āDo you have a lighter?ā You whipped around, ready to tell the loser approaching you at the bus stop and using the oldest icebreaker in the book that you didnāt, you liked your lungs healthy thank you very much, but stopped when you saw the guy who had spoken. He was stunning, there was no other word for it. Black curls covering his forehead, big brown eyes, golden skin accessorized with a few tattoos visible on his arms, exposed by the gray tank he was wearing.
āNo. I have matches though.ā
āThatāll work.ā You dug through your purse, producing that matches youād taken from a diner and never removed from your bag. You tried to ignore the little rush you got as your fingers brushed the strangerās as you handed them over. You watch as he lit the match and proceeded to use it to light a cigarette. āNot to be that person, but you know that thatās horrible for you.ā You knew you sounded like a mom, or one of those DARE people who can to talk to your class during elementary school about how bad drugs were, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. Perhaps your subconscious wanted to keep talking to this guy, even if it meant pointing out the obvious.
āYeah well so is stress.ā He said. You tried to ignore how good he looked smoking.
āThereās other ways to deal with that. Meditation, exerciseā¦ā You trailed off, realizing that you sounded like a total square. Though youād never really had a problem with the good girl reputation you had earned, something about this stranger made you suddenly aware of it.
āThereās one your forgetting.ā The stranger gave you a pointed look. Your cheeks went red when you realized what he was implying. Just when he saw that he had you flustered, he smiled. āI was talking about those little squishy stress balls.ā Your cheeks flamed even more, never really a fan of being teased. You were saved from the conversation by the bus approaching. As it came to the stop and opened its doors, the stranger caught your arm before you could get on. āSince you seem to think I should quit, why donāt you hold on to these for me?ā He pressed the pack of cigarettes into your hand, again sending a rush through you at the skin-to-skin contact. You briefly wondered if he felt the same thing.
āSure.ā You replied. Noticing the glare the bus driver was giving you waiting for you to get on, you said a quick ānice meeting youā and bounced up the steps of the bus, paying and sitting down in the first available seat. Your first instinct was to put the little box in your purse and throw it in the first trash can you saw, but something stopped you. You decided to open it, finding just a few cigarettes left and a folded piece of paper. You almost didnāt open it, telling yourself that it was just a grocery list or something that he put in the pack for safekeeping knowing that he wouldnāt leave home without it, but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Unfolding it, you saw a phone number and written underneath in messy boy handwriting, āCall me sometime xx Calumā
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