Challenge #8 – With Bite

Requirements:
1) Must be a one-shot. Minimum 1000 words.
2) Plot: Protagonist wandering around in a club, meets someone, they flirt, then dance, and the person bites the protagonist. You can take it from there.
3) Must have the quote, "Did you just bite me?" and/or "Not cool to go around biting strangers!"
4) Must involve a cookie. Of some sort.
5) Large doses of humor.

No:
1) Cannibals. As much fun as that'd be to write, it wouldn't be too fun for me to read.
2) Long, meaningful moments. This challenged is meant to be quickly, light, and fun.

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Of Dance Clubs and Double Chocolate Chips Cookies
By DancingChaChaFruit

1,626 words

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The final straw was when I slipped in a puddle of spilled soda, causing me to do a cartoon-ish flip onto my back—with my legs shooting out from under me—and drop my double chocolate chip cookie onto the ground. A crowd gathered around me, all peering into my eyes. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn't hear them over the pounding of the music.

There are reasons why I never went to crowded places, and this was one of them. Well, okay, obviously I did go to crowded places—otherwise, not being a hermit would be rather difficult—but really, really crowded places where people actually cared about stupid things that you did were different. Walking down the hallway at school and slipping was better, because at least then, people didn't care enough about you to stop and stare—even if they were laughing. But here in a crowded teen dance club where people were—you know—concerned when people collapsed, it was different.

Very different.

"Are you okay?" someone finally screamed over the music.

"I'm fine!" I shouted back, instigating a headache. "But I want another cookie!"

"MOVE!" an all-too-familiar voice boomed, closely followed by the appearance of the one and only Hannah Kingsley as she unceremoniously shoved her way through the crowed.

"Keira!" she cried, rushing to my side. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," I spat. "And wanting my cookie back."

She rolled her eyes. "You fattie."

"I'm leaving, Hannah! I am FED UP with this place!"

She smiled wickedly and dangled my car keys in my face. "Catch me if you can!"

With that, she vanished. Scowling, I tried to chase after her, but she had easily managed to blend among the dancers in the dim lighting of the building. I growled in frustration and began to stalk through the club, rudely walking right into teenagers until I got tired of being angry. Then I just started to wander aimlessly—still running into people, though.

Which worked just fine and dandy until I ran into someone carrying a cup. Of course, with my foul luck, the contents of the cup splashed all over my shirt. I turned and glared at the owner of the cup—but I immediately stopped when I saw what was in his other hand. A cookie. A double chocolate chip cookie. Instantaneously, my frown turned upside-down, into a sweet smile.

"Hi," I greeted the guy, looking into his blue eyes. Blonde hair, too. Hm, he wasn't so bad-looking, either.

He cocked his head and smiled amusedly. "Hey. Sorry about your shirt, by the way. It's only water."

Ohmigod. He had a British accent. Excuse me while I melt.

"It's okay," I replied, grinning dreamily until the cookie came back into my line of vision. When I saw the blessed round object of figurative gold in his hands, I perked up and recalled my mission: to get the cookie.

"I see you're looking at my cookie," he commented, holding the cookie out in front of him. Sniggers burst out of me as I quickly considered just how odd that sounded, but I hushed them up when Mr. Sexy Accent gave me a strange look. I wanted to think I was cute and innocent, not downright weird like I really was. Well, for now. The weirdness could come after I successfully completed Operation Steal-the-Cookie-Without-His-Noticing. Yeah, because that was going to be really easy considering that he was holding the cookie right in his hand.

Ugh.

"I am looking at your cookie," I admitted. "It looks quite appetizing, if I say so myself. What kind is it?"

"Double chocolate chip," he answered, his own greedy little eyes focused on the cookie. Uh oh. What if he could see right through my plan?

"I'd be looking forward to eating that if I were you," I informed him. Wait, what was I doing? I was reassuring him of the cookie's delightful taste! I wanted him to think it tasted worse than elephant dung that's been lying in the sun for too long—not a little piece of heaven all molded and shaped into a little circle.

"I am looking forward to eating it," he agreed, shooting me a wary smile.

"But you know, I bet it's actually really gross. I mean, you can't judge a book by its cover, can you?" He didn't say anything, so I continued speaking. "You know, since it probably is gross, I'd be happy to eat it for you."

He arched a sandy eyebrow. "Well if it is that gross, I wouldn't want to give it to a lady, now would I?"

Did he just call me a lady? Melt.

I put on my best puppy dog face. We're talking serious cuteness. This was the face that could probably have softened Attila the Hun, if he were still around to see it. Not that having him around still would exactly be a good thing, but you know what I'm saying.

"Look," he began, and my face brightened. "I'll give you the cookie under one condition."

"Which is?" I asked eagerly. At this point, I'd be willing to dance the cha-cha on my evil Biology teacher's shining, bald head.

"Dance with me." He smiled, and for the twentieth time that evening, I melted. (Exaggerate? Who, me? You're kidding.)

He was joking, right? He was going to give up that delectable chocolate-y goodness for a plain old dance which he could probably coax out of any girl here, given that accent of his? Absurd.

But hey, I was still getting a free cookie.

"Done." I stuck out my hand, and we shook.

"Here." He held out the cookie like a peace offering, and I greedily snatched it out of his hands. To ensure that I kept my end of the bargain, I guessed, he seized my left hand and began to drag me onto the dance floor while I stuffed the cookie into my mouth in the most unladylike way possible.

My mother would have gone into cardiac arrest if she'd seen me.

Once I'd swallowed the cookie, Mr. Sexy Accent pulled me towards him so the fronts of our bodies were pressed right against each other—even though my shirt was still wet. Okay . . . if he wanted to dance like this, then I guessed it was cool. I mean, it was his dance, after all. We'd struck a deal, and I wasn't one to break my side of a bargain.

We were just kind of swaying to the music when he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Let's make this a little more fun, shall we?" I shivered at his hot breath. Then I felt his mouth against my neck. Originally, I planned on protesting, but I realized that it felt good with his trailing kisses on my neck, and I allowed him to continue . . .

. . . until I unexpectedly felt his teeth chomp down on the side of my neck as if I were the cookie itself. Ohmigod, what if he'd given me the cookie so he could eat me himself? What if he were a cannibal?

"Did you just bite me?" I shrieked as I pulled away from him, hyperventilating.

"Bite . . . you . . .?" he repeated, as if he suddenly didn't understand English.

"Yes, bite me!" I yelled. "Which is totally un-cool by the way!"

He blinked. "What?"

"You heard me! NOT COOL to go around biting strangers!" I shot him my best death glare, which, similar to my puppy dog look, could have sent Attila the Hun cowering in a corner. Except, apparently, Mr. Sexy Accent Who Was Also a Cannibal, since he just blinked and smiled.

"Oh, well I'm Greg." He stuck out his hand. I just looked at it as if it were made of some weird fungus.

"Um," I intoned, still staring at his outstretched hand. I was dumbfounded. Someone should really have brought out the record books or something, because this did not happen. People did not strike me speechless. But how else was I supposed to react to a guy with a sexy British accent who gave me a cookie, then bit me, then pretended to be completely unaware that he had indeed bitten me? I mean, seriously, people.

"Most people just shake it," he told me in a quieter voice. "And give their name in return."

I blinked at him. Was he mad? Clearly, he was madder than the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland.

"But you just bit me!" I cried.

"Oh!" he exclaimed as comprehension dawned on his face. "That!"

I regarded him suspiciously. "Yes, that. You know, the thing where you kind of sank your teeth into my skin. What are you? A cannibal?" And then another possibility hit me over the head. "OHMIGOD, TELL ME YOU'RE NOT A VAMPIRE!" Nervously, I reached up and fingered the area where he'd bitten me. No puncture wounds—not even teeth marks.

"I'm not a vampire," he said, much to my relief. A large sigh whooshed out of me. "And I'm not a cannibal, either." An even larger sigh whooshed out of me with such gusto that I wouldn't have been surprised if a tornado had started right there in the club.

"You just . . . smelled good," he continued.

"I smelled good," I repeated incredulously. Boy, this guy was even weirder than I!

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if . . . I don't know . . . if you tasted good. But obviously, you're not food."

"Um. No," I agreed. "I'm not. Which I thought would have been a dead giveaway when I started talking!"

"I'm sorry," he stammered. Yeah, that's right. He should have been embarrassed. "Can we just start over?"

"Uh."

But before I got a chance to decide, he spun around in a three-sixty.

"Hi," he said pleasantly, shooting me a smile. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Greg."

Cautiously, I took the hand and shook it. "Keira."

And I danced the night away with a cute guy with a British accent.

. . . Now that's why I love double chocolate chip cookies.

A/N: I know, I know—I'm so lame for turning this into a story about teenagers, even though dance clubs are involved. But I can't help it; I'd rather write about teens since I actually am one.

Also, I'm aware that is the sort of humor that many people don't appreciate, so if you think it's completely dumb and un-funny, that's okay. I can respect that.