I have no social graces, no idea how to act around a female.
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. “Now, now, don’t get touchy.” God, the sound of that giggle makes my stomach flip. “You spent half the walk here insisting I’m not tiny enough to be called Tiny, so-that makes you a dumbass.” “Because you’re a dumbass?” she answers helpfully. Why did I say that?” I run a hand down my face and peek at her through the spread fingers now shielding my eyes. “Have I mentioned before that I’m a dumbass?” I blurt out. “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. 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. “You did not just flex your muscles.” Her laugh is louder this time. 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: “Don’t you dare say tiny.” Charlie laughs. It looks like something out of a children’s television show, but…dilapidated? The place is yellow, that much I can see, with dark green shutters and a red door. 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? Wanting to tug at the cute girl’s braids and flirt and say all kinds of dumb shit to impress her. “You’re so annoying,” she scoffs, a puff of steam from her lips fading into the night air. “You want me to call you Tiny instead of Charlotte?”
“Maybe I want to be called Tiny-ever thought of that? Huh? Huh?”
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