Hahaa… God, no! Anyway, I have to get back. Test those eyes out. Check your app. I’ll check in later.
My eyes roll away from the text, and I fail to reply. When I click on the little pink app, I intend not to give one guy the time of day and just delete my account.
Again, my inbox is full of weirdos who think it’s acceptable to start a conversation by asking for sex.
Mr. Stickman has been replaced by an actual photo. A black and white image of a four-leaf clover tattooed on the underside of the arm, an arm hiding its owner’s face, fills the little circle.
Without answering his—03lucky03’s—initial hi message, I type…
LittleDoll:
What does the clover mean to you?
With nerves dancing in my stomach, I wait for a reply from the guy I ignored yesterday. Clovers are sentimental to me, as they symbolize Irish luck.
Subconsciously, a hand moves to my neck, where a necklace used to sit. The crystal clover always twinkled the prettiest color.
Where is that now?
It’s been years since I saw it last.
… appears on the screen. Stickman is typing.
03Lucky03:
You like the tattoo?
LittleDoll:
I was just curious.
03Lucky03:
Do you have any?
I’m curious, too.
LittleDoll:
No.
I’m not that brave.
03Lucky03:
Scared of needles?
LittleDoll:
Scared of people.
Shit. That was probably way too big an admission for a first conversation with a stranger online.
03Lucky03:
Well, people are awful sometimes. I understand.
I like your profile name. The photo was kinda fun, too.
