You want it to be casual, the hook up. You don’t want it to turn into a regular thing.
But you’re not done with her. Not yet. You want one more go. Just one.
You don’t want it to last all night—you know if the two of you end up cuddling, she’ll get emotional. And are you sure you can handle that? You know yourself, and you know her. This act is going to be rash, yes, but it won’t be dumb.
So how do you go about initiating this encounter? Simple. Almost too easy. You know her schedule; you’ve had it since way back on the second day of school, when you ‘accidentally’ ran into her best friend. In order to initiate a conversation with her, you only need to walk up to her. You might think to catch her after class—chemistry, preferably, when she’s feeling unintelligent and insecure. Her hair will be hanging in long strands alongside her face and those perfect rose lips will be puckered slightly into a frown.
She always liked your black button down, so wear that one. Don’t look too formal. Pair it with dark washed jeans, and maybe a hoodie for warmth, but make sure it’s not the same colour as the one you wore last time. Don’t bother shaving. Keep your earbuds in, as if you’re not waiting for anything particular. Don’t be obvious. Walk around the corridor a few times. Don’t look nervous. Text, or change the music on your phone, or read an article while you walk, or something.
Then you’ll serendipitously walk into her. Casually, coincidentally. It’s almost like kismet, isn’t it?
Don’t forget to smile to yourself. Aim for a wistful look, sing to your music. Then, when she crashes into you, she’ll think this is unintentional. Another strand might fall out of her ponytail, and she’ll gaze at you as if a god sent you from the heavens. She’s forgotten you’re too devilish to pass for a fallen angel.
Greet her. Oh hey, you might say. Fancy seeing you here. Give her a confused look. Let yourself wonder what she’s doing there in the same space as you—you didn’t memorize her schedule, of course; you didn’t plan this. The facade of effortless requires a great deal of effort.
Hi, she’ll reply. She’ll be subdued, worrying about her science grade, and might not even notice your feet falling in time with hers. Where did you come from? she might ask.
You know, you’ll say. Here and there. Are you okay? Make a motion as if to touch her, but pull your hand back. Don’t touch her—yet.
She might shake her head, look down at her boots. She’ll whisper a negation, mumble something about another failed chemistry exam. And so you might take her to get apple cider, a pick-me-up to counteract the cold weather and harsh classes, the frigid people in her life.
Once you’re sitting across from her in the corner of the coffee shop, you’ve got her in the bag, wrapped just like one of those danishes the pretty girl at the counter serves you, delectable in plastic with a little gold string keeping the sticky stuff inside.
She’ll suggest coming home with you. Just for a little while, she’ll say. A small pick-me-up, for old time’s sake. Don’t remind her that if the old times had been any good, they might not be quite so old. It’s okay if your smile is a little hungry—she won’t notice it anyway.
Remind her that you have class at eight in the morning, that she can’t stay too late. Set that precedent early. Ensure she knows—no cuddling, remember? No emotions. No imagining her where you left her—curled, safe and warm in your bed—as you dress for another hour of pencil tapping and teacher bashing.
A drink or two will do her just fine—don’t take it too far; you don’t want her vomiting in your clean bathroom. You don’t want to have to hold her hair back or stroke the soft skin of her back, do you? A drink or two will loosen her up enough to admit that she wants you. And that’s all you need. That one little admission is the secret ingredient to all of your success.
You won’t even need to lure her to your bed. She’ll be sprawled across the plain dark covers when you come back from the bathroom, a smile lazily caressing her lips. About whether she’s nervous or not, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you won’t be thinking about her again—you’ll be staring at your biology partner’s ass without a doubt—as long as you don’t end up cuddling.
So remember to be wary, my friend. Remember to make sure she leaves by midnight and remind her to keep her heart. Any later, and she’ll leave with yours. Oh, don’t be nervous; you’ll be fine…