"Women are evil. They'll backstab each other to get what they want, and they only like bad boys, screwing over all the nice guys they claim they want."

That's my friend Jack. You'll have to forgive his cynicism. He's a nice guy, but he's just had some really bad experiences with women. So he's a little bitter. He's like this now, but as soon as he meets a girl he's going to be all bunnies and flowers. He'll make some girl a nice boyfriend one day.

"You can't be so negative." I say. "If you are, how will you know when the right girl comes along?"

"She's never coming." He says, sort of loudly which causes people to look at us. We're in the study hall upstairs at the university library. It's nothing but really long tables and chairs, all in rows going down the floor. It's midterm week, so the place is packed. There's very little conversation, but you can just hear the elevated stress levels.

"I'm going to die a lonely, bitter old man, Christine," Jack says softly this time.

I laugh at him. I can't help it, but he's so funny. "Well, you can be bitter all you want. I'm going to go out there and meet people, take my chances."

He gives me a funny look. "You met someone, didn't you?"

"No!" I say.

He only raises an eyebrow at me. I hate that smug look of his. How does he read me so well, anyway? It's so not fair.

"Okay, okay, I met a guy. His name is Phil. We work together. He's pretty cute."

"That almost goes without saying."

"What, you think I'm shallow now?"

"No, I think you're human. But anyway, his name is Phil…"

"He's really cute. Tall, definitely over six feet. Short brown hair, and gorgeous green eyes. And he's slender - not over muscled, y'know, but not scrawny. I bet he swims. Or plays basketball, maybe he plays basketball."

"And you like him."

"No! Not yet. I don't know that much about him."

"Then why am I hearing about him?"

I sigh. Jack always makes things so difficult. But he's a guy, he can't help it, I suppose.

"Well, I think he likes me. He's always smiling at me, and we flirt all the time. And the other day, when I had to take my roommate to the airport, he offered to cover my shift for me."

"Maybe he's just nice."

"No, that's not it. He definitely spends more time talking to me than anyone else at work."

"But that doesn't necessarily mean he's interested in you."

"I think he is. I just know these things. I can read people pretty good."

Jack rolls his eyes. Yeah, I can imagine, Jack wishes he could have my intuitive skills. But again, he's just a guy. They're not as sharp as we are. Actually, they're usually pretty dense. Poor things.

"Actions speak louder than words," Jack says. "Just because he talks to you more than anyone else -"

"It's not just that," I interrupt. "He's always smiling at me. And sometimes I catch him staring at me too. Plus, he's always finding excuses to touch me. Like, if I'm complaining about one of my midterms, he'll put his arm around me and try to comfort me."

"Hmm. Maybe he's just horny."

"Jack! That's not it at all!"

"Okay, okay. But I'm sure a lot of guys do that. Why him?"

"I just feel that spark with him, you know? Like, there's potential there. It's just, I'm really ready for a relationship right now. I think I'm just as pretty as any other girl out there, and I'd make for a good girlfriend."

"You'd make for the perfect girlfriend," Jack says. "Any guy would be beyond lucky to have you."

Yeah, he's pretty right about that.

"But what makes you think that this Phil guy is worth chasing after?" Jack asks.

"He seems like a pretty nice guy. We get along pretty good, and I definitely feel a mutual attraction."

"Wait a minute, back up. 'Seems like a pretty nice guy'?"

"Well…we get along pretty good and all…but he never talks about himself. Not to anyone. I don't know anything really about him."

"…And you like this guy?"

"No, I said I was attracted to him. Try to keep up, Jack."

"I am. I just don't see why you're considering this guy at all if you don't know him."

"I do know him. Just not that well. But once he gets to know me better, he'll start opening up and talking to me."

"You seem pretty sure about that."

"Why not? Once you grow closer to a person, you want to tell them your secrets, right?"

"That isn't always how it goes. You don't know how it is with this guy. Maybe he's had a rough life and doesn't like talking about it. Or maybe he doesn't trust people."

"Well, he can trust me."

Jack shakes his head. "He doesn't know that."

"But he will once he gets to know me better."

Jack buries his face in his hands. Yeah, I know, guys can be pretty frustrating, can't they?

"I know what this is," Jack says, "you see a guy who's emotionally unavailable, so of course you want him. You want to be the one who opens him up, because if you do, it means that you're somehow better than everyone else out there. It's like validation."

"No, that's not it at all." Poor Jack. So clueless. I really have to find this poor boy a girlfriend. After I solve my man troubles, of course. "You don't understand because you've never had a girlfriend yet. You meet someone, and you have that initial spark, that chemistry, and then you get to know each other and then you fall for each other. It's all very romantic."

"Uh-huh. Wouldn't it just be easier to go after a guy who is already willing to open up with you?"

"No. There's no romance in that. You have to get to know each other first."

Jack buries his face in his hands again, before running them through his hair. "Oy, I will never understand you women."

"You will," I try to reassure him. "You just need more experience. It's simple, really." It really is. "And you're going to meet some nice girl, and you're going to make her really happy."

Jack bats an eye at me. "Anyway. So, how is your statistics class going?"

"Oh, it's okay. I thought I failed the last midterm, but I got it back with a B-, so I guess I'm doing fine. Although I'd much rather have gotten an A. I'm just going to have to study harder next time."

"I told you not to go to that club the night before."

"I don't think that had anything to do with it. I had studied that day, and my hangover wore off a good two hours before the test."

Jack half-smiles. Phil does that too. "If you say so," Jack says.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Phil likes me."

Jack stares for a moment before smiling at me. I'm glad he's happy for me.

"Well, I have to work later today," I say, "so I'll see if he continues to flirt with me. Hopefully he'll ask me out soon, I won't wait around for him forever."

Jack shrugs. "Of course not." He checks his watch. "I gotta go, I have to meet some people in a study group before class." He gets up, packing his books away in his backpack. Jack's not too bad himself. He isn't quite as cute as Phil, but he's not bad. At little shorter, maybe around 5'9, spiked blond hair, and a nice body. He always wears t-shirts and big blue jeans, no matter what the weather is like. Reminds me of those skater guys you see on television. Total nice guy though. He's going to make some girl really happy one day.

"Okay, I'll see you later then," I say to him. "Oh, and thanks for listening."

Jack half-smiles again. "Yeah, yeah…" He slings one strap of his backpack over his shoulder, and lazily walks away.

Speaking of time, what time was it? I pull my cell phone out of my purse and check - it's almost 3PM. I work at 4. Phil should be getting there right about now. Jack was just being too negative again, of course Phil likes me. Why wouldn't he? He should ask me out soon. I'll drop the hints really heavy today, and he'll have no choice but to ask me out. The sooner we start dating, the sooner I can open him up.

It's for his own good, really.

So, let me tell you about how I ended up here at Kyoto Kitchen, the most well known Japanese restaurant in town, on a date with Phil. Yes, on a date with Phil! He finally asked! Well, sorta.

It was that same day I told Jack all about him in the library study room. I went to work, and as usual, Phil and I were flirting pretty heavily. Somehow, we got to talking about food, and I told him about how much I love Japanese food. He wasn't too thrilled about it. I said I loved Kyoto Kitchen downtown, and his face kind of soured for a moment there, like he'd just bitten into a lemon. I asked him if he didn't like Kyoto's, and he said it was just okay. I told him that he probably hadn't had the really good dishes, and he needed someone with him who really appreciated the food. He said I was the only one he knew that was into Japanese food. So here, I had to grab him by his own balls and say that I would be willing to help him out. He, finally, got the hint, and offered to take me that Thursday. Which is today. Which is where we are now.

So far it's been pretty good. He showed up at my place with a single red rose, and a pint of ice cream (I told him about my little obsession with rocky road). We went to a movie first, and then came here. So far, I've been the one to talk, mostly about myself and what not. He's a really good listener. But I wish he'd start talking about himself. How am I supposed to get to know him better? Oh well, might as well just come out and say it. I've been dragging him by the cojones this far. And I did read in last month's Cosmo that women are supposed to be more assertive with guys.

"But, I've talked enough for tonight," I say, "what about you? What's going on in your life?"

He looks up, and smiles at me. "Nothing to talk about."

Ooh. He's going to be a tough one.

I lower my head a bit, so I have to look up to see into his eyes, and smile at him. I've practiced this pose in the mirror enough times to know just how seductive it is. "There can't really be nothing. I mean, there has to be more to your life than just school and work."

He looks up, as if searching for something. "Nope, that's about it."

"Nothing? Friends? Family? Concerns?"

He shakes his head. "I know, I'm a pretty boring guy."

We would play cat and mouse all night. I tried to get him to open up about himself, he dodged me like ex-boyfriends when you need to get your CD player back. I tried talking about myself more, and asking if he could understand, or relate to the things I was saying, but he only said either "I understand that" or "Hmm, perhaps" and went back to his California rolls. Why the hell did you even bother to come, Phil? For the food? It's nice to be able to talk about myself and all, but man, if I wanted to do that I could have gone out with Jack instead. He's a better listener. But okay, I'm not giving up yet. He's a tough case, yes, but he has to crack at some point.

And I will be the one to crack him.

We finish dinner. Phil asks me if there was something else I want to do. "I don't know," I respond. He suggests a movie, but I turn that down. What I really want is to crack this boy open like an egg. So we have to go somewhere where we can talk. You can't talk in movies. He suggests dancing, but again, you can't talk there. C'mon Phil, you're a smart kid, you can figure this out.

He sighs heavily. "Well, if there's nothing you want to do, I can just take you home."

What? He's done with me? Oh hell no. We are far from done.

"I guess," I say, "but all my roommates are having movie night with their boyfriends, and I really don't want to be caught in the middle of that. Can we go back to your place?"

He raises an eyebrow at me before saying "okay." I bet he wasn't expecting that. He drives me back to his place, and on the way we don't say much. We talk about things like our co-workers, and some of the people we deal with, that's it. Nothing of any real substance. He is still keeping me at an arm's length. I have to show him that he can trust me.

And then it hits me. Something Jack had said to me earlier this week. He's a dense guy, but he has his moments sometimes. He said, "Actions speak louder than words." And then he said, "Maybe he doesn't trust people." And when I said that Phil could trust me, Jack had replied, "He doesn't know that." It makes perfect sense! I'm sure I'm not the first girl who has come to him, offering friendship and more. I know why I've been failing now. I haven't done anything to set myself apart from everyone else. I need to show him just how committed I am to him. I need to convince him that he can trust me. And to do that…I need a sign of good faith. I need to show him that I trust him.

We arrive at his apartment. It's really big, and really nice. Not what I'd expect from a guy's apartment at all. Everything is actually clean; no clothes lying around, no dishes in the sink, no porn magazines, nothing out of order. Phil takes me back to his room, which is even cleaner. He excuses himself to run to the bathroom. Now's my chance to snoop around.

He's got his bed in the far right corner, with his computer on the other side. There's a bookshelf against the left wall, and a large television in the near corner. Again, I'm surprised by the decorations; no posters of large chested girls or fast cars, but scenery and nature. I'm very impressed.

There are pictures on one level of the bookshelf. Mostly of him and friends. Mostly women. Are any of these women ex'es? Or current? There's one of him with some kind of martial arts club. I knew he was athletic. It's just your ordinary picture collection, nothing new. I'm about to leave, until I find a picture laying face down on the shelf. At first, I think maybe it just fell over. But no, it's different. All the other pictures there are framed, but not this one. And the back of it is collecting a fine layer of dust.

So now, I have to see what it is.

I pick it up carefully, not to leave my fingerprints in the dust. It's a picture of another girl. Short hair, brown eyes, fair skin. Not bad. She's holding a hot dog and grinning madly.

Before I can study it further, I hear the toilet flush. That's my cue to stop snooping around. I go to a more neutral position in the middle of Phil's room. He comes out of the bathroom, and invites me to sit down. I take a seat on Phil's bed; the comforter is charcoal black. He pulls up a chair at his computer desk. What? I showered this morning.

I look up at him, licking my lips. "I don't bite Phil." I pat the bed next to me.

"Oh," he says, his eyes widening before he gets up and sits down next to me. Right now he's very much like a scared little boy, getting on a bicycle for the first time. It's the first crack in the armor I've seen all night.

"So," he says softly, "what did you want to do?"

I take a deep breath, heaving my chest out a bit. I notice his eyes dart down for a moment. As well they should. "Well, let's get to know each other better. We don't really get a chance to talk in the office. We should make the most of this opportunity."

He shrugs, looking a bit confused. "Okay, well…did you have any pets when you were younger?"

Oh. My. God. This boy needs serious help.

I smile again. "No no. I've talked enough this evening. It's your turn."

"Like I said before, there really isn't anything to talk about."

Allright, now it's time for the heavy artillery. This is rushing things a bit, but I don't care. I'm going to win this fight, no matter what it takes.

I reach over, and grab his hand, running my thumb across his fingers. "Sure there is. You just don't want to talk about it. I don't know how you got so closed off, or who did it to you, but I'm not like the other people you met. Don't you feel it? The chemistry between us?"

"I'm not really a science person."

Guys aren't really this dense, are they? I mean, I knew they were stupid before, but damn. This is exceptional.

"It isn't science Phil," I say. "It's emotional. When two people are just right for each other, and you feel that extra something. You feel it, don't you?"

He looks at me, and I can see his heart pounding in his chest. C'mon, you know you want to. I sigh a little bit, before biting my lower lip. There you go. I can't make it any more obvious than that.

He takes his free hand (the one I'm not holding) and puts it on my leg. That wasn't so hard, was it? "Oh, that chemistry," he says. "I was thinking of the periodical table."

I smile. It's not in the least bit funny, but I can't shoot him down now. "So, tell me Phil, do you often think about chemicals when you've got a pretty girl on your bed?"

"Well, certain chemicals."

"Like what? Show me."

Finally (and I cannot stress that enough), he leans in and kisses me. I knew he would be a good kisser. Sometimes, you can just tell these things about people. Just the right amount of pressure. And now his hand is moving up and down my leg. See? Guys can take a hint. You may have to beat them over the head with it, but they'll get it eventually.

His lips part from mine, and begin to move down my neck. He's very good. Even though I'm doing this for his benefit, I'm going to get some enjoyment out of it. Hey, we both win, can't go wrong with that. As his hands slip under my shirt, I begin to fast forward to tomorrow morning. I imagine waking up next to him, and he'd already be awake, just staring into my face. I'll ask how he's doing, and he'll just smile and say "fine." And then we'll stay in bed all morning, and he'll tell me about his family, and what he wants to do after college.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. All that can wait. For now, I'll just enjoy the moment. And it isn't so much what he's doing to me (although that is very nice, I'll admit), but the knowledge that I won. As I stare up at the ceiling, I see the girl from the turned down picture. Her face frozen in smile, her eyes locked on us. I smile back in defiance.

I don't dream. Haven't in years. Most everybody I tell that to think it's the height of weirdness. I don't care. Who needs dreams anyway? Most of them are just strange, you always wake up in the middle of the good ones, and let's not pass up the nightmares. When I go to sleep, the next thing I know I'm waking up. I'm somewhat aware of the passage of time, but there is nothing inbetween.

So I wake up this morning fresh off the sensation of falling asleep in Phil's arms. So you can imagine how strange it feels for him not to be here now. It takes me a moment to really remember everything that happened last night. I'm not really a morning person. But it does come back to me, and my body still feels animated from a few hours ago.

The world slowly reappears around me, starting with the bed, then the computer desk, the bookshelf, hot dog girl, and then the bathroom at the far end of the bedroom. The lights are on. There's Phil. He's wearing a black pair of jeans, and no shirt. He's shaving. I sit up slowly, yawning. He doesn't notice me.

He finishes shaving, then turns around to come back into the bedroom. He sees me sitting up. "Oh, you're awake," he says.

"Good morning," I manage to say.

"Morning." He opens up his closet and begins to search for a shirt.

…Guys don't wear shirts to bed, right? So, where is he going? What happened to our wonderful morning conversation? That was the point of all this…

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Getting ready for school," he responds.

"You have class today?"

He nods.

"You don't have to go, right? Is there anything due…?"

"No. But I probably should, there's a midterm coming up."

"Get the notes from a friend. Mmm, why don't we just stay here and spend the morning together?"

"Sorry."

Sorry. Sorry? That's it, just "sorry"?

He finds the shirt he was looking for in the closet, a red polo shirt, and throws it on. "If you want a change of clothes, take anything you want from the closet or the drawers. I don't have anything small, so it'll all fit big, but it'll get the job done. Oh, and you know the bus system, right?"

He's trying to get rid of me again.

"How long is your class? Just an hour, right? I can stay here, wait for you."

"Well, I was going to see if I could meet up with the guys after class," he says. "go out for a while. I don't know when I'll be back, probably late. You can stay if you want. If not, don't worry about the door, you can leave it unlocked."

The guys. He has me vulnerable, exposed, and willing in his bed, and not only is he going to class, but he's going out with the guys. That's it. Stories, clothes, I've used and discarded them all. I don't have any cards left to play.

He picks up his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. He then comes over to the bed and kisses me. "I gotta go, if you're not here when I get back I'll call you, okay? See ya later."

"See ya."

He turns without a second thought and leaves the room. Seconds later, I hear the front door open and close. I fall back into bed. I laid there for a while, I don't know how long. I couldn't close my eyes. I stared up at the ceiling, not really looking at anything. I was waiting, hoping for a sound. The sound of the door opening and closing again. To hear those heavy footsteps against the carpeted floor, the thud of a backpack falling to the ground, and then the bedsprings as added weight was heaped onto them. Then it would be the sound of trust. The sound of a guy who, after someone made the ultimate sacrifice to show him how receptive she was to him, recognized that and returned the favor. The sound of old stories from childhood. The sound of fears and dreams. Of hopes realized and expectations failed.

But I didn't hear any of that.

Just the occasional car driving past in the parking lot. Some voices, people in transit. That's about it. Oh and the ticking from his clock. I became very aware of that. Tick. Tock. Tick.

Eventually (I don't know how much time passed, although I suppose I could look at the clock), I sat up again, and got out of bed. The cold air from the window gnawed into my exposed skin. I glided over to Phil's closet, and looked in at the various different polo and flannel shirts. Any one of them would have worked. But none of them seemed viable.

I went back over to the foot of the bed, and picked up my clothes from last night. I put them back on slowly, each piece taunting me, reminding me of my folly. I put on the last piece, my shirt, which incidentally, had been the first to go. I picked up my purse, which wasn't far from the bed either. Anything else? That was it I think.

I wanted to leave as quickly as I could, but my legs wouldn't move any faster than an agonizing crawl. As I passed the bookshelf, I could feel the hot gaze of hot dog girl upon my skin. Now, she was smiling at me.

That bitch.

"In discussion section this morning, my group leader actually said, 'I'm stoked about today's chapter.' Goddayum. I nearly hockey-checked her into the blackboard after that."

I can't help but to laugh. Jack is so unintentionally funny. I've heard about how much he hates this class before, but every time he talks about it he finds a new, colorful way to express his disdain.

It's Thursday. One week later from…you know. Jack and I are in the study hall again, but most midterms have passed, so there aren't quite as many people. But it's louder, as more people are talking to each other.

"Lucky you managed to restrain yourself," I say.

"It's getting harder and harder, I tell you. If you ever call for me, and I'm in prison, yeah, you'll know why."

"I doubt it. You're all talk."

"Maybe. But anyway, you never did tell me how your date went."

I frown. I can't catch myself before I do it.

"That good, huh?" Jack says.

"Well, it started off good. Really good. In fact, I went home with him."

Now, it's Jack's turn to frown.

"But Phil didn't stick around the next morning. He nearly just rushed me out of there."

"Was he in a hurry for something?"

"Not really. He just had class, which he didn't have to go to, and then he said he wanted to meet up with his guy friends afterwards."

"He had plans?"

"Didn't sound like it."

"Oh." Jack falls silent. I knew he would understand. I had thought that maybe it was me. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I shouldn't have expected Phil to stay with me that morning. But that couldn't change the way I felt about it. And now seeing Jack's response to that validates my feelings.

Thank you, Jack.

"Well…" Jack says, "whose idea was it to go back to his place?"

"Mine. It was my idea. It was my choice. And I don't regret it. Or maybe I do."

Jack looks pained. As if he was there with me, experiencing my feelings. For a moment, I think he might even cry. Wow, what an incredible guy Jack is. He's always been such a good friend.

"But I'm fine," I say. "I actually saw Phil Tuesday. At work. Asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner. I told him maybe, tried to talk a bit. Same old story - he could talk about general things, but nothing about himself. So I knew…I knew he just wanted to see me…because he thought if we got together again…"

Jack looks at me, with tears in his eyes again. I hate pity, but right now it feels appropriate. For whatever reason. He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Christine, some people…sometimes people make choices, and there's nothing you can do to change that. It's not you. It's him. It's all him. You tried, perhaps a little too hard. It didn't work."

"I know. I just hate losing."

"You didn't lose. He did. And maybe one day, he'll realize that."

I smile. Jack always knows exactly what to say, and when.

Jack puts his arm around my shoulder now. "Everyone makes mistakes. You just have to learn from them, make sure it doesn't happen again."

I nod. "Yeah. So I told Phil I thought I had plans for the rest of this week. He didn't seem to care either way."

"Don't worry about him."

I smile. "I'm not."

It took me a few days after my date with Phil to realize something. You don't have to win every race. In fact, sometimes, you don't even have to compete.

"You hungry?" I ask Jack. "I'm hungry. Let's get out of here, get something to eat."

"Okay," he says. "Did you have anything in mind?"

I look up at him, and smile. "You know, I could really go for a hot dog."