The Exception to the Rule

by Christina Lauren

He came out looking like an A+ sex stud, and I came out looking like Gollum curled around her bottle of wine.

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

This is exactly how T would have teased me, and I fucking love seeing her relax.

“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.”

Until you’re able to be right in front of me, connecting my face to my initial, don’t feel guilty for spending time with other people and wondering about them, even romantically.

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 my conundrum wrapped in a mystery tied with a puzzle shoved in a pickle jar.

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.

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