Quicksilver

by Dean Koontz

“Do you like girls?” “Well, of course. Everyone I dated was a girl. It’s just that most girls these days—most guys, too—they’re about social media and what they saw on YouTube and what the influencers say about everything. I just don’t have much in common with most of them.” “You and Bridget have a lot in common. Wanted by government thugs, on the run, maybe alien DNA. Don’t you like her?” “Of course I like her. What’s not to like? I love her attitude. And she’s funny, witty.” “That’s it? Funny, witty, attitude?” “I’m talking to her grandfather.” “You’re blushing,” he said. “That’s sweet.” “Okay, all right, she’s a goddess. She’s so dazzling that I could maybe go blind looking at her.” He smiled broadly. “That’s better. That’s more like it.” “But we’ve hardly just met, and I don’t think she likes me.” “Of course she likes you. She’s been waiting two years for you to show up.” “What’re you talking about?” “She knew you’d have blue eyes and that you’d save her life with a car somehow, although she thought you’d be a lot taller and driving a Porsche rather than a Toyota.” “I’m not short,” I said. “I’m five eleven.” “Don’t fret about it,” Sparky said. “She’s five six, so you’re plenty tall enough.”