“Excuse me, do you need a hand?” A tall guy with clean-cut hair, in jeans and a pale blue button-down, rises from his seat and makes a move toward me. He’s probably a few years older than me, with warm brown eyes and a megawatt smile. I can’t tell if he’s smiling to be polite or to hide an almost laugh.

“No, no, I’m fine, thanks,” I say, obviously flustered but totally pretending like this is normal, and secretly praying something embarrassing doesn’t come flying out of my bag at him. Nothing like a cute guy approaching you only to get a tampon sling-shot into his eye.

“You sure?” he asks with an amused smile on his face.

“Totally sure, thanks! I have it all under control.”

I give the bag one final almighty yank just as he’s sitting down across from me. Eureka! The doors slide open wide enough for the bag to wiggle free, but the momentum sends me reeling backward… right into Cute Guy’s lap.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say, leaping out of his lap as if my butt were on fire. My face, I can tell, is turning beet red, and my mind is screaming with a chaos of thoughts, such as: What is the appropriate apology for lap-sitting? and This is why I never take the metro! and Is he really wearing Hermès loafers with no socks? and WHY DO I FIND THAT HOT?

This can’t be happening. I can execute absolutely insane footwork in six-inch stilettos—double-tempo hair-flicky shuffle, anyone?—but I can’t keep my balance on a train or stop myself from creeping on a guy with attractively bare ankles? What is wrong with me!? I’ve obviously been deprived of nutrition today—or maybe I’ve just been deprived of Cute Guys for too long.

A dimple forms in his left cheek as he smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Actually, you did me a favor.”

“I did?” I say, my curiosity briefly overcoming the huge waves of embarrassment washing over me.

“Yeah. My mom is always saying that the perfect girl isn’t going to just fall into my lap,” he says with a teasing grin. “Now I can prove her wrong.”

My cheeks flush again but this time for a different reason. Is he flirting with me, or am I just totally thirsty in my sad love desert?

I manage a quick smile before racing away as fast as I can to find a seat on the opposite end of the train. I press my hands against my burning cheeks.