She smiles innocently as she slides on her coat. “Shall we?”

We step into the cool night, and I think about taking her hand, but I’m not sure how to without being awkward. I’m not sure I’ve ever done that sober. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever really held a girl’s hand, except as a way to lead her in the direction I want to walk, which is really more like leading someone by their wrist than holding their hand.

I have never strolled with someone, hand in hand. I’ve never wanted to take someone’s hand just because I want to feel what it’s like, to have her fingers laced with mine.

Not to sound too much like a douche bag, but I kind of know the playbook forward and backward when it comes to the random, often drunken, hookups. But it’s been a while since I’ve dated a girl. Since eighth grade, I think. Catharine Grimes. We kissed at my best friends bar mitzvah, and then “dated” for the rest of the summer. Which basically meant we texted on Sidekicks constantly and would awkwardly avoid each other while hanging out with a group of twenty or more of our friends. She was my first and last girlfriend. And then I went to an all-boy boarding school and girls became conquests you would go out and find and exaggerate about to your friends when you got back.

Nowadays, when it comes to the club and bar and dating app scene, I know exactly how to play the game, and I know how to win. I’m not thrown off by a girl who is hot or rich or cool. I know how to act like I don’t care, so they will.

It’s easy, because, honestly, I really don’t care. There’s always a new set of Laker Girls. New aspiring dancers and actresses land at LaGuardia and LAX every day. Hell, they even crown a new Miss America every year.

But a girl I care about—I have no idea how to deal with this.

Sara is a few feet ahead of me, her pace faster than mine even though she’s wearing those ridiculous heels. She waits, so I can catch up. The wind blows as she turns to look back at me, and she tucks a stray hair behind her ear, which is adorned with a little silver teardrop earing.

“So you were just joking, right?” she says when I meet her. “With that thing about the helicopter?” She laughs. “Because Yaz thought you were serious.”

“No.” I smile. “I wasn’t joking. We just have to walk to Main Quad since that’s the only place it can land.”

“What?” She stops walking and just stares at me.

“Yeah,” I laugh. “C’mon.” I take her hand to show her the way. She adjusts so that our fingers weave together.