Eye Candy by R.L. Stine Page B

turned and pressed his lips against mine. A nice kiss.
    â€œCan I read your writing sometime?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he answered sharply.

18
    Shelly was fun to be with. But he seemed to switch personalities in seconds. He had been so thoughtful when we were talking on the park bench. And then at the club he’d become a different person.
    Was I being too analytical?
    Was he just a thoughtful guy who also liked to have fun?
    Maybe I needed someone like Shelly to draw me out, to help me be less self-conscious.
    The elevator stopped on the eleventh floor. I was home. I stepped out into the long, green-carpeted hall. No one around this time of night, but as I passed by I could hear loud music from apartment 11-C and angry, arguing voices from 11-D across the hall.
    Our apartment, 11-J, is at the very end of the hall. The corner is dark because the bulb is out in the last ceiling fixture. We’ve complained to the super about it for weeks, but so far, no fresh bulb.
    I fumbled around in my bag, trying to find my key in the dark—when the door swung open and Lou stepped out. Startled, we both let out short cries. Lou lurched into me. I felt as if I’d been bumped by a truck.
    â€œOh. S-Sorry,” he stammered. His
s
’s whistled.
    I backed into the corner. “Lou. Hi. You’re still here?”
    Duh.
    He grinned at me, a lopsided grin. Even in the dark, I could see that his eyes were glassy. He was breathing hard, his big chest heaving up and down. His furry eyebrows folded as he struggled to focus on me.
    â€œLindy . . .”
    â€œLou, back up. Are you totally trashed?”
    â€œLindy, listen—” He shut his eyes. His sour breath made me cringe.
    â€œHel-lo. Lou, you’ve got me cornered here. Back up a little, okay?”
    He didn’t move. Instead, he shot both arms out, blocking my escape. He smelled of sweat and beer and stale pot smoke. “I want to tell you . . .” He opened his eyes. He gazed at my breasts, then slowly raised his eyes to my face. “Lindy . . .”
    â€œLou, we’ll have a nice chat some other time, okay? Can I help you downstairs? Let me get you a taxi.”
    â€œI want to tell you . . . you’re so awesome-looking.”
    â€œThanks, Lou. But I’ve been dancing for hours. I’m kind of wiped. Could you let me—”
    â€œYou’re so fucking bootiful, Lindy.” He let out a giggle, as if he’d said something funny.
    I tried to squeeze around him, but he moved quickly to block my path. “Lou, I don’t like this game. Let me go. I mean it.”
    â€œSo fucking bootiful.”
    â€œYou can hardly speak. Please, give me a break here. Just take a step back. You know what? Come back inside the apartment. You shouldn’t go home like this.”
    My heart started to pound. He was like a bear, and I was cornered. He blinked at me and giggled again.
    â€œLet’s go inside, okay?”
    â€œBootiful.” Instead of backing up, he grabbed my waist with both hands and pressed his face against mine. His cheek felt burning hot, and moist.
    I felt panic sweep over me.
    I can’t breathe. He’s going to suffocate me.
    â€œSo bootiful . . .”
    â€œLou, get off me. Now! I mean it. Get
off
!”
    He wrapped his arms around me, pressing me against the wall. His wet lips brushed my ear. He lowered his hands to my breasts and started pawing them roughly. “Do you have any idea how fucking awessssome you are?”
    Should I stomp on his foot? Should I kick him in the balls? I don’t want to injure him. I just want to get him off me.
    Should I call for help?
    â€œGet
off
! Get your hands
off
me!”
    Finally he let go of my breasts. He lifted his face from mine and squinted at me. “Do you know why I stay with Ann-Marie?” Sweat ran down his forehead, his cheeks.
    â€œI . . . don’t want to hear this. Please. You crossed a line here, Lou. You’re