I call you Hot Guy to my friends.
I've been noticing you for a few months now. Every now and then, we'll work out next to each other, so I know we look good together.
But I'm one of those girls who thinks maybe ... just maybe ... you might be too hot for me.
Thus, it took a whole lot of courage to look you dead in the eye last week and say 'hi.'
Man, your face lit up like a Christmas tree, which only made me smile bigger.
Did you sit next to me tonight to hit your biceps on purpose then?
Let me tell you ... it took every fiber in my being to pull my headphones out of me ears and hit you with that deadly opener: "I sure hope you didn't bike over here tonight."
After all, it is 21-below Celsius. Positively frigid, like an old boyfriend. Bahahaha!
He laughs, smiles and says, "Yup."
What ensued was a fairly innocuous conversation about the weather but one in which we both divulged some information about ourselves.
We're both grumpy about people who don't know how to drive in winter. Oh hell, who isn't?
I admitted I just ditched my sweet sports car for an SUV.
You tell me you actually biked to school this morning.
Grr, a tidbit of information that leaves me wanting to know more ... are you a teacher? One of those people I actually admire because of the incredible patience required to deal with idiot kids?
Or are you a student, taking your life in a new path at a later age because you finally have it all figured out?
And what in hell would my fingernails look like digging into those massive shoulders?
Time is running out ... my membership runs out on March 9 and I'll be heading over to another gym, one with better equipment.
But one without you.
Will I have the guts to hand you my digits? Not something I've ever done before.
They've always sought me out ...
Maybe the winds of change are blowing, though.
And that's never a bad thing.