A Handsome Stranger

"Just your own interests?" he says, plucking the book up and raising an eyebrow as he took in the title of that book and the two others he'd managed to grab before I could get them, "Really into old women in the woods?"

"Not particularly," I half squeak.

He turns all three around and I see that they are all, of course, about old women in the woods.

"It's not what it looks like," I try to explain, then turn to humor, "It's just that I've got a fetish for chicken legs."

His mouth half opens and his head cocks a little to one side and I find that I'm blushing even harder now while at the same time cursing the fact that my mouth starts heading in directions that I can't rightly catch up with.

"She lives in a house with chicken legs," I try to clarify, "By which I mean the house is on legs. Like the house walks? And the legs are chicken. Chicken legs, that is. You know?"

And then, and I shit you not here, I make the sound that a chicken makes. You know... like pretend that I'm singing Old Macdonald and we've reached the verse about poultry. I do my best impression of a chicken and the cute guy who I think might have been flirting with me a few moments ago blinks slowly, staring at me like I'm absolutely crazy which I very well might be because did I mention that I did the impression of a chicken at him!?!

And then, as if it can't get any worse, he responds.

"That's the noise a rooster makes," he clarifies for me, "Chickens cluck."

Oh god. Yeah. It got worse.

Moaning and not in a good way I bury my head in my hands, feeling the burning deepen and increase in heat. I can't helpt it, really. I feel almost dizzy from the fact that I'm stumbling over myself like this.

"I think maybe I should take my books," I say through my fingers, "And just like head out? Yeah, I think that might be the best choice here."

The handsome stranger pauses for a moment before he replies, and when he does pipe up it's with a chuckle in his voice.

"And I think if I just let you go there is a not too small possibility that you'll barrel head down into someone else, or something even worse than that."

"What could be worse than that?" I ask, peeping up over my fingers.

"Well we aren't on the first floor. You could go tumbling right over the banister and crashing down to the ground. And you seem like you've got a bright future ahead of you. I'd hate to see it get cut short."

He's grinning while he talks to me and his grin is half-lopsided and mostly rakish and he just looks so rougish, you know? He looks like he's devil may care and careless at the same time and that's really appealing to me right now, in a way that I cannot quite comprehend.

But I don't need to. Going with the flow I let my hands drop down a little and I bite my lips, jutting my chin up a little indignantly and rolling back and forth on my heels with him.

"Compliments will get you everywhere," I find myself saying, "But the question, I suppose, is what kind of alternative you'd propose?"

He shrugs, handing the books back over to me, "Well an escort of course, to keep your dignity and your life intact."

He steps to one side and crooks an arm out in offer to me and I find, without really thinking about it, that I'm accepting it and letting him lead me over to the elevator and down to the front desk to check out the books.

And while we walk we talk but more importantly I keep on thinking about what he's already said.

About keeping my dignity intact.

And about me thinking that maybe that's the last thing I want to do.

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