The Pursuit of Felicity

Chapter 9

"Give me a ratio." He watches me with pursed lips and my fingers halt on my legs.

I squint as I try to create one in my mind. He's attractive so that's an automatic 10 points. He's funny- another 10 points. He's charming- 10 more points. He's persistent- 10 again. 40/100. I decide that 40/100 is too much to confess to so I decide to make a different ratio up. "10/100," I lie but he seems pleasantly surprised.

"Simplified, that's 1/10," he concludes in a somewhat satisfied manner. Does he know how math works?

"And that's better?" Imagine what he would've said had I been honest.

"It sounds much better to work for 9 than 90," he explains his reasoning.

"It was pretty difficult to scrounge up that 1 if we're being honest." I'm fighting off a grin once the words leave my mouth.

"You don't know anything about me," he justifies my supposed disinterest. "I could get those 9 points, or 90, so fast if you just let me take you out on a date."

"I told you. I don't date." I attempt to be stern but I'm not sure if it's working.

"Then tell me, Flizzy, what do you do?" He leans forward just enough so that I can see the dark freckles dotting along his nose and cheeks under the fluorescent light. Before I can get too into swooning over his physical attributes, I'm slapped with my sister's nickname for me, which is Flizz.

"One, don't call me that," I reprimand with a scolding finger. I purse my lips as I contemplate whether or not I should be honest with him. I decide that he deserves honesty. Perhaps, he'll leave me alone if he knows the truth and we'll both be better off not talking to each other. Besides, he already thinks I'm a player. "If I told you, you'd call me a slut."

He doesn't react the way I expect him to. He laughs in response and shrugs his shoulders. "Okay first, I would never call you that. And second, everyone is a slut at one point or another. It builds character," he comforts me with a short nod. "Third and last, I'd be a hypocrite if I called you that."

"For some reason, I hoped that'd get you to leave me alone," I mumble, suddenly wishing I had something to drink. The Pepsi in his hand looks good.

He laughs while shaking his head. "Nah, it'll take a little more than that. Like maybe if you were a murderer or something." I let out a breathy giggle as I take in his words.

"Maybe?" My brows inch up on my head and he takes in my facial expression before shrugging again.

"Depends on your reasoning." The smile on his lips causes mine to falter a bit. It seems so genuine and interested.

"You barely know me." I force a sigh between my lips as I search his eyes for an answer. "Why are you pursuing me so hard?"

He shrugs for probably the thirtieth time in this short conversation. "You interest me. Sure, there are a lot of cool girls on this campus but I have yet to meet one like you."

"I don't think you understand how cliche you sound right now." I fight back a series of chortles. "Not to mention, you sound like you're trying to get in my pants."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, player?" he teases before growing serious. "I really do mean it. You're obviously very smart. You're funny and can hold a conversation. You're pretty. You know you're pretty. And you say what's on your mind."

"So you feel like you're entitled to date me?" I retort with a small scoff. Though very flattered, I can't help but feel skeptical.

"No, not at all." Cue a strong twisting of his head. "But I feel like I'd regret it if I didn't at least try."

"You barely know me." How does he know I'm smart and how does he know I'm so funny?

"Then let me get to know you." My eyes fall on the way his knees sway back and forth slowly. "Since you won't let me take you on a date, tell me about yourself here."

I can only laugh as I stare at him and try my best not to fall into flirt mode. I know this night isn't going to end the way I want it to so there's no point in putting in extra effort. But it's hard not to when he looks as good as he does. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to tell me." To get comfortable, he pulls his legs into a crossed position like mine. He emits a quiet groan as he leans back and puts his arms on either side of the couch. I don't bother hiding the fact that I'm admiring his physique; at least, what I can see from his baggy sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his black jeans. I avert my gaze to avoid anymore distraction and contemplate whether or not it's worth getting to know him. Maybe if I tell him enough, he'll see how boring I really am and leave me alone.

"I'm a Physiology and Neurobiology major," cue the widening of his eyes, "yeah it's as hard as it sounds, which is why I don't waste time on relationships."

"Ouch." He cringes through his small grin.

"I'm trying not to waste your time either," I try to comfort.

"Then how about friendship? You have friends, right?" he raises the point I shut down earlier this week.

"I do have friends," I confirm with a short nod.

"Then why can't I be your friend?" As if predicting my answer, a grin breaks out onto his face. "Unless, of course, you were lying about being 1/10 interested in me. Or maybe you're scared it's going to grow."

I scoff even though he's partially right. I'm less fearful that my feelings for him will grow but my desire to sleep with him, which will eventually lead me to frustration. However, I think I'm strong enough. "Fine, we can be friends." I give in. Of course I give in. I allow my eyes to roll to the back of my head while he grins at me in satisfaction. "I don't know why you're so happy. You just got friendzoned."

"You've already expressed slight interest in me; you just need to get to know me."

I shake my head at him and silently scold myself for enjoying the attention. "You're ridiculous." I can tell already that agreeing to friendship is a bad idea. Hell, even being here is a bad idea.

"Continue telling me about yourself."

"I'm a sophomore..." I add during my struggle to think of things to say.

"Less school, more about you." He leans back and prepares himself for a summary of who I am. I rack my brain for stuff to say, having suddenly forget literally everything about who I am.

"I don't know. I like pop music. I like to dance. I like Italian food. I have six sisters. I have a dog named Deathtrap," I finish with a noisy exhale from my mouth. He stares at me with a look of intrigue and slight shock on his face.

"Six sisters? You lived with all of them?" I offer him another nod. "What are their names and how old are they?"

"You're not going to remember any of that," I attempt to dismiss but he doesn't let up.

"I can try." We stare at each other for a few seconds and I give in, which is surprising considering the kind of girl I am.

"Rowena is 14; Arya is 15; Jessenia is 17. I'm 19. Nola is 20. Bellamy is 21. Jorja is 22," I list as I count them off on my fingers.

"You're the middle child," he acknowledges as he follows along closely. "Who named the dog?"

"Rowena." I chuckle at the memory before turning my full attention to him. "I can't think of anything else to say. Your turn. Tell me about you."

"I'm an Econ major. I'm a junior. I like rap music. I do not like dancing. I have two sisters and a brother. I have two dads. I am allergic to dogs but I love them anyway," he explains, using my description as a template. The more I pay attention, the more interesting he seems.

"How old are your siblings?" I wonder as I try to envision the kind of brother he is.

"My sisters are 6 and 14. My brother is 12." My eyebrows shoot up as I stare at him.

"Oh, so you're the big brother." He nods proudly and I quirk another brow. "Two dads?"

"I'm adopted," another nod, "if you hadn't put that two and two together already. My family is an interesting bunch to see out in public."

"How old were you?" Is that too personal of a question? He doesn't seem offended or bothered by it though, so I don't feel too bad.

"A baby," he answers before falling into the FAQ. "To differentiate, I'd call them Dad and Pa and no, I wasn't made fun of growing up."

"That's interesting," I admit with a slow growing smile. "You struck me as a momma's boy."

"No, my dads just taught me how to treat a woman." His flirtatious beam matches mine and I avert my gaze when I realize what he's said.

"You know how to treat a woman?" I scoff and follow it with a small laugh when I see the positive .

"Yes, I do," he assures me. I only laugh harder. "You know, my dads would like you."

"Why is that?" I wonder with slightly furrowed brows. People's parents are never elated to meet me. In fact, I'm often been called a bad influence.

"You're a science person. I never was but they are. They're doctors so they have an appreciation for people who like the craft."