But I tended not to date men who ever showed up for me.

Unfortunately, he still hadn’t asked for my number, or a date, or my hand in marriage, and my drink was getting low.

He told me that when we first met, he had said to a friend about me: “If I get that girl’s number I will never ask another girl for her number again.

I didn’t answer. We were not buddies. We could not chat about the proximity of our offices, or football, or forgiveness.

She refused to be one of those girls who fell for a pretty face that just white-washed a total jack-ass underneath. She could ogle, but she would not fall until she knew he deserved her.

We kissed each other until we were too tired to keep going. I could still feel him holding back. It was my penance for what I had done to him. All I could do was hope the walls would fall and that I could have all of him again, but I was always leaving and he was tired of watching me walk away. We both knew that I couldn’t stay and that he couldn’t come with me, but still, we couldn’t let go.