Tyler's POV

I'm parked outside of Carrie's apartment, waiting until precisely seven to ring the doorbell. I remember my highschool girlfriend say something like, "punctuality is sexy", and I guess it stuck...haven't been late to anything since 12th grade. Arriving 20 minutes early was probably overkill, but I need every advantage at this point. Nineteen more minutes and I get to see Carrie's beautiful face again. I can feel myself smiling like a fucking kid, but I just can't help it. Hopefully me ambushing her at work wasn't too stalker crazy. But then again, I've never been one to be subtle. The bigger problem to resolve is getting rid of her douchebag boyfriend. Definitely hated the idea of her going to lunch with him, let alone him touching her. I mean, whatever that guy has got going on, he doesn't know what's coming. I'm planning to full on steal this girl from him, and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. Just gotta find a way to make her fall madly in love with me. Wait. What in the fuck? Love? What is wrong with me? What am I even saying? Do I need this level of emotion in my life right now? And just as I am contemplating this disturbing stream of thoughts, I see the little digital clock turn to 6:45. I can't take it any longer. What's 15 minutes early? No big deal.

I walk over to the front gate, about to press the button to get buzzed in, when an older lady with a dog walks out and holds the door for me. I thank her, practically leap up the stairs, reach her door, and ring the doorbell.

After a few moments, Carrie opens the door, and my eyes go wide, as I try not to stare. She's wrapped in a goddamn bath towel, her hair dripping wet, her skin glistening with drops of water, and I'm pretty sure I see some traces of soap suds on her cheeks and shoulders.

"Tyler!? Oh...hey! You're early," she squeaks, her eyes wider than mine, her tone panicked. I can see her exposed creamy skin start to turn pink. It's a struggle to keep my eyes from devouring this sexy, shy girl in front of me. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to look away, and give her some privacy to compose herself, but I am no gentleman. I greedily take my fill as I watch her fidget with the edge of the towel, trying to simultaneously keep it up to cover her chest, and pull it down over her naked thighs. It is the cutest damn thing. Also, it makes me want to reach over and yank the towel away so I can really see her luscious curves.

"Could you give me like a minute, to just...um...get dressed...and..."

I snap out of my indecent ogling, and give her what I hope is a friendly, non-creepy smile.

"I kinda like what you got on," I can't help but tease.

She points a warning finger at me, pretending to scold me. "You promised to behave," she says.

"Did I? Well, then, do put on some clothes, Carrie, because if you're dressed like this, I cannot seriously be expected to keep that promise."

She pads across the room, and shuts herself in what I am assuming is her bathroom.

I walk inside what is probably the tiniest studio apartment I've ever seen, and sit down on the edge of her bed. The springs of the mattress creak under my weight, and I shake my head with self deprecation, as my thoughts veer all too expectedly into the obscene.

"I like your place, it's...cozy," I say a little too loudly so that she can hear me through the closed door.

"Thanks. It's probably the size of your closet," she answers, as I hear her turn on the hair dryer.

"My closet is actually a little bigger," I say, even though I know she can't hear me.

I see a small pile of books on her bedside table, and I imagine her reading in bed before drifting off to sleep. In the far right corner, there is a small white desk with a laptop on it, and a cork board above the desk covered with newspaper clippings, magazine cutouts, postcards, and comic strips. In the left corner, an old TV is atop some kind of a wooden crate, which looks like it might collapse at any moment. Some DVDs are neatly organized in a tall column next to it. I take a look, and am surprised to find "Goodfellas" as one of the titles. It just happens to be one of my favorite films. I choose to ignore the fact that the title directly under it is "Titanic".

The bathroom door opens, and Carrie comes over to stand in front of me. She's got her still damp hair up in her usual ponytail, and she's wearing jeans, and a black long sleeve shirt. No makeup, none needed. Just a fresh faced, natural beauty. All I want to do is cradle her cheek in my hand and kiss her forehead, but I can't. Only her boyfriend can be afforded that privilege...the lucky prick.

"You smell like mangoes, or peaches, or something," I tell her stupidly.

"Must be my shampoo," she replies, and looks away shyly.

"Sorry for coming a bit early," I tell her, and reach for her hand.

She looks at me, and smiles, allowing me to capture her delicate fingers. "I was running late, and lost track of time," she says. "So, anyway, I chose this restaurant, it got a pretty good review on Yelp. I hope you like Thai food, it's kind of--"

"Or we could just eat in," I suggest, interrupting her.

"Here?" she looks a little taken aback.

I know what she's thinking. She's gauging the risk of remaining here, alone, in relatively close quarters, versus going out in public where she thinks chances of me making a move are relatively low. Of course if she knew me better, she'd know that being in public doesn't inhibit me in the slightest. In fact, fucking in public can be sexy as hell. Damn it, Tyler! Keep your shit together!

"I bet if I looked in your cupboard I could find something to cook," I say, and walk over to her hobbit sized kitchen.

She runs after me. "No, no, I don't think that's a good idea," she protests.

I ignore her, and swing open the refrigerator door. "What in the hell is this?" I ask her, as I take out what can only be described as a jar with pickled homunculus.

Carrie's face is beet red at this point, and I am finding her consternation beyond amusing.

"That's an old... old... you know, I'm not sure, to be honest. Look, I'm not a cook, okay? And yes, I have some expired food in my fridge...and yes, I am afraid of it," she confesses.

I toss the malodorous jar into the garbage, and move onto a suspicious smelling cheese.

"That, that is a very expensive triple creme brie," she explains, as I toss the moldy wedge into the same garbage bin.

"You need help, Carrie," I tell her, trying to maintain a serious face. "This is an intervention."

She palms her forehead, and hangs her head in shame. "Okay, alright, you've won. Go ahead, clean out my disaster of a fridge. I won't fight you. But don't you judge me."

"Oh, way too late for that," I tease her, and she sighs with resignation.

"Not everybody is a gourmet chef, Tyler, okay?" she says, her arms akimbo.

"I don't expect that. But Carrie, you have an entire new ecosystem living in your fridge. I'm talking undiscovered, never before seen species of organisms. It's cutting edge scientific stuff." I just can't help myself, but luckily, Carrie has a sense of humor. She scrunches her nose, and takes me by the forearm, dragging me away from the refrigerator.

"I have pasta," she offers. "Tons of spaghetti, and fusilli, and penne," she advertises. "That is my go to meal, and I always have plenty of that on hand."

"Is it because it doesn't really have an expiration date?" I taunt her.

She giggles, and opens her pantry.

"Okay, I'll make us some pasta," I say, and roll up the sleeves of my shirt.

"Can I help? It's my kitchen after all," she says.

"You can boil the water," I tell her, and toss a kitchen towel over my shoulder.

Without waiting for her guidance, I rummage around and find a large pot, and a pan.

"Sit back and watch, kid," I tell her, after she fills the large pot with water and sets in on the stove.

Carrie crosses her arms across her chest, sits down on the wooden stool by the small kitchen table, and gives me a dubious expression. "It's pasta, Tyler, I don't think I need lessons," she mocks me.

I find olive oil, and pour some into the hot skillet. Meanwhile I remember seeing a little bit of fresh parsley, which is really miraculous considering the other contents of the fridge. I chop it up, together with a couple of cloves of garlic. When the water in the pot boils, I dump a handful of salt into the rolling bubbles, and add the pasta, stirring it. Then I add the garlic to the heated oil in the pan, and sprinkle some red pepper flakes. When the oil gets infused with the garlic and the heat from the pepper flakes I throw in the fresh parsley. The pasta is perfectly al dente at this point, so I drain it and toss it in with the infused olive oil. Presto!

After transferring the hot steamy fragrant pasta into a serving bowl, I wind a few strands of the spaghetti around the fork and offer it to Carrie.

"Try this and let me know what you think."

I extend the fork to her mouth, and she opens her pouty lips, closing them around the pasta.

Her eyes widen, and she proceeds to have, what I can only describe as, a gastronomical orgasm.

"Mm, mm, Tyler," she gushes, "how did you do this? I mean, this tastes so much better than how I cook it. How is that possible?"

"It's just a couple of extra ingredients, and it's a whole new ballgame," I tell her. I never thought watching a woman eat could make me this happy. It's really strange.

We sit at her miniature kitchen table, eat, drink, talk and laugh. It's our second dinner together, but it feels like we've done this hundreds of times. There is no awkward silence, or struggle to find conversation topics. She gets my humor, and doesn't get offended by the sarcasm, in fact we're pretty evenly matched when it comes to biting remarks. The plain truth is that I am having a fantastic time with this girl, and I can't get enough. The only thing that would make this better is if I could reach over and kiss her.

"So, who's Nicole, anyway?" she asks me suddenly, and I nearly choke on the food in my mouth.

"Nicole. Right. She's my ex," I tell her, and watch Carrie's facial expression change.

"Her text seemed to suggest that you were still..."

"I know. She's having trouble coming to terms with the fact that it's over," I tell her honestly.

"How long have you been broken up?"

I can't blame Carrie for being curious about all this, but I really don't want to get into the gritty details of it all.

"Look, Carrie, Nicole is a woman from my past, and I want to focus on the future. I am not in contact with her. There is nothing between us. There is really only one woman I am interested in currently, and I think it's pretty obvious it ain't fucking Nicole."

Carrie casts her eyes down and moves her fork around the remaining spaghetti on her plate.

Her silence is killing me. I want her to say something, but I don't want to push her away by being too aggressive.

"Back at my place, I know I freaked you out by moving too fast, but I want you to know that I am not out to hurt you, Carrie. And I am not chasing you just to get you into bed. I know you have a boyfriend, and I will respect whatever boundaries you set...but there are some things that you simply can't deny. I told you I would not kiss you unless you wanted me to, and maybe you didn't say it with words, but I knew that you wanted it as badly as I did. The way you kissed me back, you had to have felt the same way..."

She looks at me then, her hazel eyes are wide, and her lips are parted, like she's about to speak.

"Jonah and I," she begins, and I already feel like punching a wall just hearing his name. "We broke up," she says, and stares at me.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Is it Christmas morning already?

"Are you fucking with me?" I ask, leaning closer to her across the table.

"No, seriously. Yesterday, at lunch. I ended things with him."

It's taking all of my focus and energy not to reach over and grab this girl and plant a big one on her. Gotta play it cool though.

"Because you're madly in love with me?" I ask her, smiling like the champion that I am.

She giggles. "No, you egomaniac. Our relationship hasn't been working for a quite a while now. It would have been over with or without you."

I can't take it any longer. I reach over and take her hand in mine. "So, Carrie, you're single now. How does it feel?"

"Pretty great actually. I can't wait to get on Tinder," she says with a snicker, but I am not amused.

"The hell you will," I say sternly, and pull her into my lap, holding her by the waist. "I regret to inform you that your dating options are quite limited. In fact there is only one man who's been found to be your ideal match."

She squints her eyes, and scratches her chin as though lost in thought. "I wonder who the lucky guy could be," she muses. "Ryan Gosling?"

I tickle her then, digging my fingers into her ribs, and she yelps trying to fly off my lap, but I don't let her. "Say I'm the only one, Carrie," I tell her as I am continuing my assault. She's writhing and laughing so hard, she's fighting for breath, but she can't pry my hands away from her.

"Okay, okay, you! Tyler!... there's only you!" she screams, and that is all I ever wanted to hear.

I stop tormenting her, and turn her still smiling face to mine. I search her eyes for any hesitation, but see none there. Only pure joy. I kiss her then. Freely, fully, like she is wholly mine, and has always been....or at least ever since the very first time my lips touched hers in the darkness.