The screen lights up with an alert that I have a new message from Stevie. Fucking finally. I thumb in the code, getting it wrong twice before I slow down and type it in correctly, and Stevie’s message finally pops up.

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to respond. I’m ready to talk whenever you are.

I begin composing a response, asking if she’s home and telling her I’ll be there soon, when the light changes and people start moving. I trail behind the group because I’m not the best multitasker and I’m trying to avoid getting my eye poked out by an umbrella.

One second I’m holding my phone, about to press send, and the next some lunatic cyclist is weaving between me and an elderly lady. He almost takes her out but swerves at the last second and bumps me instead. My phone goes flying, skittering across the pavement, which would be fine, except a goddamn cab pulls forward and runs it over. Based on the crunch, I’m thinking I need to replace my phone.

I look up at the sky. “Are you serious with this shit?”

Obviously karma is an asshole like me, because the drizzle turns into a downpour.

The little old lady who almost got run over by the cyclist gives me a disapproving look and ambles across the street under the cover of her umbrella. I scoop up my ruined phone. The best plan is to go home and see if Stevie is there before I worry about replacing it. Besides, if the SIM card is still functioning, I’m sure I can slide it into one of the old phones in my kitchen junk drawer.

I’m soaked by the time I get to my apartment. The living room is empty, and there’s a note stuck to the door. I don’t bother to read it, since I have more pressing things to take care of. I drop everything on the coffee table and shuck off my wet clothes. I’m down to my boxer briefs when there’s a knock on the door.

I don’t consider my lack of clothing as I throw it open.

Stevie stands in the hallway, lavender hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of those running shorts, her cheeks flushed like she’s been running, or something.

“Hi.” Her eyes sweep over me, and she shifts from foot to foot.

“Hey.” Well, we’re off to a great start.

“Did you—”

“I just—”

She bites her lip, that plush bottom lip that I waited weeks to finally nibble on and that I’d really like to nibble on again, but after we talk.

“I thought I heard the elevator a minute ago,” she says.

“I got your message, but then my phone was run over by a cab and I couldn’t respond, so I came straight home. I was planning to knock on your door.”

“But you wanted to get dressed for the occasion first?” One corner of her mouth tips up in an uncertain half smile as she motions to my boxers. They have a bull’s-eye over the crotch.

“It’s raining and I forgot an umbrella; my clothes got soaked.” I want to jam my hands in my pockets, but I don’t have any. “Can we talk?”

“I was hoping we could.”

“Here? Or should we go to your place?” Since I didn’t read the note stuck to the door, I’m unsure if my brother is still home or not.

“My place works.” Stevie takes a few backward steps toward her apartment, and I follow. It isn’t until we’re inside her place that I realize I probably should’ve put on pants, but I’m here now, and I don’t want to leave again.

She reaches for a hoodie hanging from a hook at the front door. But I cover her hand with mine. “You don’t need to do that.”

“So we’re going to have our relationship talk half-dressed?”

“Seems like our best conversations take place like this, don’t you think?” Am I trying to lighten the mood? Definitely. Deflect? Also a yes.

She doesn’t make another move to cover up, though, so maybe she agrees.

“I’m sorry,” we say at the same time.

At what is likely my confused expression, she adds, “It wasn’t fair of me to stay silent for an entire week.”

“You needed time.” I give her words from last Sunday back to her. I generally deal with stuff as soon as it happens, but I get that girls are different, and it was a pretty messed-up situation. My not dealing with it wasn’t all that helpful either. “And I should’ve addressed the video or found a way to manage it, but I generally tend to ignore social media stuff, which probably wasn’t the smartest move in this case. At least that’s what everyone’s been telling me.” I really wish I had pockets to jam my thumbs in, but my lack of pants makes that impossible. “I’m not really used to everyone giving a shit about my personal life.”

“Me either. Usually that’s my brother’s thing, not mine.”

“But I should’ve done something instead of nothing. I just . . . I didn’t know what. And you wouldn’t talk to me. So going on record that I wanted you to be my girlfriend but that I wasn’t sure if you were still interested seemed pretty weak. Not that this is any better. I have flowers and chocolate for you, which, when I say it out loud, also sounds pretty damn weak too.” I run a hand through my hair. “Shit. Maybe I really do need some lessons in dating, like Nolan said. Maybe I should’ve put myself on the line more? I could’ve made a video or something declaring my feelings for you.” I wish I would’ve thought to do this sooner. It might’ve cleared shit up a lot faster.