Love Connection?

So I'm at the university library looking up some extra material for one of the papers I have due, when a shadow falls across the mound of mostly medical journals in front of me. Medical journals being such riveting reads, I'm happy to have a legitimate reason for a break, so a shadow across the table is good enough.

I look up. Standing in front of my table is a guy, a not bad looking blond guy. The split second I have to take him in before he speaks tells me the following things: he's likely younger than me, he probably goes on a lot of dates and whatever he's about to say is utter bullshit. Okay, I'm game. This is going to be more entertaining than looking at circumcision diagrams and bar graphs of infant mortality data.

"Hi," goes Blondie, "aren't you in Dr. M's class?"

I've never heard of Dr. M. "Yeah." One of those smiles. "How did you know?"

"I saw you coming out of there."

That's interesting. "No kidding."

One of those pauses. I let go of the journal, making sure that the nasty circumcision diagram shows. Of course he sees it.

"You pre-med?"

Once upon a time, before chemistry vanquished me in a not so gallant fight. "Nah, it's a hobby."

Blondie stares, I stare back. A moment is shared. What makes it special is that my hair isn't clean. This makes sense, if you're female.

"Good one," says he. "Am I bothering you?"

"Not so far. Did you want to bother me?"

"Maybe. Do you want to do something sometime?"

Oooh, straight and to the point. No wonder he gets dates. But then, the creepy guy who accosted me in the candy aisle of Walgreens around Valentine's Day was direct too when he leered at me and said, and what a classic that was, "Hey, how you doin." I doubt he had many dates. But I digress. Back to Blondie and his question.

"That would require knowing you."

He grins like a fool. His teeth are super white. I'm not sure how I feel about that. "No problem. I'm Dylan."

This is my cue to tell him my name, exchange information and so forth, and I did tell myself I would play along. Which I do. Sort of. "Ohmigod, you're, like, the fourth Dylan I met this week." He's the first Dylan I met in a couple of years. "Must be a sign, or something, all leading up to you. What's your e-mail?"

He doesn't look at all confused as he tells me what it is. Point for Dylan.

"So okay then, Dylan number 4. I'll e-mail you, k?"

He grins again. His teeth are rather disturbing, they're that white. "And you'll tell me your name?" He must get more dates than I thought.

"Sure thing, Number Four."

He walks off without losing a beat and I go back to my journals. I'm not sure who was toying with whom, which means I have to mail him and find out.

I think I'll call myself Daphne.