“Oh, no. You screamed into it when you were coming. I’m never getting rid of it now. Anyway, this is probably the bigger deal than dinner, wearing this down the hall right now,” I rambled, thinking out loud as it hit me. “My colleagues or students could see me. Which...actually doesn’t feel like that big of a deal, now that I think about it?”

Lily waited patiently.

“And since I was very recently sexed, there’s not much threat of sporting a woody in these leggings—which are very comfortable, by the way—so that’s good.”

Lily made a choking sound.

“A woody?”

“I know, I know, I’m feeling kind of loopy and it just popped out. My grandpa used to call them that.”

“Grandpa Anthony?”

“Yes!” I smiled. “He was a very dirty old man.”

“I do think plenty of people with penises wear skirts and dresses every day and manage just fine, Sam.”

“You’re right. I’m being weird.”

“No. You’re processing. And being cute.”

“Yeah?” I opened the door. “How cute? Like, invite-me-back-to-your-place-after-tacos cute?”

Lily bit her lip. “My place is a mess, and I have two roommates and thin walls. I like your place better.”

“You do have to see where I put my newest map,” I conceded. “Although I want to know more about your roommates. And, you know, everything else about you.”

We walked into the hall. No one even looked at us, which was strange, because I was pretty sure we were both glowing.

“Did you drive?” I asked. She shook her head.

“No, I took the bus.”

“Cool.” I gave her hand a small squeeze. “I could drive you home, if you wanted? And we can meet back up in a few hours?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Holy shit, I cannot wait to see what your taco order is.”

She laughed.

“I’m serious,” I said. “But don’t tell me. I want it to be a surprise.”

She made another little giggly noise, and I looked over at her. She was looking down at the ground, shaking her head. And smiling.

Romantic prowess: not bad, actually.

“Hey,” I said as we exited the building, headed to the employee lot. “Serious question.”

“Shoot.”

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her.

“Would you sing for me sometimes? Like, if I continue to be cute enough to get you back in my apartment?”

Her cheeks went pink, her eyes surprised.

“Like...just hanging out in your apartment, singing? A capella?”

I shrugged, tugging her a little closer.

“Yeah. You know, when we’re in bed, or making hot chocolate in the kitchen...maybe you’d sing ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ and I’d boop some whipped cream onto your nose. Or something. Not that I have fantasized about this or anything.”

She covered her face with her hands. But I could tell she was still smiling.