“Maybe I want to be called Tiny—ever thought of that? Huh? Huh?”

“You want me to call you Tiny instead of Charlotte?”

“Well, no.” She sounds disgruntled. “Maybe not.”

I laugh, so confused. “Fine then, I won’t.”

“You’re so annoying,” she scoffs, a puff of steam from her lips fading into the night air.

“You started it.”

“What are we, five?”

No, but I’m starting to feel like I am. Wanting to tug at the cute girl’s braids and flirt and say all kinds of dumb shit to impress her.

We walk another hundred feet.

Charlie stops. “This is me.”

This being a dinky little shit-hole, set back from the road roughly fifty feet—but aren’t most college rentals shitty and in disrepair?

The place is yellow, that much I can see, with dark green shutters and a red door. It looks like something out of a children’s television show, but…dilapidated?

No lights are on inside.

“Do you live alone?”

“No, I live with my friends.”

“Where? It’s so ti—”

“Don’t you dare say tiny.” Charlie laughs.

“Tiny.”

She smacks me on the bicep, and I do what every hormonal guy who spends most of his time in the gym does when a female touches him:

I flex.

“You did not just flex your muscles.” Her laugh is louder this time. She thinks I’m ridiculous and hilarious.

“Instinct.”

“Oh. So you flex when anyone touches you?”

Translation: So what you’re saying is I’m not special? I don’t know jack shit about girls, but I know enough to read between the lines of that question.

“Surrrre.” Total lie.

Lies, lies, lies.

“Right.” Charlie shifts on the balls of her feet, and judging from the look on her face and the inflection of her voice, she thinks—or knows—I’m totally full of shit.

“Have I mentioned before that I’m a dumbass?” I blurt out. “Fuck. Why did I say that?” I run a hand down my face and peek at her through the spread fingers now shielding my eyes.

“Because you’re a dumbass?” she answers helpfully.

“Thanks.”

She shrugs. “You spent half the walk here insisting I’m not tiny enough to be called Tiny, so—that makes you a dumbass.”

“Stop.”

“Now, now, don’t get touchy.” God, the sound of that giggle makes my stomach flip. When she glances behind her, long blonde hair pulled over one shoulder, baring the porcelain skin of her neck, I let my gaze linger on her exposed collarbone. Smooth. “I should get inside.”

“Okey dokey.”

“You’re so weird sometimes.”

I am. I have no social graces, no idea how to act around a female. Fuck.

Fuck my life.

“Thanks for walking me home, Jackson.”

“No problem—just make sure you’re not walking home with any more strangers.”

“You’re not a stranger.”

No. Guess I’m not.

“Besides, you didn’t even try to touch me, so I know I’m safe with you.” She pats me on the arm, and I fucking embarrass myself by flexing again. “Such a Southern gentleman.”

Southern gentleman my ass. “Wow. You’re really somethin’, you realize that?”

Charlie preens. “I know.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

“You…” Charlie stares at me in the dark, eyes catching the little bit of light and shining like a thousand stars.

“Get inside,” I say, throat hoarse.

She turns and begins a slow walk up her sidewalk. I wait until she turns her key in the lock, pushes through the door, and steps inside.

She turns again to face me, silhouetted by the light now shining in her house. Nothing but the outline of her body.

Tall.

Curvy.

Beautiful.

“Good night, Jackson.” Her voice is a whisper in the dark.

“G’night, Charlotte.”

Her irritated groan is loud enough to reach my ears, and I chuckle.

Me: Hey Charlotte?

Charlie: I feel like you’re starting to abuse the privilege of having my cell phone number.

Me: Starting to? Probably.

Charlie: What’s up?

Me: Nothing much. Just wondering if you were going to the next football.

Charlie: Er. No?

Me: Ah. Gotcha **thumbs up**

Charlie: Did you…want me to?

Me: No. I mean, whatever. Do what you want, I was just asking.

Charlie: Could you not be passive-aggressive about it? If you want me to go to your game, you should come out and say it. Grow a pair of balls, Jackson.

Me: Are you always this fucking savage?

Charlie: Yes. Why, do you need me to mollycoddle you?

Me: No. I was simply asking if you were coming to a football game.

Charlie: Out of the blue, just randomly? Out of all the girls in the world you were wondering if I was coming.

Me: Don’t read into it.

Charlie: I wouldn’t DREAM of reading anything into it. You already told me you weren’t into GIRLS.

Me: I’m into girls.

Charlie: I mean—not really.

Me: Would you knock it off?

Charlie: I cannot resist poking the bear.

Me: Forget I asked, okay? I’m bored and drunk and clearly high.

Charlie: So you weren’t messaging me because you won your game today? You weren’t messaging me because you think I’m cute? Darn it. I should have known **wink wink**

Me: Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.

Charlie: Nope, you just said you messaged me ’cause you were bored and drunk lol

Me: Fair enough, but let’s be honest—you’re cuter than a button.

Me: Shit. That was such a dumb thing to say, ignore I said it.

Charlie: Too late. I’d never ignore a compliment. But let’s discuss what that even means? How is a button cute?

Me: I just said it, it doesn’t mean anything. Don’t overthink it.

Charlie: Newsflash: I overthink EVERYTHING. In fact, my favorite saying is “I’ll overthink it later.” Haha

Me: I like to keep things simple.