Page 31 of Cry Baby
“So...,” I started.
She smiled.
“Let’s teach you how to flirt before you die alone with seventeen cats and Natalie as your baby mama.”
“I don’t even like cats.”
“Then perfect!” She beamed, clapping her hands excitedly, her childish nature surfacing. If she didn’t have massive tits and drink alcohol like a fish, I’d have believed she was even younger than me.
“Why’s that, Mel?”
“Men love a good challenge, Jailbait.”
“I thought confidence was attractive.”
“It is, but your shtick can’t be like a mafia man. It doesn’t fit you at all. You need to lean into your innocent doe-eyed dorkiness.”
“I don’t really know how to be anything but me, so cool…but why would they like me?”
She grinned and waggled her eyebrows at me. “Because beneath all that sarcasm is a pretty face and enough emotional damage to fuel an orphanage full of horror novels.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“Well, duh. Because it is.”
I wanted to question her further, but she scanned the room and squealed. “There!”
A guy who was actually pretty handsome sat alone at the other end of the bar, scrolling on his phone, smiling softly every now and then. He looked nerdy, maybe even shy.
Melodie nudged my shoulder and looked at me pointedly. “Homework.”
“I suddenly remember I forgot to wash my ass.”
“You did not. I watched you.”
Fuck fuck fuck.
I’m not ready.
“I left…my microwave on?”
“You don’t even own one.”
No!
Deep breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
“I’ll buy one.”
She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “No escaping, Cry Baby. Go get your flirt on. Mama’s watching.”
I groaned into my Shirley Temple. “I hate this class already.”
