Thingy? I smile as I step out from behind the counter and move authoritatively towards the thingy section. “Do you need a USB?”

“What’s that?” She arches her brow and folds her arms like I’ve asked about a sexually transmitted disease instead of her port entries.

“A USB cord? The USB connection simplifies the process of connecting peripherals to the computer and offers much higher data transfer rates.” I push my thick, black–framed glasses back up my nose hoping she’s impressed.

Her hands move to her hips, and she steps closer then leans towards my chest. My breath catches until I realize that she is reading my name printed on the lip of my pocket protector.

“Na-than?” she half questions, half confirms. “I think now’s a good time to tell you that I don’t speak tech geek. Can you give it to me straight so I’ll know what you’re talking about? I just want a cord thingy so I can hook my old computer to my new one.”

Considering my track record with impressing women, I shouldn’t be surprised that she doesn’t appreciate my vast technological know-how. Looking down at my feet, I desperately wish the phone would ring or something so I could step away for a moment and gather my thoughts, but the store is quiet as a tomb.

I’ve imagined talking and being with her for so long that my misstep has me unraveling. I don’t want to mess up my one big chance to make a favorable impression. I fear she’s already concluded I’m a freak.

When I look back up she has a broad grin on her face. “Cord thingy, Nathan?”

I reach for the USB’s. “This is probably what you need. Do you know if it is a male to male connection?”

“I highly doubt it. Not my computer,” she snickers.

Oh God, she thinks I’m being suggestive with her. I want to disappear. Where’s my cloak of invisibility? I try to regain my composure.

“Well, you can always try this, and if it doesn’t work you can bring it back,” I offer.

She twists a lock of hair with her perfect fingers and considers what I’ve said. “Okay.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope that’s it.”

We move towards the register. Sensing she’s right behind me, I can smell her perfume, subtle and quiet like pears on a summer morning.

She pulls a wallet with a dangling Hello Kitty charm out of her little purse with the really long strap. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twelve forty-nine,” I respond after double-checking the register’s screen.

When she starts to set her money down I realize that my sketchbook’s still open. I yank it off the counter so fast that the pencil and eraser take flight. Then I snap the book closed before she has time to really study the image.

She tips her head sideways. “Was that your drawing?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

“Are you an artist?”

I can’t lie. She may recognize me at work now. “Yeah…well, actually, I’m an animator.”

She lights up, her eyes bright and happy. “Really? I work in animation.”

“I know. I work at Sketch Republic too. You’re Brooke in development, right?”

Good, that sounded cool…believable—like I don’t dream about her all day and draw her naked late at night.

“Oh, you work there too. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. Yes, I’m in development even though what I really wanted was to be an animator. I just didn’t have the talent for it so I focused on what I’m good at. What show are you on?”

“Bernie and the Beaver Patrol with Joel’s team. My buddy, Nicholas, is the head writer.”

“Oh, I love Nick,” she enthuses. “He’s so damn funny.”

“Yeah, everyone loves him—he’s a riot,” I grumble jealously.

“So what are you doing here?” she asks, waving her arm across the rows of games and accessories. “Don’t we pay you enough? I thought animators did pretty well.”

“Oh, it’s not that. My friend’s dad owns the place, and I’ve been helping them out while their manager is out for a few months recovering from knee surgery. I’ve only been doing it on Saturdays.”

She nods. “Well, show me your work.” She reaches for the sketchbook. “Are you good?”

I quickly step back, making my sketchbook out of her reach. “I’m really good,” I state confidently. After all, it’s the one thing I know for sure. I have talent; all my CalArts teachers told me so, and I got a studio job right out of school. “I’d love to show you my work, but this is just my scribbling. I want to show you the good stuff.”

She puts her hand up. “Okay, when you’re ready, I’d be happy to look at your work. You know where to find me.”

Yes, I’d be happy to find you. If she only knew how long I’ve admired her.

“Will you remember me if I ask to show you another time? I mean, you must see a lot of artists’ work.”

Her lips curl up with delight. “Yes, I’m very sure I’ll remember you, Nathan. You’re pretty distinct.”

I dig my wallet out of my back pocket, open it, then pull out the colorful rectangle. “Here, let me give you my card just in case.” I feel suddenly grateful to my dad who taught me to always carry business cards because you just never knew when opportunity would strike.

It curls ever so slightly in her palm as she holds it close to read. She flips it over and studies the art on the back. “Nice card,” she affirms before sliding it into her wallet.

“Thanks,” I respond, trying to read every shade of her expression.

She looks up at me and studies me for a moment. “So what’s with the bowtie? Is this a fashion statement?”

I can feel my face get red as I reach up and touch the bowtie that is sewn into my polo shirt. “No, this is the uniform. Can you believe it? And just in case the employees don’t look geeky enough, this outfit seals the deal. We can’t even wear jeans. It’s high-waisted corduroy pants or twill slacks only. When my friend’s dad, the owner, is here, he makes us tuck in our shirts.”

“Oh, that’s priceless!” she says. “It reminds me of those wild outfits the girls wear at Hot Dog on a Stick.”

“You don’t really think I’d wear a pocket protector of my own volition do you?”

“I wasn’t sure. It’s actually kind of sexy in a weird way. I bet you pick up some interesting hotties in that get-up. I bet there’s one waiting for you in the back room.”

My imagination comes to life as I think of Brooke in the back room.

“Yeah, we better hurry this up so she doesn’t get jealous,” I reply with a smile, pleased that I’m bantering. That book I read on how to talk to women seems to be paying off.

“What’s she wearing…your hottie in the backroom?” Brooke is very provocative.

“Not much.”

She laughs. God, I love her laugh.

“Is she tied up?”

This isn’t helping tame the fantasies I already have about her. Jesus, hold it together man. “Maybe.” I cough nervously.

“You animators are all pervy,” she snickers. “I love it.”

She suddenly gets a look in her eyes and leans in closer. “You know you have great teeth. I’m really into teeth…for about five minutes in high school I thought about going to dental school. But when I realized that I wouldn’t just be in sexy mouths like yours I dropped the idea immediately.”

“Thank you.” I smile broadly so that my teeth are showcased nicely. Her off-handed comment about being in my sexy mouth is creating some wild visuals in my head, but I try to refocus.

She appears to like, or at least tolerate geeks, and she definitely likes my teeth. I’m on her radar now, so winning her heart, although unlikely, is no longer up against insurmountable odds. Now it would just be equivalent to winning the lottery and people win the lottery all the time…right?

She reaches toward me to take the bag and her change. “So maybe I’ll see you at work.”

“Yeah, let me know if your connections work…you know the male to female thing.”

Her resulting smile would melt glaciers, and I feel my heart swell inside my chest. I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. I swear this is love; what else could it possibly be? I want to pull her into my arms and never let her go.