I’ve always said that love bumps into you.
David. Ah, David.
Here’s how David and I didn’t meet.
I was stood up and David was dumped at the same bar and on the same night. David, a tall and lanky 34 year old, a handsome man with an infectious smile, deep, deep chocolate eyes, a frame that’s delicate for his height, a former dancer, professional trained at NYU, and the first man that caresses the orchids he arranges, also works as a server at a swanky restaurant attached to my hotel in Charlotte. David and his date were sitting fifteen feet behind me on the night Pup stood me up.
I left the bar that night quite drunk and minutes later David’s date dumped him for a hookup. Veronica, a server I’d befriended went to David and asked why he was upset. She then said that she met me, a world-traveler, a writer, who got stood up. David asked her if I was that guy he saw from behind?
Yesterday, after my morning cigar I went into the bar for a beer and this tall, handsome buck came to me. I was mesmerized. Deep eyes which swallowed me; a smile that drew my laughter; a tall frame I could lean against.
Last night David met me for drinks after his shift. When I’m pursuing a man I have ten hands. And last night I found them on his thighs, his hands, his arms.
We closed the bar and David walked me to my room. In the elevator I asked if I could kiss him?
“Nope,” he said, “we can wait.”
“David,” I said, “you are worth waiting for.”