So I made a bad decision last night.
I know that.
But I did it anyway.
For whatever reason, I felt indebted to Mr. Clean for the roses.
Which, incidentally, are still at Chris’s house.
A guy shouldn’t have to spend $400 on a girl to get her attention.
And I feel like I drove him to doing that.
So I agreed to meet him for lunch today.
He got back into town around 11:00 last night.
He called and apologized for calling so late.
But said that the moment his plane touched down in Little Rock, all he could think about was calling me.
Now I know these are all lines. I do. Honestly.
You guys have clued me in completely.
But I owed him a lunch.
So we meet for lunch.
And I feel like an idiot.
There I am - hot pink scrubs, Nikes, hair screwed up into a semi-twist, barely any make-up, no jewelry save for the diamond studs in my ears and a fish watch that one of my kids gave me last Christmas.
There he is - gorgeous suit, french blue starched dress shirt, silk tie, perfect hair, beautiful smile.
There the restaurant is - too expensive and filled with people dressed like him.
I felt like the double-wide trailer in the middle of the million dollar housing district.
But it was a work-day, damnit.
I had no choice but wear scrubs.
I’ve made the mistake TWICE before not wearing scrubs.
Once I was thrown up on and the second time one of my kids got a nosebleed while he was in my lap.
I was NOT ruining good clothes to go on a pity lunch.
Lunch was really awkward.
I thanked him for the flowers last week.
I thanked him (yes, I neglected to tell you bloggers about this, I had a bit more on my mind this week) for the flowers he sent on Monday and chastised him about the Bear.
Yes, a bear.
To a 25-yr old.
A big, white, fluffy now relegated to the floor of one of my therapy rooms Bear.
Who sends a bear to anyone over age 14????
So after the thanks, there wasn’t much to say.
Small discussion about his business trip to France.
Small discussion about my business’s expansion and the troubles I’m having with the Little Rock School District.
“Wow, this food is really good.”
You get the picture.
So, I started my internal monologue.
“This is great. No one could possibly think that we would ever see each other again after this. This is horrible. We can’t even talk because we’re so uncomfortable with one another. We’re clearly avoiding the whole sex conversation where he stuck his foot not only in his mouth but about 5 inches down his esophagus, as well. This will be the natural death of what should have ended before he even went to France.”
Lunch ends, he walks me to my vehicle, we’re saying goodbye, and then . . . .
“I know I haven’t earned this, but can I kiss you?”
Side note to the boys/men who read me: Asking a girl if you can kiss her is sexy as hell. Sometimes we just want you to be all caveman and just grab us and do it, but other times, like in this awkward situation, the quickest way to melt our hardening hearts is to ask us.
“Yes, but a chaste kiss.”
Yes, I’m a loser and really did say that.
It’s okay though.
Ladies and gentlemen, my toes curled. It wasn’t a chaste kiss, but it also wasn’t a “I’d throw you in the back of your SUV and bang you until your head came off” kiss either. It was one of those long, slow, shallow kisses that makes you think of soft sheets and laughing in bed together. It was sweet and comfortable and melting. I was dizzy. DIZZY.
And that’s when it hit me.
Yes, he’s hot.
Yes, he’s what I’m looking for. . . . .kind of.
He’s not it.
He’s not the one.
Even if he does make my toes curl.
And then he ruined it.
He stopped kissing me, leaned over to where all I could do was inhale his cologne (Acqua Di Gio - OMG, my favorite male cologne!) and whispered, “I don’t want you just for sex. I swear.”
Obviously referring to the ONLY phone conversation we had when he was in France.
Where I told him I really felt that sex was all he wanted and that I wanted more.
Not just from him, but from anyone.
I can’t do just sex.
I wish I could.
But I can’t.
For a minute, I melted all over again.
And then I remembered my own advice.
If a guy has to declare that he’s NOT something . . . or that he IS something . . . then that’s a bad, bad sign.
Never trust a man that says to you “I’m a good guy.”
Never trust a man that says to you “I’m not like other guys.”
And now, a new one to add; Never trust a man that says “I’m not after you for just sex.”
If their words have to speak for them, it means their actions are against them.
And I trust action more.
So . . . I’m not seeing him again.
Even if I still smell like him because we were so close that his cologne rubbed onto my scrubs.
Infatuation is not true emotion.
Not seeing him. Gonna tell him tonight.
That’s the right thing to do, right??