Laying in your bed reading a chemistry textbook to impress your long-distance rendezvous was a new low point.

All you ever wanted to do was text him, even though he was probably (inconveniently) the busiest person you knew. Ever since you'd met Spencer at a fancy event, in his white jacket with his wide brown eyes... you'd had no choice but to fall head over heels. Even though you'd both been in rushes, and only talked for a few seconds. He'd managed to get one of his friends to get your number, so he could text you. How romantic!

Scrolling through his essentially empty social media pages hadn't done much for you, admittedly, no matter how hard you'd tried to stalk him.

You'd only really been with him once, and that was torturous to admit, since it was the best hookup you'd ever had. Everything he did just made sense, like you both flawlessly understood what the other wanted without even having to communicate. Dirty texting only got you so far, but accompanied with the occasional phone call? Heaven.

You decided to text him when all the chemistry talk got to your head. Too much of that, too little of Spencer. Drafting texts was hard, because you wanted something witty but still something to grab his attention. God, why was talking to smart people so hard?

You finally settled for, 'Where art thou, why not uponeth me? :(' and hoped that he wasn't with his team. A few minutes later, he responded.

I'm not even in your timezone. I wanna be.

He made you giggle. No man had ever made you giggle. But he wasn't here. You sent him a picture of the textbook you were reading.

Bet we'd have really good bed chem

He left you on read. On read. Had you said something wrong? You thought about that for the three hours you had no explanation, until you heard a knock on your door. Standing there, no luggage, no nothing, was Spencer. The way he was looking you, you knew exactly what it meant, and you were obsessed.

"You still wanna take that bet?" He asked, tilting his head to the side endearingly. God, yes.