I gave up on Mr. Dapper. I should have known that would be exactly when he'd throw me a crust. And now, I'm in trouble.
Once I started feeling like a experiment (i.e. Exactly how long will a 29-year-old female follow a feral male's trail of crumbs?), I stopped responding to his little touch-base emails and meatless voicemail. I pretended I was too busy for him. I was too busy. Too busy healing my wounded ego.
But he found me. He found me at my favourite Italian cafe. Everyone's favourite cafe. My safe spot. I played it as cool as I could (not very) and filled the air with more stories of things that matter not. Tales of last weekend's party. What so-and-so said that was funny. Anything.
Then, as we prepared to leave and part ways, I busied myself chatting with an aquaintance, and let Mr. Dapper wait. And wait. I intended my behaviour to say, I have more important people to do. But, my body betrayed me by screaming, Touch me! Touch me!
Eventually, he told me he was leaving, and asked what I planned to do later that night. Ohnononononono! I fell for that one before. I didn't assume he was asking me out. Still, he called to tell me he'd be at a going away party for a friend, and that he'd like me to drop by. I played it cool(ish)...again, and told him I'd be busy with other friends, despite the fact that I was desperate to see him. To have him try to win me again.
Good-bye romance. Enter strategy, ego salvaging and self-consciousness.
Then it happened. Finally, he hinted at a real date, and asked what I would be doing Saturday. Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssss, I heard echoing in the void where my heart once resided. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit, said my head. I have to go to an art show, I explained. I'll come with you, he reasoned. I would have said yes to anything. After hanging up, my head reprimanded my heart for getting me in a pinch. It didn't matter. My heart was too far gone to listen.
An art show? It's a goddamn vernissage hosted by the other man I am sleeping with. The one who actually likes me; who blows off work to spend time with me. The guy who made me a mixed CD! The guy who looks at me longingly, and long enough that he makes himself uncomfortable, and I blurt, "We're not dating!"
We're not. I care about him, but I'm not instinctively attracted to him. Still, I catch myself sleeping with him, enjoying the sex, and reminding him that we are still not dating. Enter the guilt. Honestly, I would drop him in a second for a real chance with Mr. Dapper. Until then, I'll enjoy his company and pray that he won't hate me before the end of all this. I mean, he's had fair warning, right? Right?
Ouch.
This poor artist is to me what I am to Mr. Dapper. Filler. A friend. Fun. A fuck. I feel sorry for him.
*sigh*
I have to go to the art show. Alone.
