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small cocktail table between us. “Okay, you caught me. It’s a little fun.”
    So I sat up straighter. “Why me? Why do you write about me?”
    “Because you were born into a life of privilege, and you’re
not deserving of it.”
     
    I have to tell you: I have asked a lot of women a lot of
questions, but never once had I been given such an honest answer. She didn’t
need to sugar coat anything. She wasn’t scared of me, and she wasn’t in awe of
me. To her, I was just another normal person.
     
    “I really thought you were going to tell me that you found
me to be a fascinating specimen who could keep your readers forever
entertained.”
    “You know, I was kind of kidding before when I said you were
full of yourself, but that comment might have just put you over into the
self-love category.”
     
    I wanted to touch her, in some way. Either give her a
friendly push to jokingly show her that she affected me, or give her a huge hug
just to get her closer to me, but instead I acted the way I was now so used to
doing around her.
     
    I touched my pinky to her nose.
     
    “What did you just do?”
     
    I was asking myself the same question: what did I just do? Who
puts his pinky on someone else’s nose?
     
    “I just wanted to touch you in some way.”
    “Teddy…” She tilted her head.
    “Pretend that didn’t sound as creepy as it did.”
     
    We both just laughed as we took another swig of our beers.
     
    “The truth?”
    “Please.”
    “Of course I knew of you. I grew up in Huntington. You’re
like royalty. But when I started working at the Herald, you must had just slept
with my editor and never called her, or something to that extent. She was just
looking for a way to get you to pay attention. Apparently it made you pay
attention to the wrong girl.”
     
    Now that definitely sounded like something I would do. It
was all starting to make so much more sense. Ashley didn’t have some
long-standing vendetta against me. I had never personally affected her. It
really was all about the paycheck.
     
    “But then after my first ‘stalking’ I spent a night in jail,
thanks to you, so I begged for a full column instead of just one scathing
article, and the rest of the summer was my own revenge.”
    “Which I did deserve.”
     
    Oh my God, I almost put my pinky back on her nose.
     
    “Did you almost put your pinky back on my nose?”
    “I can’t control this thing!”
     
    We took another swig of beer, both finishing our pints.
     
    “Why did you kick me out of your party?”
    I took a deep breath. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell
her so badly, but I… well, I had never talked to anyone about that. I had never
confessed to another living soul what I had personally witnessed for more than
ten years of my life, what every girl I had brought home after I turned sixteen
had had to face. And they never talked about it either. It was just one of
those things.
     
    “If I make a promise to one day explain that all to you, can
we save that for another night?”
     
    Maybe something changed in me first, but her entire body
moved in a way, after I made that request, that seemed different: more open,
more comforting. She had obviously reached a topic that was too close to me,
and she knew that. And she was being respectful of that.
     
    “Of course.”
    “Thank you.”
     
    And then she put her hand on top of mine. That magnetism
that I have already spoken of, the way she was able to draw me in, multiplied
exponentially with her touch. I needed her after that. In the days, weeks, even
months following that simple moment, my hands craved her.
     
    The waitress came around, dropping off two more beers on the
table and giving me a wink.
     
    “What’s it like?” Ashley looked at me as I thanked the
waitress.
    “What?”
    “Being the object of everyone’s affection.”
    “Stop it.”
    “I’m just saying.”
    “Enough about me.”
    She sat back. “Fine. What would you like to know