.
“Just moved to the city from the south suburbs, but I’ve lived in the Chicago area since I was twelve,” he answers. “I was born in Waterford, Ireland, though—land of four- leaf clovers, barley, and hops. Do you live close by?”
“You are stranger-danger. Can ’t tell you that!” I tease. “Unfortunately, I have to get going. I have a dinner date—not like a date-date, but like a friend date.” Pretty sure that was English.
“Sure, don’t mean to keep you,” he says. “We will see you around?”
I stand motionless, and examine him in my special way. Intrigue. It’s definitely intrigue I feel from him. “Probably,” I say.
“What’s your name?”
“Kailey, and yours?”
“Conner,” he replie s, “and it’s nice to meet you—and Kioto.” He extends his hand, and I shake it. His hand is much warmer than mine, and softer, if that’s possible—definitely not a manual labor kind of guy. Feeling like a scaly alligator, I try to withdraw my hand—it’s time for a change in lotions—but he holds on as a small static shock travels up my arm.
“Ow,” I yelp as I pull my hand away.
“Oops, sorry. Did I do that, or was that you?” We both laugh as Kioto allows him to pet her head, without a shock.
“See you around, Conner.” My turn to leave is slow, but with a twist of the head—my best attempt at a model’s hair swish. Amber’s perfected it, so maybe I can? I only end up with a mouthful of hair.
After a few feet, I turn back to see that Conner and Cherry are already gone.
“Let’s go, my good girl,” I say, genuinely smiling—maybe for the first time in months. Kioto leads the way home.
Chapter 7
Nonsensical
Could I be any more nervous?
As dinner approaches, I keep asking myself all sorts of questions—questions like, did I wear the right clothes? Did I wear the right shoes? Is it all right that my hair is pulled back? When did I accidentally eat the hallucinogenic mushroom? What the hell am I doing?
The one thing that makes me decide to go is the pendulum. I have to give it back. I’m not a thief—never stole anything in my life, well, except that one bag of Big League Chew, but I chalked that off as a youth’s rite of passage.
I call a cab, making sure it’s a different company than
“No, I’ll be okay,” I say. “I just may throw up my lunch.”
“I won’t look.”
“What did you say to my dog? How did you get her to stop?” Kioto is sitting now, just staring at the Irish setter, perhaps telepathically daring the dog to move.
“Oh, I took some strict guard-dog obedience classes long ago, before I got Cherry here,” says the man. “The word I used is the most stern-sounding German word I know, so I used it, and it worked. Yeah, I know, Irish man speaking German—kind of funny. The instructor taught in German so that your typical stranger wouldn’t be able to give commands to your dog.”
“That was German? Di dn’t sound like it to me,” I add. But I must have been too far away. “Your dog is so beautiful. I’m glad Kioto didn’t get to her—him?” My head turns, trying to peek at where I may find the answer myself. I let the dog sniff my hand before petting it.
“Her. I have this thing for redheads, I guess.” He says it without breaking his stare, embarrassing me slightly, and definitely satisfying his manhood, but it’s non-threatening. It makes me feel...good.
I giggle girlishly. He’s attractive—tall and muscular, with glowing blue eyes that make me hold my breath as I decide whether he’s looking into my soul or just plain through me. My fingers want to reach out and sail through his sandy brown hair.
I collect myself, clearing my throat. Flirting is usually Amber’s arena, not mine.
“You live around here?” My mind tries to replay what I’ve just said, hoping I spoke English and not girly boy-intoxicated gibberish.
“Just moved to the city from the south suburbs, but I’ve lived in the Chicago area since I was twelve,” he answers. “I was born in Waterford, Ireland, though—land of four- leaf clovers, barley, and hops. Do you live close by?”
“You are stranger-danger. Can ’t tell you that!” I tease. “Unfortunately, I have to get going. I have a dinner date—not like a date-date, but like a friend date.” Pretty sure that was English.
“Sure, don’t mean to keep you,” he says. “We will see you around?”
I stand motionless, and examine him in my special way. Intrigue. It’s definitely intrigue I feel from him. “Probably,” I say.
“What’s your name?”
“Kailey, and yours?”
“Conner,” he replie s, “and it’s nice to meet you—and Kioto.” He extends his hand, and I shake it. His hand is much warmer than mine, and softer, if that’s possible—definitely not a manual labor kind of guy. Feeling like a scaly alligator, I try to withdraw my hand—it’s time for a change in lotions—but he holds on as a small static shock travels up my arm.
“Ow,” I yelp as I pull my hand away.
“Oops, sorry. Did I do that, or was that you?” We both laugh as Kioto allows him to pet her head, without a shock.
“See you around, Conner.” My turn to leave is slow, but with a twist of the head—my best attempt at a model’s hair swish. Amber’s perfected it, so maybe I can? I only end up with a mouthful of hair.
After a few feet, I turn back to see that Conner and Cherry are already gone.
“Let’s go, my good girl,” I say, genuinely smiling—maybe for the first time in months. Kioto leads the way home.
Chapter 7
Nonsensical
Could I be any more nervous?
As dinner approaches, I keep asking myself all sorts of questions—questions like, did I wear the right clothes? Did I wear the right shoes? Is it all right that my hair is pulled back? When did I accidentally eat the hallucinogenic mushroom? What the hell am I doing?
The one thing that makes me decide to go is the pendulum. I have to give it back. I’m not a thief—never stole anything in my life, well, except that one bag of Big League Chew, but I chalked that off as a youth’s rite of passage.
I call a cab, making sure it’s a different company than
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