The Exception to the Rule

by Christina Lauren

I do have a girlfriend, and we’re getting dinner at Din Tai Fung later with a group of friends.

love me some din tai fung 😫😫😫

Are you still in Irvine?

mmm they’re in irvine, ca. no wonder about the din tai fung mention

You’d come back just to see me?

Without question.

And I will, also without question, come home when you’re there. Let me know the dates you’ll be in Irvine, and I’ll be there, too.

My pulse trips all over itself before sprinting away. He really is so intensely hot; the longer we maintain eye contact, the more worried I become about releasing a spontaneous moan.

He breaks out in a real smile, and it’s devastating. It’s an underwear-shredding smile. The seductive smile of a man who gives good dick.

LMAOOO

He laughs, low and sexy, like a man who very patiently delivers orgasms every time, and God, I think my brain is melting.

I want to soak up every physical detail about her now that she’s right here in front of me: her plush lips, the scattered freckles across the bridge of her nose. Dark hair covered with a red-and-blue Penn beanie, the ends flipping up beneath the hem. Long neck, long fingers, unpolished short nails. The swell of her breasts beneath the tight fabric of her long-sleeved thermal shirt.

She plucks a dumpling from her plate, sliding it between her full lips. I watch her chew and swallow, trying not to let my expression show that I’m imagining kissing her.

“We get soup dumplings when we’re thinking about each other.” She was thinking about me.

“Do you ever have a feeling about someone? Like they’re your safe space and, I don’t know, like someday it could be more?” I swallow, nodding. “Yeah. Of course.” I’m looking right at her. “I have a feeling about him.” But the thing is, when she looks up at me and our eyes lock, I’m pretty sure she has a feeling about me, too.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” His question comes out of absolutely nowhere, and my fists drop like stones. “What?” “Dinner.” He cutely mimes spooning food into his mouth. “Sun goes down. People eat.” “Like a date?” “I hope so? I intend to flirt.”

C . . . my hands are shaking right now. I am freaking the hell out. I live in Philly, too. And I think you know that. He replies with a phone number. And when I enter it into a text box, an existing contact pops up on-screen. The Hot TA.

It’s the only person with whom I ever wanted to share Valentine’s Day even if, this year, we’re three days late.

He walks around the hood and sees me at the same time I see the cupcake box in his hand. Forget flowers; give me a cupcake and it’s a perfect date.

“Is it really you?” I ask into his neck. “Yeah. It’s really me.” “No way.” I squeeze my eyes closed, holding him tighter. “I cannot believe this.”

this was very anticlimactic...

“I don’t normally kiss before the first date,” I tell him. “But you’re the exception to the rule.”

Are we still going to be emailing each other from the same couch on Valentine’s Day in fifty years?