With a hickey on my neck from Rebel (received while “watching a movie” aka making out on the couch after drinking Boone’s Farm…it was meant to be an ironically high school-esque night…check, check, check!), I met up with an internet guy this afternoon. Oy, who is this lean, mean, dating machine?
Rebel. He got last night off and wanted to hang out and since I do enjoy his company, out we hung. Earlier in the week, he tried to get me to go out on a “school night” and I turned him down, to which he responded that the dorky freshman never turns down the hot senior (he loves being a few years older than me) and I told him the senior should have made wine cooler promises (this is not my high school experience at all, I was a goody-goody, but I imagine that’s how it went).
Lo and behold, last night, he showed up with Strawberry Daiquiri Boone’s. But before THAT party could start, we went to a sports bar to watch a game that was important to him. Perhaps it was having him finally make demands or watching him watch sports (I love me a manly man), but I feel like things with Rebel are looking up.
Post-game, we headed back to my house, put on a movie and the rest is history. And I woke up with a nice little reminder of that history. Gee, thanks, Rebel.
Internet guy. Coffee. Conversation. No red flags. That is all. If he noticed the hickey, which I was hoping was quasi-covered by my crazy hair, he was too polite to say so. Or too busy looking at my ass (just kidding, he only did that once, as we were walking toward our respective cars, but he was totally obvious about it, which was kind of endearing).
Now I’m recouping from the late night with Sandy B. and The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I love her all the time. And I’m getting old.