I know what I'm doing when I text Scott at four in the morning.
He knows what I'm doing, too.
That's why he shows up twenty-three minutes later, freshly showered with a condom in his pocket and a barely dissolved breath mint on his tongue.
I smirk as he looms over me. "You are such a dirty old man."
"We need to stop doing this."
"Why?"
"Because you're twenty-one and I'm not. Because I want to take you on a f***ing date and...