Charlie’s dog Cooper, a black lab mix, greets us as soon as we enter from the garage.

"He doesn't see much company, so he gets excited," Charlie smiles. I bend to my knees and pet the happy pup, telling him hello. While Charlie gives me a small tour of the house, Cooper stays by my side.

His house is more impressive than I could have imagined. Not impressive in a grandiose, flashy way; I am impressed because it feels like a real home – cozy and inviting, and pridefully kept. We enter the kitchen first from his garage, and it is extremely clean. The kitchen cabinets are white and the counters and island bar are topped with dark, cutting block wood. It is actually a fairly spacious kitchen with nice, new appliances, despite the antiquity of the house itself.

As a whole, the house is small, but all of the rooms are very open. A large doorway leads from the kitchen straight into the living room. All of the floors are dark wood, and the walls, an antique white with crown and kick molding in wood even darker than the floors.

Charlie’s living room is rectangular, stretching in length to the wall opposite from the kitchen. In front of a large cabinet, in which a television and speakers are half hidden, sits a plush, distressed leather couch – an intentional kind of distressed, of course. There is a square coffee table, too, and various other classic living room surroundings.

Also in the living room are two large shelves full of books: novels, poetry books, old encyclopedias, biographies. At a glance, it seems that he prefers reading nonfiction.

In one of the shelves, the bottom two rows contain a collection vinyl records. Really good vinyl records, and I finally notice that a record player sits in the corner of the living room, on the wall where we entered from the kitchen. There is a record already on the turntable and a few albums lie next to it, but I don’t see their titles.

Charlie had always kept the music very low in his car, since we were usually talking, and the only time we’d discussed music at all was when he’d noticed Elvis playing in my car. But I can tell from just glancing at his collection that he has very good taste.

Both the front and backyard doors are reached from the living room. Charlie’s backyard is very well kept, like the front. There are healthy plants and lots of trees surrounding the house. There is a large bench swing that hangs from the covered back porch. It looks perfectly tempting to sit in, but Charlie continues the tour.

A hallway from the living room leads us to two more rooms. The first – a door on the right – is closed, and Charlie simply tells me that it is his office. Charlie’s bedroom is through the second door, on the left side of the hallway. Upon entering the room, Cooper trots contently to his large, pillowy bed on the floor in front of Charlie's, and sits down. He stares at me, as if to show off his favorite place.

Charlie's bathroom is entered from the bedroom, and it has been kept as clean as the rest of his home. It features a separate bathtub and shower, and a small, walk-in closet.

“You are lucky,” I say. “This is quite the space for a twenty-year-old living on his own.”

He smiles, tilting his head a bit. I think he feels proud of his nice little home, and it deserves praise.

“I am going to change out of these clothes, it will only take a minute. Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says. I nod and and take a seat on the large bed, folding my arms in my lap.

"You don't have to change if you're comfortable, not for me," I speak towards the bathroom, listening to Charlie as he shuffles about in his closet.

"Don't worry," Charlie calls lightly. "I get my fill of wearing workout clothes. It is a privilege when I can change into something a bit nicer."

I don't respond immediately, but after a moment, I laugh. "I must think very highly of myself to assume that you were changing specifically for me," I joke. Of course Charlie would want to change out of the sweaty clothes that he'd been wearing all day.

"That's all right." His voice moves closer, until he appears in the bathroom doorway. "I like a confident woman," he grins.

Rather than play along with him, I allow myself to stare silently. His soft, brown hair isn’t held in place by a thin band, but is still pushed back in front. He is wearing dark jeans that fit well and a soft looking, white button down shirt. The look is simple, but incredible.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” He says, failing to hide his smile as he leans against the door frame.

"'Suppose I'm not the only one who's confident," I respond, standing from the bed.

He smiles freely now.

“You don’t have to cover your arms when you’re around me, you know. I don't know if you normally cover them on purpose, but I quite like them.”

He looks at his sleeves, his literal ones, and begins to roll them to his elbows.

“Do you really not mind them?”

“I think they're interesting,” I answer, watching as the ink is exposed.

“I’m glad,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “Are you hungry yet? We could make dinner."

I assume that I’ll have to cook, but Charlie offers that he isn’t bad in the kitchen. I tell him that my skills are only sub-par, and that I will feed Cooper instead.

Charlie makes us fettuccine pasta with chicken and salads. We sit, eating together at bar stools in the kitchen. Charlie was definitely downplaying his cooking abilities, and he acts shy when I compliment him on dinner. He notes that he should probably have a dining table, but I tell him that dining tables are way too traditional, and that dining bars are cooler and more innovative places to eat.

During dinner, I ask Charlie how he found this house. He tells me that he's lived here for about six months. Before that, he lived in an apartment, saving as much money as he could for a place of his own. He said that he had driven through the neighborhood one day and spotted the place. He loved that it came with a nice yard, lots of trees, and he liked the layout – small, but open.

I wonder to myself if Charlie keeps his house so clean and comfortable because of his mother’s neglect when he was a child. He said that he'd never had clean clothes, and their house was filthy. Maybe this is why he likes to dress nicely, too, even at home.

After dinner, I insist on helping him with the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen.

"No cleaning. You are a guest," he says definitely.

"Charlie, one who expects the host to cook and clean without help is not a guest, but a pest."

He laughs, shaking his head at me, and finally welcomes my assistance.

By the time we finish, it is fairly late in the evening, and we decide to find something to watch on television. We both admit that we aren’t very keen on TV, both usually just watching it to pass the time or to distract us, so we don’t really come across anything to watch.

“Could we just play some of your records?” I ask.

"Of course. The choice is yours," he says, gesturing towards the shelf of albums.

I stand from the couch and make my way to the collection. I have always wanted a record player, and I can’t remember the last time I heard the sound of a vinyl playing. I select an album – Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the U.S.A. – and I walk to the turntable.

I stop when I finally see the record that is on: Aloha From Hawaii: Via Satellite, an Elvis Presley album. The two albums next to the turntable are also Elvis'.

I turn and look at Charlie, who is staring at me over the back of the couch, smiling. “I decided to get those out after I heard him playing in your car. I’d almost forgotten how good they are.”

I decide to save Springsteen for later.

“Do you want to hear my favorite?” I ask, standing at the table. He nods.

I find the album's cover and glance at the track list before adjusting the needle. “Suspicious Minds” starts to sound through the living room.

I walk back to the couch and settle in closer to Charlie than I had been before. His sits with his back leaning into the corner of the sofa. One arm rests on the back of the sofa, and the other on the plush armrest. His chest is open and relaxed, so I decide to lean back into him, pulling my feet close to me. When I do, Charlie moves his arm from the sofa’s back and places his hand between my bent knees, letting his fingers grip gently around one of them. His hand feels as soft as I remember on my bare skin.

We talk for a while, until Charlie asks if I want to hear his favorite. I sit up, allowing him to stand from behind me. He walks to the table and changes the track without looking to the track list.

“Can’t Help Falling in Love” begins to play now. Charlie runs his hand through his hair and looks mostly at the ground as he returns, taking his seat in the corner of the couch again.

He pulls me closer this time. His fingers begin to play at the ends of my hair. It feels so nice, and it makes me glad that I’ve worn my hair down today. With one of his arms holding me loosely at my waist, I begin to trace his tattoos with my fingertips.

I tilt my head back to see him. He watches only my fingers, his lips parted subtly.

“Does that feel good?” I ask, and he nods slowly.

“I like that you’re playing with my hair, too.”

His hand had stopped moving in my hair when I began tracing, but he starts again, and I bite my lip, smiling to myself.

“You can ask about them,” he says, referring to his tattoos. "I will tell you their meanings."

“They have meaning?” I say, “I figured you only got them to intimidate people.” I giggle quickly, so he doesn’t think for a second that I’m serious.

Then, rather suddenly, I climb up into his lap, my bent knees on either side of his legs. I gently take his arms in my hands, willing him to move so that I may study them in front of me.

His breath peaks, but I pretend to be carefully choosing a tattoo to ask about. “How about... this one,” I begin to point, but he leans forward quickly, taking my head into his hands.

It’s the first time we’ve kissed, and even though there is passion and want between us, it feels very natural too, like I must’ve been here a thousand times before.

Our kiss is hard, shockingly so, considering how careful Charlie is around me. His lips begin to move to my jaw and down my neck, and I sigh and tilt my face up, wanting to feel them on as much of my neck as possible. His hands have already moved to my legs. No part of me wants to stop him, or second guess where we're headed. It feels natural and right.

His kisses start to soften on my neck and his hands move up to my waist. “Stella,” he whispers against my skin. “Stella, you don’t need to feel pressure to do anything. We can just hang out and then go to sleep. I won’t be upset, I just–"

Without thinking, I reach down, between us, and he falls silent at my touch. His lips are still at my neck, and he kisses me again and again. I'm rarely so bold, but I want Charlie to be quiet, mind and mouth, and stop feeling like he is corrupting me.

I hear the scratching sound of the needle moving off of the record – one album's end. I wrap my arms around Charlie's neck just as his lips leave my skin. “Can we go-”

Before I can finish, Charlie’s is standing from the couch, lifting me at the same time.

My legs wrap tightly around his waist and my lips move along his jaw as he carries me effortlessly to his bedroom and lays me gently on the mattress. The light from the hallway spills in through the open door, but the bedroom itself is very dark.

I lie on my back while Charlie stands between my legs, which dangle at my knees from the bedside. He rests his hands on my lower waist, giving us both a moment to think. Or perhaps he is thinking – I focus mostly on his rosy lips. Now slightly swollen, they appear even softer than usual.

“Stella, I want you – so much. I just don’t want you to think that this is all I want.”

“Charlie, I know. I trust you,” I say, lifting myself from the mattress to reach him.

Before Charlie, I was only ever with Jason like this. But it wasn’t like this at all.

There is no pressure with Charlie, no hesitation. He makes me feel better than I believed anyone would or could. I feel so at ease, being with him. He is all new to me, – exciting and exhilarating – but we are comfortable, too. I feel that I can give myself completely to him, and I know that he will keep me safe and happy – something I thought only I could do for myself.

After, I lie with my head on his chest. He brushes his fingers slowly through my hair. Though we haven’t spoken yet, the silence speaks nothing of regret. And for me, it speaks of sleepiness.

I am pulled out of my happy, peaceful state when I hear a specific, familiar ring tone coming from the living room.

“Fantastic, my parents are calling,” I say dryly, lifting myself from Charlie’s chest and sliding off of the bed.

Even though we are alone in the house, I don’t feel decent enough to leave the bedroom. My eyes scan the floor around me, searching for my shirt and denim shorts.

“You can put my shirt on,” Charlie says, sitting up and gesturing towards my feet, to his button down. I am happy that he doesn’t seem upset, like he thinks that I am trying to forget what we've just done by running to my phone.

I grab the button down and throw it on. Charlie is tall enough that his shirt hangs to nearly the middle of my thighs. He remains in his bed, and he smiles slightly as he watches my fingers close the center buttons of his white shirt.

“I am just going to grab my phone and I’ll call them back in here. I know they’ll worry if I don’t, because most nights, I would’ve called them by now.”

He nods and I leave the bedroom to retrieve my phone, which has already ceased ringing. I hurry and when I reenter the bedroom, I notice that Cooper is still lying happily on his bed.

“Oh my gosh, was he in here the whole time?” I ask Charlie, embarrassed.

He laughs as I crawl back onto the comfortable bed.

“I think he's fine, Stella. I'm sure we were politely ignored.”

It doesn’t ease my embarrassment; I only turn and scrunch my nose at Charlie, before laying my head back onto his chest. He rests his arms comfortably around me as I send a call to my parents.

“Stella, hi! What are you doing? Are you still not back to your room? You can call back later, we didn't mean to bother you,” Charlie chuckles quietly behind me when he hears my mother’s excited, high-pitched voice through the phone. She speaks not worriedly, but with genuine curiosity. She would probably cry tears of joy if she knew that I was with Charlie – well, not in full detail, of course.

But I can’t tell her now, or she will never let me off of this phone.

“You're not bothering me, don't worry. I am just lying in bed. I’m super tired though. How are you both?”

“Oh we’re just fine. If you’re tired though, just call us tomorrow. We love you. Sweet dreams,” she says, and I'm surprised that her voice holds no disappointment due to the fact that she won't have the opportunity to ask about my day in detail.

“Goodnight, I love you both. Talk to you soon.”

I hang up the phone and snuggle my cheek against Charlie’s chest. “I hate not telling them the whole truth," I tell him, "It’s just easier sometimes.”

Charlie is silent, and I instantly know why. I tilt my head back so that I may look up at him, and I find him staring down at me with sad blue eyes.

“Charlie, I didn’t mean-“

“It’s okay, Stella. If I had a daughter and I found out she was with someone… like me, I’m sure I wouldn’t be happy either.” He tries to smile, but he can’t.

“Charlie it's not like that at all! My mother has wanted desperately for me to meet someone I like. But she would have asked me a million questions, and I just want to be with you now. They wouldn’t think poorly of you, Charlie, why would they? They aren’t like that, anyhow. My parents are very adamant that they not contribute to my being afraid of people. They feel like doubting my judgment only gives my past more power over me. There are mean, cruel people in this world, and of course they want to protect me from them, but you aren’t one of those people. They would see that.”

“Stella, you have to know that they might be concerned if they knew you were with a tattooed boxer who–.”

It isn’t sweet of me, but I roll my eyes at him before laying my head down again.

“Charlie, I had a boyfriend who used to–“ I cut myself off. “You just... you aren’t going to convince me that you’re bad – for me or anyone else. But especially not for me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him kiss the back of my head and tighten his arms around me.

“I have to be at the café tomorrow at nine,” I say finally.

“I can take you. You can shower here, or take a bath. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“I didn’t bring any spare clothes,”

Actually, all that I had with me in the way of getting ready was a small bag of makeup that I always keep in my purse. I’d left my bag in Charlie’s car though, when we’d walked to trail, so hopefully the makeup hadn’t melted.

“I can set an alarm and drive you back to your dorm,” he plans, and I nod in agreement.

“Do you want to sleep?” He asks.

“Yes,” I say, “If you don’t mind. I am so tired.”

“I'm going to turn the rest of the lights off. I have plenty of spare toothbrushes, if you’d like to use one. I keep everything stockpiled so that I’m not always out of something. Feel free to dig around and use whatever you need.”

I don’t do much to get ready for bed, since I plan on waiting to shower until the morning, when I’m back to my room. After I brush my teeth, I exit the bathroom as Charlie enters. I am still wearing his shirt, and as we pass, he gently takes my wrist.

“Do you want to just sleep in that? You can borrow anything that you’d like.”

I look down at the shirt.

“This is probably too nice to sleep in, I’ll just – “

“I like the way it looks on you. Just wear it if you’re comfortable,” he says, kissing my forehead before continuing into the bathroom.

I lie in bed, listening to him brush his teeth and move about in the bathroom before he returns. I have turned on the lamp that sits on his bedside table, giving him light as he walks around to the other side of his bed. He looks at the ground and runs a hand through his hair. He is wearing only boxer briefs, and I’m happy that he hasn’t put pajamas on, because I want to be able to feel the soft, warm skin of his strong chest as I fall asleep.

He settles into bed beside me and looks to me with worried eyes.

“Stella, I’ve never actually slept – like, been to sleep – with someone else.”

I feel bad doing so, but I giggle a bit at how serious he is. “I’m sure Cooper won't mind scooting over a bit for me, if it makes you more comfortable,” I say, pretending to crawl out from under the covers. Charlie pulls me back with his strong arms, letting his hands fall to my legs.

“I can be restless. I wake myself up a lot. I’m just afraid that I’ll hurt you by accident.”

“Charlie, I am not a piece of glass, you know. If you elbow me in your sleep I assure you, I’ll be fine.”