There. I said it without my voice trembling.

Rex watches me in the dark, the lights from the streetlamps and from his fancy dashboard casting a glow on his expectant expression. It’s hard to read. He’s confused, surprised, and amused, all at the same time. He’s fantastic at hiding it, but as the feelings flash across his eyes one at a time, I can read it loud and clear: he doesn’t know what the hell to think.

“You’re asking me inside?”

“You don’t have to,” I add quickly. “Obviously. I just…I mean. If you want to keep talking or whatever.”

Or whatever, or whatever, or whatever.

Curious about what it would be like to kiss him, I realize I could just lean over and find out the easy way—there’s no need to invite the guy inside.

“It’s late. I get it if you want to get home.”

Rex looks to the clock on his dashboard. “It’s nine.”

I’m backpedaling, and fast, wishing I could take back the invitation he hasn’t jumped to accept. Why am I so terrible at this? Why am I so impatient? Why can’t I just let things happen at their natural speed?

“You probably have somewhere to be in the morning, huh?” I go on, digging a deeper hole.

“Yes, I’m babysitting, then I have to be at the gym for wrestling practice.”

That’s right—he’s here to work. We barely talked about him; his personal life and what he’s doing back at Iowa. All we’ve done is talk about me and I’m embarrassed by that.

“For your niece.”

“Yeah, my friend and her boyfriend have a thing.”

“Do you babysit a lot?”

“Meh, sometimes. Mostly I just like spending time with her—gives me an excuse to see kids’ movies and go to the zoo.”

He likes kids’ movies and the zoo.

Sigh.

“But I don’t have to watch her until eleven, so…” His long fingers tap at the steering column, and my eyes go there, studying his large hands. He follows my gaze, tracking it to his hands. Gives his fingers a wiggle. “You’re like Lilly. She knows what she wants to say, but doesn’t always know how.”

“Are you comparing me to a three-year-old?”

“No. Actually, she’s two.”

Oh. “You shithead.”

Rex laughs—it’s the first time he’s done it this loudly, throwing his head back, the sound deep and baritone. “I knew that would piss you off.” He laughs again. “You’re too easy to read, Hannah.”

Hannah, Hannah, Hannah.

My name on his lips sounds…better than the melody in the song we’re listening to.

“Is Lilly the most adorable thing ever?”

“Yup—she looks just like me.” His eyes are smiling.

“I thought you weren’t related.”

“We’re not—I was joking.” He’s being so patient with me as I miss every punchline, of every joke he’s told to tease me.

“Well.” I inhale a breath. Exhale. “That’s true enough, I guess.”

There. I implied that he was adorable.

“Wait. Are you saying…did you just…” He pretends to be stupefied, halting his words. “Did you just-just-just call me adorable?”

It makes me laugh. He makes me laugh. “Maybe.”

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. I feel like I need to call someone. Phone a friend. Alert the presses.”

I give his shoulder a tap, cheeks burning a hot, flaming red from the heat running up my neck and warming my body. “Knock it off.”

“Nope. No can do, Hannah thinks I’m adorable. Someone has to hear about this.” He picks up his phone and feigns tapping on the keys. Drops it in his lap. Picks it up and drops it again. “Phew, this is…this. It’s too much.”

I’m laughing now, hands covering my mouth, the giggle fits overtaking my upper torso, racking my shoulders until they shake.

“Stop it. Okay, just stop it—you know you’re cute.”

“CUTE?!” he yells. “I’m cute, too!” Just then, he throws open his door and hops out, kicking up his heels on my front lawn. Cups his hands around his mouth and shouts into the night, “Hannah—” he pauses, dipping at the waist and looking into the front seat. “What’s your last name?”

I roll my eyes, shouting back. “Peterson.”

He straightens. “Hannah Peterson thinks I’m cute, everybody! And adorable! Hannah Peterson thinks I’m—”

“—Dude, shut the fuck up!” someone shouts from up the street. “No one gives a shit!”

Rex’s arms drop back down to his sides. “I’ve been told to shut the fuck up, but for the record: I give a shit that you think I’m cute.”

Walking around to my side, Rex cracks my door, pulls it open, then offers me his hand. Helps me out. Slides an arm around my waist as he walks me to the side door of the house.

The flood light goes on from the motion and I dig around for the house key in my purse, inserting the key into the lock, Rex’s hands appearing around my waist.

Holy…

Focus, Hannah. Key in lock, lock in key. Turn it to the left. Or the right? Which way—how does this door open?

Fuck.

It takes a few tries, but I get it. I have us inside the minuscule kitchen within a few moments, hands shaking as I toss my key onto the table in the center of the small room.

“Um, so this is the kitchen,” I point out dumbly, clicking on the light over the sink beneath the window.

“I like it. It’s homey,” he finally comments from behind me, taking in the outdated ceramic tile above the outdated, avocado green stove.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?” I’m determined to remain cool, calm, and collected.

“I’m still full from dinner, but—I mean, if you have water?”

Of course I have water, and duh, of course he’s not hungry. We literally just came from eating giant hamburgers, two plates of french fries, and beer.

A hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes. “Hannah, relax. I can go if it’s weirding you out having me here. We can talk later.”

“No!” I shout, way too loudly for the small room. “No. I mean. It’s okay, I’m just…” Shit, am I wringing my hands now, too? What has gotten into me? Honestly!

He’s just a guy, he’s just a guy—and a nice one, at that. Maybe that’s what’s throwing me off. I’m not used to nice, normal men. My usual type is egotistical, arrogant, and unavailable who treat me like an accessory, often times not bothering to get to know me on a personal level. I don’t know how available Rex is, but even if he’s just in town for a couple semesters, he has “long-term-commitment” written all over him.

“I want you to stay.” Finally, I’m able to speak calmly and rationally. Remove the jacket I’d thrown on when the bar became too cold, hanging it on the silver hook next to the door. Smooth my clammy palms down my thighs, over the fabric of my gray yoga pants.

Why did I wear these stupid things? They’re so casual. Because, idiot, you weren’t trying to send the wrong signal when you weren’t at the bar to get relationshipped.