Clint was cupping his hands and breathing into them against the slight September chill. I just kept my hands in my pockets, typical defensive me. I eyed him carefully, trying to figure this guy out as we walked across the quad to our double date.
“So Paul, if I can call you Paul, how do you know Christy?”
He laughed and clapped me on the back, “Ah, you know, high school and stuff. Whatever.”
I wasn’t buying it, “Just another face in the crowd to ya’?”
Clint, as I knew him to be named, just shrugged, “We may have gone out a few times…for a year.”
“So that’s how she knows your real name?”
“Who says that’s my real name?” and he winked before flashing his trademark toothy grin. I could only shake my head. Looking ahead I could see our dates standing under the awning of the student center, the Wilk. They looked the picture of freshman innocence and cuteness.
Clint elbowed me and said through a smile, “Wanna’ see how much I can piss her off?” Before I could object or try reason, he was skipping on ahead.