I would make it minus a million if I didn’t think it would scare him off.

“What?! Minus twenty for wrong guesses? That’s way harsh, Tai.”

Either he’s bored, or secretly he’s just as lonely as I am, because he just quoted Clueless to a near-stranger that he has absolutely no obligation to be talking to. Why isn’t he sleeping right now? Why did he reach out in the middle of the night to whoever he thought I was at the beginning of this conversation? Why does he seem to be just as down to chitchat as I am?

“Plus five for the Clueless reference. Now you’re at negative fifteen,” I send.

“I’m moving up in the world. So, not Laura, huh? Well, that’s a blessing considering the last time I saw her she threatened to report me to HR for wearing Chucks to work.”

“She’s a work friend?”

“Ha! Friend. No. She’s a former work associate who thought my job was completely superfluous.”

There’s clearly no love lost between them, and I internally rescind my sneeze curse on Laura Hepburn. She sounds unpleasant, but my ire for her has dissolved – miraculously – in the face of Eliot’s distaste. What a cavewoman I apparently am.

“I thought you were a freelancer?” I message.

“So, you know a little bit about my work! Which means either we’ve worked together or we must have at least had surface small talk in the past.”

“One of those things is true.”

“Does that earn me five points?”

“Sure. You’re obsessed with the points.”

“I told you I’m competitive.”

“You’re the only one playing.”

“That means it would be even more pathetic if I lose. I’m at negative ten now. What are other ways for me to get points?”

“Besides guessing who I am?”

“Yeah. How about if I make an accurate leap in logic then I get points. And . . . if I make you laugh I get points. Just for funsies.”

Remember what I said about how he’s just a big, handsome puppy? Well, this is officially the only time in my life I’ve ever had a crush on someone who said stuff like funsies. But somehow it works on him.

I’m currently sitting on my kitchen counter in a ball, balanced perfectly, about to roll off in a heap if he texts me one more cute thing. I’m going to have to stick to one-word answers here if I don’t want him to know that his playfulness actually has me grinning like the Joker at my cell phone.

“Okay,” I message.

And then, because I’m terrified of him getting bored, I add a quick:

“Good luck.”

“So ominous. It’s like you know for a fact that I’ll never be able to successfully make you laugh.”