A F F E C T I O N

t h r e e

I remember when we met. At that boozy club before you moved here.

I was wearing that sparkling plastic dress and nearly sixteen, dragged there by my cousins, and you sidled up to the bar beside me.

You said, "hey," in the sexiest voice if ever heard. The moment I saw you, I dismissed you for one of those people; who frequent clubs and drop diamonds like sweet nothings. But you weren't though. Even when a half dozen pickup lines rolled off your tongue.

I knew that, because I bit my thumb at you. It was odd, but I'd been fending off attention all night and I'd just started reading Romeo and Juliet. When I bit my thumb, you reeled back with the most adorably shocked expression.

"Ah, do you bite your thumb at me, madam?"

"No, I bite my thumb, but not at you." I said to you, quite coquettishly. I guess all I needed was a guy who knew his Shakespeare. It probably helped that you were arguably the most gorgeous human being I'd ever laid eyes on; warm, dark chocolate coloured skin; wide hazel eyes; kissable lips. Your voice was a whole other matter entirely; it could have been composed of caramel.

You smiled, your big lovely smile, and took the bar stool beside me.

"What's your name?" You asked.

"Carolina."

"North or south?"

"Neither." I gave you my hooded eyes, which now I know you think are sexy as hell, and pursed my lips. "I'm still not interested, you know."

"Why not?"

"No matter whether you know your Shakespeare, you go to clubs."

"So?"

"I don't like guys who go to clubs."

"I don't, though."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. My brother is finalizing his bachelor party here. I just came over here because you looked beautiful and bored."

"I wasn't bored."

"Yeah you were."

And our texting relationship began. It got even better when you moved to town a few months later with your leather jacket and two grey hounds loping about the picket-fenced yard.

And then, I was ousted by a girl who reads like it's oxygen and had been your partner in biology. How these things work out.