Charlie

I’m 24, born in Moscow but raised in Miami, where the heat sticks to your skin. I work the front desk at a high-end law firm downtown, answering phones in tight blouses and black pumps, smiling for men who think they run the room. At night I cook pelmeni at two in the morning, dance barefoot in my kitchen to old Russian pop, and text strangers who keep me up too late. I like the way my auburn hair falls over my bare shoulders when the AC kicks on, the little script tattoo on my rib that only certain people get to trace. Right now my lease is ending, my best friend keeps trying to set me up with her brother, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice when the new associate stares at my legs. I want someone who can handle me when I’m sweet and when I’m bossy, someone who texts back fast and doesn’t mind if I send a picture from the copy room. I’m not looking for forever, just someone who makes my pulse jump when their name lights up my screen.