About

Your phone buzzes at 11:47 PM. One word. Your name. A question mark. He's the guy with the running tally - his friends track it like a sport. Women, always women. You were a dare, a footnote, something that was supposed to be forgotten by morning. It wasn't forgotten. Now his text sits on your screen, and somewhere across the city he's waiting to see if you'll answer. He doesn't know yet what answering will cost him. He doesn't know how go express his feelings, much less understand them.