MichaelB22: I think it might.
I tuck my phone away, but I don’t hear a word for the rest of the lesson. I knowall this stuff, anyway. What I don’t know is men. Have we really crossed paths before or is he using an attractive photograph to trick me, like a serial killer would do? Maybe he is a serial killer, and we did meet each other in real life, but I turned him down, so he made this profile to find me.
Not today, Satan. I’m not about to be dragged out to the middle of nowhere and tied to train tracks to meet my demise.
I release the death grip I have on my hair and slip out my phone.
NotthatJuliet:Prove you’re not a creeper.
There. That should be a fairly impossible task for a serial killer.
A video comes through as I leave class, and I click on it. Michael is wearing a dust mask, goggles, and ear protection. There’s a huge saw behind him, and is that a nail gun in his other hand?
He’s not doing well so far.
“Hey, Juliet.” His deep voice greets me as the video begins. “I look like a weirdo, I know.” He takes off the safety gear piece by piece to reveal a face more handsome and much dustier than the ones in his profile. “But I promise I’m not a freak. Right, Grant?” He angles the camera toward another man.
“That remains to be seen,” Grant says with a smirk.
“Hey!” Michael retorts. “You were supposed to help me out here.”
Grant rolls his eyes. “Well, now she won’t believe anything I say.”
Ichuckleat their interaction.
The camera swings in another direction to reveal a new face. “Trent, am I a good guy?”
Trent scratches his beard but avoids staring directly into the camera. “That’s debatable.”
Michael aims the camera at his face and brushes some sawdust out of his hair. “Apparently, my character witnesses have failed me, so I’ll leave it up to you.”
The video ends with his smile, so handsome it sends fluttersto my toes.
NotthatJuliet: I’ll have to consider it.
I stuff my phone into my pocket.
Maybe this online dating stuff isn’t so bad. It’s kind of nice being pursued. As long as he leaves his weapons home.
***
A door in our apartment slams shut, followed by Karli’s ear-piercing “Juliet!”
I wince. Before somebody commits to spending their life with her, I should warn them partial deafness may be a side effect.
“In here,” I holler from the bathroom. I snap my retainer into place and walk out.
“Nope.” Karli runs right into me and shoves me back to the bathroom. “Take that horrendous thing out and get dressed. We are going out.”
“I can’t, I’ve got…” Nothing, absolutely nothing holding mebackexcept my proclivity for sleeping. “A headache.” I try to scoot around her, but my attempt is futile. She’s stronger than me. It’s not much of an accomplishment. I can acknowledge I was made with more brains than muscles. Okay, average-sized brain and zero muscles.
“Take an aspirin and let’s go. There’s a band playing at the bar downtown, and I’ve got a major crush on the bass player.”
“I didn’t hear anything in that sentence that required my presence,” I say with a yawn.
“Me, I need your presence.” She pleads with puppy dog eyes that essentially do nothing for me. Oh “Please?”
I’m not melting in the slightest.
