Sometimes the right people come into your life at the wrong time. And sometimes, the wrong people come into your life at the right time, and even though he looks at you with a devilish grin and says, “I may be a good man…deep, deep down…” you just accept it and accept him for who he is.
There have been a lot of special men in my life since my divorce, and they’ve all ended the same way. A few tears, maybe a lot of tears, and I try not to think back on any of those experiences with regret. I don’t think that this one will ever cause me any regret, aside from the regret associated with my life when we met last year.
So something’s been happening with…let’s call him #Blondie, over the last six months or so. It started slowly and began building very naturally, and it was just easy and effortless, until it wasn’t anymore. I’ll tell that story another time, because I am not quite sure that it’s over yet, and I don’t want to take a wild guess at how it will end. This is about #DualRenner. I’ll call him that for two reasons. One being that I can’t use my actual nickname for him, because it’s too close to his real name, and two being that in a way I can’t really say for privacy reasons, he reminds me of Jeremy Renner.
He’s that guy with the face of an angel, the body of a Greek god, and the touch of a man who seems to be constantly fighting an internal struggle between fulfilling his own carnal desires and knowing how important it is to make a woman feel…well, like a woman and not a piece of meat. He has a tattoo that I find endearing, and I think that there’s something deep within him that’s really wholesome and pure, and makes me want to explore it…
But he’s one of those types of guys who doesn’t answer until he wants you, and plays such a hard game that it’s not even a game.
No, I was not up. Who is up at 4:14 AM?! Well, I guess that is a fair question, because I often don’t get home until around that time. I don’t hold those late night texts against him, but I NEVER respond to them. I’m a lady, after all. I’ve told him this time and time again, but he continues to try, like gentle reminders of who he is and what he wants.
I don’t oblige.
The thing is, he doesn’t front. While I’d like something a little sweeter at this point in the game (referring to the game of life, period), I respect him. I know what I’m getting into with him. No matter how well we get along, or how strong the chemistry is, or how sweet his lips may be when he kisses me, I don’t expect anything, I don’t expect daily texts or goodnight kissy emojis. Unlike other men that I’ve dealt with in the two years that I’ve been single, I’m somehow okay with this because he doesn’t lie to me. He doesn’t lead me on.
Get together for a beer after I haven’t been on a proper date in two months because I’ve grown tired of the cesspool of slime that is the dating pool in Miami? Sure. Without hesitation. I’ll even buy the first round (yes, I did that).
Hold me and tell me I’m beautiful? Sure.
But that is the end of the line.
Honestly? It’s refreshing. No, we aren’t dating. He isn’t wasting my time, isn’t preventing me from meeting anyone that I could potentially take seriously as a romantic interest. He got in touch after we hadn’t spoken in almost a year, and he is the same cool guy I met back at a time when my life was literally in shambles. It’s nice to come full circle and hang out with someone who was kind to me when I really needed that.
I doubt we’ll ever date seriously, but I’m enjoying myself, and isn’t that really all that matters when you’re single?