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I flopped down on my bed and kicked my legs up behind me as I pondered what—if—to reply.
The straight and simplest answer was to ignore him. But Max had hit a vulnerable spot and Zane made me feel good.
Even when he was saying mean things, he still made me light up inside.
Me: Using your grandma to pull me into the conversation… now that doesn’t seem very neighborly to me.
Zane: Worked though, didn’t it?
Me: Maybe.
Zane: What are you doing?
Me: What are you doing?
Zane: That’s for me to know, Einstein.
Me: That is quite possibly the least sexy nickname ever…
Zane: It’s not supposed to be a compliment.
Damn him. He was good at this. At maintaining the upper hand, always making me feel one step behind.
Me: Don’t worry, Zane Thackeray. I know what I am and what I’m not.
Zane: What the fuck does that mean?
Me: Nothing. It means nothing.
His next reply was slow coming. Probably because he didn’t understand my vague message. But it was true. I knew most guys didn’t find girls like me attractive.
Whoever said intelligence was sexy had lied, because in my experience if a female was too smart, she was intimidating. Most of the guys I knew didn’t want girls who knew more than they did. They wanted girls who laughed at their jokes and nodded at their stories. Girls who didn’t think too much on their own.
They certainly didn’t want a girl who knew the dictionary definition of words like incorrigible and reprehensible.
Zane: Meet me tonight?
Me: What? No! Why would you even suggest that?
Zane: You’re right, it’s a bad idea.
Me: The worst.
I threw my phone down like it was contaminated with an infectious disease.
He couldn’t seriously want to meet me? Not after last night?
Snatching it back up, my fingers flew over the screen.
Me: Is this a game?
Zane: Why? Do you want to play?
My head screamed at me not to engage. But my heart—my foolish, fickle heart—liked Zane’s attention.
Me: How can I play if I don’t know the rules?
Zane: You’re the genius… figure it out.
