Pleasure Talking To You

February 25, 2012
There he goes again, looking at me. I duck my head and feel my trademark blush creep onto my pale cheeks because of the intensity of his stare. His big brown eyes are soft and kind as he looks at me with an unwavering gaze. I peer under my lashes at him, a small embarrassed smile creeping onto my face.
Why would he be looking at me? Were my clothes on backwards, maybe a stain or two? I quickly tore my gaze from him and glanced down, nope t-shirt and jeans were in check. Maybe my hair was frizzing up? I pretended to look to the clock on my left and checked my hair in the window. Nope, not that, I sighed, my hair was still a mess of plain brown waves. Maybe he doesn’t like brown hair, could that be it? I chanced a glance at him but quickly turned my head when I realized he was still staring.
Should I say something? Is that what he’s waiting for? I asked myself as I glanced down at the cafeteria table and ignored my friend as she asked me if I was okay. Was I okay? Am I blowing this way out of proportion? Maybe he’s not actually looking at me; maybe he has a fascination with the wall behind me. Yeah that was probably it, there’s no way he’s interested in me. I looked up at him again; his tan skin held a slight blush and a small smile spread across his pink lips as he looked at me with that hypnotizing gaze. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he brushed a strand of his long brown hair behind his ear. Could he like me? It’s not like I’m hideous or anything. Does he want to talk to me, but is just too embarrassed? I returned his gaze and answered his smile with one of my own. That must be it, I reassured myself. My already red cheeks turned a shade darker as I bit my lip. He slowly leaned towards me and I copied his movements so that we were face to face. When he opened his mouth to talk, I swear I almost fainted.
“Hey, I thought you should know,” he started. His hand disappeared into his bag, but I paid no mind to it as he continued, “that you have ketchup all around your mouth.” He pulled his hand out and produced a napkin. I groaned and leaned back in my seat. Then again, maybe he doesn’t like me.





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