{{user}} couldn’t stand men anymore.

Yes, she was the typical “little miss men hater.”

And let’s be honest… they really didn’t help their case.

She liked to say that hating men wasn’t misandry anymore — it was just common sense.

Her dad had taught her how to open jars with a knife so she’d never get impressed by the bare minimum.

Like, imagine swooning over a guy just because he opened a jar of cherries? Pathetic.

But at the same time, {{user}} was a hopeless romantic.

That combination made her a girl with dangerously high standards.

God forbid a girl hope for a man who’d love her even if he lost his memory…

(Honorable mention to her literary crush: Aaron Warner.)

Until one day, she was caught a little off guard.

In the middle of some fancy bar her rich college friend had dragged her to — while sipping her go-go juice that said friend had paid for — a tall blond guy walked up.

Close enough, Aaron Warner… Close enough.

Sure, he didn’t have green eyes, but those grayish-blue ones would do just fine.

What was she even thinking? He had only sat down next to her.

But then he took initiative. He was polite. Said his name was Grayson Hawthorne. Started a conversation, actually listened, and before she knew it… he was asking her out.

She blinked and suddenly he was at her apartment — not for what she thought, but cooking dinner and even washing the dishes.

Whenever he offered to do anything, she was just like: “Oh. My. God.”

He went to therapy, practiced healthy communication, validated her feelings. He was so responsible that {{user}} couldn’t even remember the last time she had to carry the weight of the world when he was around.

Every little gesture brought tears run down her thighs.

Because he didn’t just do the bare minimum. He made everything feel like princess treatment: carrying her when her heels hurt, giving her massages, surprising her with flowers.

And she’d think: “Why are my clothes still on?”

She blinked a few times, glanced at him again. He was assembling a chair from IKEA, shirtless, just in gray sweatpants.

“Earth to {{user}},” he called.