I stretched out my arm, offering my gloved hand. With cheap faux charm, he kissed my knuckle and I chuckled at his old-fashioned display of chivalry. It actually worked, though. He was instantly cuter.

“I’m Geoffrey. Friends call me G.”

“How original, G.” I rolled my eyes, lacing the letter with sarcasm.

“Aw, don’t judge. I can’t help what generic nicknames other people come up with.”

“Know what my friends and I used to call you? Cute Waiter Guy.”

Cocky as ever, he smirked as if he thought that was apt. “Oh, yeah? That’s funny. Where you headin’?”

“To my dorm. Then I’m going to grab dinner in the cafeteria. I’d invite you, but it’s students only.” I shrugged, resuming my stride. My dorm was still a long half-mile uphill from the main campus and I was wearing high-heeled tennis shoes, the worst possible choice for walking in slippery snow but all the rage in 2000.

Technically G could have purchased a meal ticket, but there was no way I was bringing this stranger into my judgmental world just yet. He’d get eaten alive. If my friends saw me show up with some new guy at dinner, the interrogation would never end. Plus I wasn’t sure I was interested enough to force myself through a whole meal with this guy just yet.

I’ll admit, he was intimidating. And alluring at the same time. Definitely a bad boy with streetwise swagger. I wondered how much preparation went into getting his hair to look so carelessly disheveled. He wore a Kurt Cobain-ish flannel lumberjack shirt and frayed jeans, but no coat. That just wouldn’t be cool, even when temps were in the twenties. Then it occurred to me: maybe he had fallen on hard times. Maybe his grunginess wasn’t an affectation. Maybe he was homeless. It was a wickedly provocative notion—showing pity on a cute homeless guy, maybe showing him a good time. But I wasn’t that kind of a girl, though people sometimes made that assumption because I was a notorious flirt.

As Geoffrey matched my pace, he turned and walked backward, keeping step with me as he talked. “How about instead of shitty cafeteria food you join me for dinner?”

Don’t do it, apprehension told me.

Then Geoffrey smiled, his blue eyes icy and penetrating. Get bent, apprehension.

“If you say Pizza Joe’s the answer is no. You’re not allowed to take me where you work.”

He shot me a strange, almost guilty look. “Why not?”

“Because it’s lame and unoriginal. If you can suggest someplace more original, I might say yes. But no promises.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can win you over. I know a really good place right outside of town. Like Italian?”

“Who doesn’t like Italian?”