Ride The Wave

Confession: in the wake (is it still a wake 5 years later?) of my first major relationship, I have struggled to allow myself to become invested in my attraction or feelings for the opposite sex. Now, it could be argued that I have not met anyone that has really struck my fancy or given me the stupid grin of attraction that ended up causing me my most significant heartache to date. I appreciate that heartache for the lessons, the growth, the blah blah blah that came from it, but it's no easy feat to lay your heart on the line. This isn't breaking news. Anyone in the dating world can attest to it. Just confessing what I'll call the chief bane of my existence - when I started to get attached in a post first-love-of-my-life world, I tend to have a very real "head for the hills!" instinct kick in.

Attraction, however, is a force of nature. It cannot be controlled or adjusted or manhandled. It is what it is. So, you have three options: you stand on the beach and watch other people have fun surfing, you wipe out from trying to hard to control the experience, or you just ride the wave.

This will be my mantra in the coming posts becuase, folks, I'm in some serious like.

Or semi-serious like.

Date 2 got off to a rocky start - all of which was my fault. I got stuck at work, I messed up the time of the sweet sixteen game I made a stink about watching with SmartyPants, who could care less about college ball (and, who pointedly told me he would root against my team because he likes underdogs - contrary little sucker this boy). Because of the bar I suggested being packed due to an earlier game time, SmartyPants trolled bars for the thirty minutes prior to our official meet time only to end up at a very strange little place in my neck of the woods that I had never been to and which I had trouble finding which made me LATE for the date.

Something about SmartyPants - he has a very real "blankface" that I found intimidating in the first two minutes of Date 1 but that I now understand is some sort of Pokerface. I note this only because I can see myself at some point looking at this face and saying "emote! you're not going to make me uncomfortable. stop trying!"

The game is a blow out and after 1 beer, I pack him into my car with a promise not to rape him and we head to two neighborhood bars that I frequent. The first is packed and blasting some serious frattiness that makes us both head for the doors. We settle in comfortably at the second - and it's good that we're on my turf.

(Interesting aside: when I asked where we should go via text "North? South? Meet in the middle?" he says "I'll come your way this time. You can come my way next time" Already planning date 3, Smartypants?)

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Smartypants is a smartass. As am I under the right circumstances, and hanging out with this cute guy who keeps sassing me with a couple beers on board are the right circumstances. We're relentless in our one-upping and then the conversation takes a slightly more serious tone as we examine what we're looking for/attracted to. He keeps harping on my statement about wanting to make-out with him before I met him, and I try to explain that I'm attracted to a challenge, by the fight, by a little bit of struggle all of which he displayed via text and that I prayed would translate to the real world. I was thrilled when it did.

Red flag: he's been cheated on twice. Trust issues. I'm not judging because of the confession that opened this post. My stomped on heart has given me intimacy issues as well, so who am I to get judge-y (at least about THIS one thing which would be pot calling kettle and all that)

Other than that, we're more comfortable, the conversation comes easier, and the night goes well.

I drive him back to his car and he unbuckles his seatbelt and I unbuckle mine.

"Um, not to be awkward, but why'd you just unbuckle your seatbelt?" he asks with a grin.

Damn! Called OUT.

"Maybe I was feeling restricted by it thanks to all the beer," I counter smoothly.

"Really?"

"Really," I insist, refusing to give in.

"So...you're going to drive seatbelt-less home?"

"Maybe," I say. Don't start a fight with me, buster. I don't back down. EVER.

"Okay, so I'm going to go..." he says, calling my bluff.

"Really?" I say skeptically, calling HIS.

He turns back towards me, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

I look at him squarely, not moving towards him in the slightest, but in fact settling back against the driver's side window.

"Listen, I made the first move last time. Ball, your court," I say.

"Oh really?" he says, challenge in his eye. "And if I don't make a move?"

"Then, get out of my car," I say.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I can play this game longer than you," I say.

Now something sparks in his eyes. Oh, we are alike, I realize. Sport in this, and we both like it.

"I don't think so. And don't dare me, because I'm very very stubborn," he warns.

"Me too. But what if I make a move next time? You're saying you won't kiss back?"

"Yup," he says.

"I don't believe you for a second," I say.

Suddenly he lunges across the seat at me, his face close enough that are lips are ALMOST touching. But not touching.

"I'm not making the first move," I say against his mouth, but not quite as badass as I would like. I WANT to make-out with him. I COUNTED on it. It's why I unbuckled my GD seatbelt. If he hadn't gone and called me out, this would not be freaking happening.

He doesn't say anything but moves his mouth as if he's going to kiss me, still NOT kissing me though. On purpose.

Okay, one of the hotter things that has ever happened to me. Anticipation and such, BUT....

"I'm not doing it," I say, definitely less sure than even the moment before but God bless me for getting the words out. Hormones, I conquer you! You don't own me!

And FINALLY he realizes I mean business and just kisses me. A really fabulous makin out session in the car ensues making me feel about sixteen again, which is probably the last time I really made out this intensely in a car. At some point we pause.

"This is my favorite face," he says, harkening back to our earlier discussion about his little pokerface and much more transparent faces.

"Why? What?" I say, confused and caught up in the moment not wanting to talk.

"This face. Because it's really happy," he says.

I both love this line and also think "oh, what a line!" I choose to not address it and just keeping making out. You're a smoothie, I get it. I still think I unsmoothied you more tonight than the first night, which gives me hope of outgaming you.

Finally we break, because I've been saying for 30 minutes I need to get home because I have an early morning with my kid and a pancake breakfast, swim lessons and gymnastics on the agenda. Also, if I don't stop kissing him, I'm going to jump on him. That would be a terrible plan.

"Get out of my car," I say breathlessly.

"Date 3?" he says, smiling.

"Yup."

"Tomorrow, Wednesday or Thursday," he reminds me of his schedule, because I'm tired of planning all these get togethers and getting grief for them. Take the reins.

"Yup," I say. Get out of my car, buddy, or I'm going to jump on you! Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

He sees it in my face, triumph and that smirk all men get on his face, but gets out of my car.

I don't grin like an idiot until I'm driving away and he can't see me. I might be in like.

I call my best friend, recount, glowy and gushy.

"Okay, don't freak out," she warns, knowing me.

"I'm trying not to. I'm going to...I'm going to ride the wave. Remind me of this. Over and over if I continue to like him and start freaking out."

"I will. Just...ride the wave."

"Ride the wave," I repeat, driving home, grinning like an idiot.