After a few days of flirting via phone calls and texts, he was working late one Friday night when he told me he really wished I would have come to visit him at work.
I told him I was big on formal invites—I never wanted to show up any place that I wasn’t absolutely sure I was wanted. So he sent me an email inviting me to his home, right then.
It was 4 am.
My brain was telling me it was a horrible idea; a formal invite for a booty call. But my curious, daring heart told me to go for it, sort of.
So I got in my car and drove. His house was just down the street from my apartment. I wondered if this was a joke, if it was really happening, would he look the same?
I pulled into his driveway, or at least the one at the address I was given. I saw him, standing behind the double wooden doors. I slowly walked toward him, nervous as shit.
He opened the door with a grin.
“Well hey,” he said.
“Oh my God, you’re like… still dressed,” I said. He was wearing a suit.
I, on the other hand, was wearing sweat pants and a tank top, with no makeup…and I also realized I was still wearing my mouthguard (I grind my teeth).
“Well, yes I just got home from work,” he said.
“Fair enough,” I mumbled, stepping inside his home.
It was nice, decorated against all cliche images I have in my head of a typical bachelor pad. There were children’s toys scattered about—evidence of his daughter I’d heard so much about.
“It’s late, let’s go to bed,” he said.
In one giant leap I flung myself onto the bed, tired enough to pass right back out. He paced around the room removing his work attire.
“I need to know something,” he said. “Why did you text me on Valentine’s Day? And please be honest with me.”
I told him the whole story, not knowing what he was so worried about.
He told me a few days before I texted him, he had a dream about me—that we hung out and continued to date. Real, or bullshit? I will never know.
“That’s crazy,” I said.
“Come here, crazy,” he said, pulling me toward him and kissing me, a reminder of the kiss we’d shared a year earlier. It was wonderful.
I pushed him away before anything else happened, and he fell right asleep, snoring so loud…
The next morning, I woke up in time to hit the gym. He walked me to the front door, wearing a t-shirt and boxers with flames on them, reading, “Too hot to handle.”
Ha.
We kissed goodbye, and he asked me if I would come visit him at the restaurant that night. I said I would.
Many hours later, I was nervous as I got ready to go see him. The place was fancy, and always full of beautiful women… it wasn’t a place I frequented.
But I pulled on some skinny jeans, a blazer, and heels, and headed that way. I sat at the bar, ordered a glass of champagne, and sent him a text.
“I’m at the bar, retard,” I said.
He appeared just minutes later. “I thought you said you weren’t up for surprises this early?” he asked.
“It’s not a surprise, you asked me to come here,” I said. He nodded.
I had two glasses of bubbly, before asking for my tab…which was non-existent. So I left a tip and walked to my car; I didn’t see him around.
“Not even going to say goodbye?” he texted me.
“I didn’t see you,” I said. “I’m still in the parking lot…come out.”
He jogged out of the building, searching for me. I flashed my headlights. He came to my window and gave me a kiss goodbye.
I wanted more as I drove away to meet my friends for dinner.
TO BE CONTINUED…
The Bitter Lemon 