^&^(*^&(*^&(*^*(^(&%&^%^$%$%^&*())(*&)&%&^&$$# (insane unrecognizable cussing streak)
Well damn it. (insert more cussing in some language unknown to man) I’ve a problem. A big problem.
I really thought seeing Hock again would bring out some flaw I missed. That his rude booty-text would have tainted my view of him enough that I would find him repulsive or at the very least unattractive. Or hope of hopes that last time I was wearing some huge beer goggles and would finally see him in a different – less attractive – light.
I got to see him in his element, with his people, and learned more about him.
I f’n really like the bastard. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit.
It didn’t help that seeing him jogged my memory of how well he kissed. He’s got some great lips. Remembering how they felt on mine. How his hands felt.. (pardon me while I do a little daydream here.. )
Or that he was nice and polite.. and unreadable. (I could not read at freaking thing from him. Nadda. Much like the last time I saw him where I couldn’t tell if he was or was not interested. I hate it and secretly love it. I’m a bit of a masochist obviously.)
I wanted to get a moment where we could just talk a little, but that moment never happened.
At the end of the evening, he gave me a one-armed hug just like he did everyone else, and bid me a safe drive home. (so very un-climatic)
I would of course try to have a tryst with someone who despite his booty-text faux-pas fits the criteria of someone I’d actually date.
Next time, I’m going to make sure I can’t stand the guy, or at the very least am embarrassed to be with him in public.