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“Nico didn’t get you into fighting?”

I shouldn’t like her asking questions about my family as much as I do. That she remembers and cares shouldn’t mean this much.

And yet…

“He wasn’t fighting yet,” I answer. “He got into it when he got to high school, and since he’s three years younger than me…” I shrug. “I thought lacrosse was fun, I guess. But yeah, I mostly just liked staying active.”

“And where were you in the social circles?” Charli asks.

“Don’t make me say it out loud,” I say with a sigh.

“Say what?” she asks innocently.

I send her a pointed look. “You know what.”

“You mean…that you were part of the popular crowd? Why on earth would you want to hide that part of your life?”

I sigh again, this one a little more serious. “Fine. I was a hot, popular jock. Happy now?”

Charli cackles at that. “You are a walking stereotype, dude.”

“I was nice, though,” I argue. “I wasn’t a popular shithead. I just…happened to be likeable. And athletic. And hot.”

She hisses and throws a chip at my head. “An arrogant shithead.”

“Well, what were you like?” I ask, eating the chip she threw at me. “Six months ago, when you were still in high school, what were you like?”

“Well, now you’re just making it sound like you’re robbing the cradle,” she mutters. Then she sighs and leans back in the booth, pulling one leg up so she can rest her chin on her knee. “I was exactly who you think. I, too, am a walking stereotype.”

I try to picture teenage Charli in a high school setting. “Did you still have the all-black attire?”

She nods.

“Were you the smartest person in your class?”

A slight hesitation, but then she nods.

“Were you part of any cliques? Or were you a lone wolf back then, too?”

She’s in the process of dipping a chip in the guacamole, but at my question, her movements stutter and she pushes the guac around instead.

“I had friends in middle school,” she says, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “It was in high school that things started to change. We drifted apart and…yeah, I became a lone wolf. None of the cliques knew what to do with me.” She seems to shake herself from the memories because she straightens and says, “Anyway, I didn’t know what to do with them, either. Me and teenagers didn’t really get along. I ended up doubling up on classes and finishing high school a year early so I could get out of there.”

Why did she drift apart from her friends? What happened in high school? Was it something at home or with her friends?

We’ve been living together for a few weeks now, and even though I would ordinarily make an effort to know this information about the person living in my home, my trust in Charli is more inherent—and less specifics-based.

Not to mention, she hasn’t exactly been an open book with me. In the past, she’s shut down every personal conversation almost immediately.

But I’m wondering if today is different. Because this might almost be considered a date; I almost don’t want to point it out, just in case Charli doesn’t realize. And last night, something definitely changed. Could I dig deeper?

In the end, I chicken out. Instead of asking about what happened during her teen years that very obviously triggered…everything in her life, I ask, “I remember your resume said you went to college. Does your degree have anything to do with PI work?”

She nods. “Computer science. I didn’t go to college to become a PI; I just figured a degree was the next logical step. And I knew even then that a computer science degree would keep me employed for life.”

“And you were good at it,” I guess.

She shrugs, digging another chip into the guacamole. “Like I said, my brain likes puzzles. This stuff was easy for me.”