Break From Work

I lay on my stomach, in the grass, reading the middle book of the Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
"No, don't go into your reading world," he says. He with the most amazingly open smile, like a little boy bringing his mom a finger painting.
"Why?" I ask, looking up from my book. I must have done something wonderful to be smiled at like that, but what.
"You're funny, I go out of my way to talk to you," he says, smiling despite my strategically placed raised eyebrow.
His faded red t-shirt and black rimmed glasses tell me he's worth talking to.
"I don't see how anyone could possibly be bored enough to choose to talk to me," I state a simple fact.
"Your self loathing is hilarious," he says, sitting down beside me, crossing his blue jeaned legs over each other.
There is nothing sexier than a man sitting in the grass.
"I like talking to you," he says, meeting my eyes in an embarrassingly intimate way.
“I can't imagine why.” I look at the grass, averting from his cerulean eyes.

”I like you,” he says.

“I suppose if I didn't like you I would have kept reading,” I say, taking a swig of my Dr. Pepper.
I notice a drowned ant on my hand. The can is covered in ants. I throw it down and he laughs.
“Here,” he says, taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket. He draws a circle around me in the grass. “They don't come past the chalk.”
“What about the ones already in my circle?”
We spend the rest of our break smashing ants.

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