The Story of K, Part II

Last week, it was his voice mails that needed to be disposed of. Today, the candle had to go. The crappy little white six-for-a-dollar cheap-ass drugstore candle. The candle that, until this afternoon, spent the past seven weeks perched on the corner of my kitchen counter, seemingly waiting for K to pull his head out of his ass so it could finally realize its potential. The candle that, on a warm summer evening back in August, represented just why I thought K and I might be in it for the long haul.

But I'm jumping ahead.

Date #1 ended on a rather promising note. K's nausea had passed so he walked me to my car, gave me a hug, mentioned something about cooking me dinner, and said he'd call.

And he did. The very next night. Emailed me, too.

We spent the next few days wrapped-up in what, even in my now fairly cynical and ever-the-wiser state, I have to admit was some damn fine flirtatious e-banter. When it came to keeping me engaged via the written word, K had the goods. But wasn't it odd after such a great first date plus a next-day-phone-call and now all of this email, that there still hadn't been any mention of when we'd get together again? New to all of this dating ridiculousness, it struck me as somewhat strange but, really, who was I to question protocol?

And then, roughly 72 hours after the conclusion of Date #1, I got the invitation I'd been waiting for:

"Come to [name of K's own mid-sized town] tonight for sushi."

I hemmed and hawed for about 3.7 seconds before responding. I advised him that while pretty much every dating rule book would strongly discourage me from accepting his 11th hour invitation (because, after all, it would make me appear too eager, too interested), if he'd tell me where I'm going and what time to be there, I'd be there.

And so I went.

Dinner was perfect. I was nervous. He was charming and ordered for us and commented on how my face changed when I talked about my mother and the sexual tension was undeniable and we sat really super close and I had no appetite whatsoever and he held the door open when we left. Then over post-dinner beers at one of his favorite places where he drinks for free because everyone knows him, he told me a story that was so personal, his "nervous eye twitch" sprung into action.

I'd see that twitch again. And again. And again. And each and every time, I'd fall deeper.

After beers, we walked back to his SUV, he opened the door, and I climbed in. The door still ajar, K leaned into me. Our first kiss was perfect. So were our 2nd through 817th.

Standing on the steps outside of his apartment beneath the blinding glare of two floodlights, "Come inside," he said. (My god he's a good kisser.)

I answered him with silence. (Holy crap, he keeps his eyes open, like, all the time.)

"Tell me no," he whispered. (And seriously, what is happening here with the body? This can not be for real.)

"No," I dutifully responded, knowing that in this single declaration, I was quite possibly going on record with the most insincere instance of "no meaning no" ever uttered in the history of boy-on-girl action.

"You know, I was hoping it would be even just half this good," he admitted.

And with that, as I felt my will and fortitude withering with every kiss, every look, every proclamation, I pulled away from him, smiled coyly and said "See you 'round," praying that my flip tone would betray just how fast my heart was racing, just how much I didn't want to leave, and just how much I thought I could really, really like him.

"If I'm lucky," he replied, displaying a rare flash of modesty...contradicted in that same moment by a very knowing smile.

Later, his text message read: "Let me know that you got home okay. Don't tell me no on this one." It arrived 25 minutes into my 60 minute journey home. And not until that moment, startled back into consciousness by the chirping of my phone, did I realize I'd been driving, dazed, with a shit-eating grin on my face the entire time.

This was gonna be good. I could tell.