of finality

You step out into the smoking zone. Your lungs are suddenly filled with smoke, and your heart with anticipation. You haven’t seen A since he made a pass at you and though you do want to know how he is doing, you don’t know how to deal with him. You’re very uncomfortable.

Ironically, the boyfriend is impressed by how quiet and lady-like you look tonight. He loves the dress and the high heels. Why don’t you dress like this more often?

Only if he knew what’s going on inside your head. Is he pining for you, or has he moved on already? You certainly hope he misses you. You wonder how a random (good-looking) stranger on the road came to inspire such emotion in you. You could never have imagined meeting him here.  He looked so self-assured, all you want to do is bring him down to his knees.

He walks in, hi-fives his buddies and walks straight into the restroom.

Crap. He didn’t even look in your direction. The jerk.

You’re tapping your feet impatiently. The boyfriend pulls you close and starts dancing. You sway; you like the attention.

From the corner of your eye you see A walk towards the bar and order his rum and coke. He turns and looks in your direction. He isn’t really looking at you, but you know he’s watching. You put on a show for him. You dance. It’s what you do best. The boyfriend is showing you off, and you hope your closeness is making A cringe with pain.

A few minutes later, you look up and he’s gone. Shit. Shit. Shit. You excuse yourself and head to the restroom. That’s your go-to place when you need to think. Once alone, one half of you wants to do something daring, like kiss A on the mouth and have an affair with him. The other half wants to give up the chase and be good. Trouble is, you’re not even sure what you want anymore. You don’t even care. You’ll go with whoever you meet first.

You step out of the restroom, a little tipsy and supremely confused.

You realize that the two men are standing together. Okay, whichever guy looks up first. You find yourself hoping it’s the boyfriend, which is kinda sweet, but A looks up first and your eyes meet. You wave, trying to look oh-so-nonchalant, but you are very jittery and are praying to god he can’t see through the facade. The boyfriend says something funny and A smiles at him, but it’s a superficial smile, not the kind that made his eyes sparkle the night you danced with him.

Now that you’re here, he looks really tense. Hello, you say, making him blush a deep scarlet. He looks away, as though you’ve just said something very embarrassing. As they make polite conversation, you’re aware that he is staring at you a lot. He’s constantly watching your mouth move. He looks hungry.

You lean on the boyfriend, and he suddenly looks like someone just stabbed him in the eye with a fork. So he is in love with you.

There is something strangely gratifying about this knowledge. You feel superior.

Excellent. Now you can start getting over him.

There’s more to this story.

Here’s how it started. I met him on the highway, and because we knew we were never going to see each other again, we flirted like crazy. But I couldn’t have been more wrong, obviously. I met him again at my favorite spot in town. What a coincidence! And then there was the dancing. So HOT. As is the case with all things exciting, things went awry, at least for me. I think it’s finally over, our little game. It makes me sad that the chase is over, but such is life!