Calender Dates [Muke]

He blinked, frowned, then turned to look, only to have Cotton jab at him again.  

"Don't stare!" She hissed. 

Michael huffed, frustrated. "Look, but don't stare? Totally doable, midget- Don't jab me!" 

"Don't call me a midget." She puffed out her cheeks, stuffing her hands in the front pockets of the uniform apron they wore. It was big on her lengthways, so when she started working here she had had to have it taken up. 

On the other hand, the blue-and-brown apron had been small on Michael. "Anyway, what are you talking about?" 

"She's talking about that cute blondie." Anastasia provides briskly as she trots past, carrying a tray of dirty plats from table three. "With the lip piercing, right?" 

Cotton nods approvingly. "Yep, the cute one." 

"He is rather cute." 

"Very tall, though." 

"Very." Anastasia agrees before she was gone again, a cupcake in one hand and a coffee blend in the other. 

Michael sighs. Females - very, very confusing. He'd never get their telepathic ways. "You know, I have no idea how to tell if a guy is cute. A girl, on the other hand-" 

"Ha." Cotton interrupts, though it wasn't a laugh, but more of a sound of disbelief. "Whatever floats your boat, meathead." 

"Will you stop with the insults already?" 

"They're terms of endearment, nerd." 

"Right." 

"Don't be sarcastic with me." She jabbed him again."Ow, okay, okay! I get it, stop it already." He was trying not to pout - trying. 

"Isn't he cute, though?" 

Michael glanced over his shoulder - conspicuously this time, so as to avoid getting another bruise on his ribs. The blonde in question was sitting at a table with another guy. Even sitting down Michael could tell the blonde was probably pretty tall, though not quite as tall as he was. 

He frowns again. "You know, I don't think I will answer that out of concern for my health." 

Cotton let out an exasperated huff. 

Anastasia whisked past again, starting to look tired. "Get to the point, angel. My arms are getting tired here." 

"What point are you trying to make?" Michael questions.  

Cotton folds her arms. "He's into you." 

Michael was silent for a moment. 

Then, he laughed.  

Cotton jabbed him, hard. "Shut up, beanpole. You're drawing attention." 

"S-sorry." Michael was finding it difficult to talk through his laughter. Really, how did females think anyway? "What on earth makes you think that?" 

Cotton had a frown tugging at her thin lips, of which were coated in a very thin layer of lip balm - she bit them too much, she said. "I definitely know." 

"Right." He dragged the word out. "Well, I'm just going to get back to work-" 

"Oi, listen to me." Cotton demands, gripping his shirt sleeve. "He's been coming here for two weeks on your shifts now, that can't be a coincidence." 

"He probably likes Anastasia." 

"No way, not his type." 

"Or you know, the coffee."