She barely had a foot out. . .writing prompt response

I created this prompt based on an incident that happened to me last week. Now, here it is. . .art imitating life.

Prompt: She barely had a foot out . . .

She barely had a foot out the car door when Gina heard a man speak.

“How are you?”

Assuming his question was not meant for her, she ignored the deep voice and kept walking toward the restaurant at a brisk pace.

“How are you?” the man asked again.

Gina glanced back over her shoulder. To her surprise, she realized the tall, gorgeous hunk of a man with cornflower blue eyes was alone and speaking to her. Out of politeness, she answered him. “I’m good. You?”

“Dandy.” He offered her a wide, beaming grin.

She turned back and stepped up onto the sidewalk.

“You work around here?”

Okay, this was getting a little strange. “I work in South Boston.”

“All the way from New Hampshire?”

Her back stiffened, but she continued walking. He knew she was from New Hampshire? That meant he had paid attention to her license plate. “Uh, yeah.”

“That’s a long drive. I work in Quincy.”

Like she cared. Handsome or not, the man gave her the creepy crawlies.

“Here, let me get the door for you?”

He reached in front of her and held the door open.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure for such a beautiful lady.”

Now, she wanted to gag. Instead, she stepped into line behind the other early morning patrons.

“I’m Mac. You are?”
Again, years of well-bred manners took over. She took the hand he offered. “Denise.”

“Do you have a business card?”

“No. . .no.” She faced forward as if reading the menu she knew by heart. “I’m a contractor.”

“I just started a new job too.”

“Congratulations,” she said without looking at him.

“Yeah thanks.” He tapped her on the shoulder.

Gina turned around and tried her best not to show her revulsion.

“Can I get your number?”

“Huh?” She stared at him. Was he kidding?

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pen and a stack, not a single sheet of paper, but a stack of little, hand cut pieces of paper.

Holy shit! The man was a freak. Did he chase down unsuspecting women on a daily basis? How many of them were crazy or stupid enough to give it to them?

“Do you know your number at work?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

She watched his face crinkle and his mouth turn down then he started to write, chattering away as he scribbled.

“Here are my numbers, both my cell phones, and my email.” He handed her the paper. “Give me a call. I would love to hangout sometime.”

For a second, she stared blankly at the note then with a flat smile on her face, she glanced up and met his blue gaze.