A week ago...
3 AM Friday Night... Times Square... Waiting for the Subway
"Um... so yeah... I saw you sitting here."
I was deep in thought, wondering if I should have kissed that guy from France, just so I could claim I had French kissed a French man.
Or maybe that other guy George, who was from Georgia - as in the country, not the state. He was cute, but also kind of creepy. He kept staring at me while I was looking over my dinner menu. I ignored him at first, but he wouldn't let up, so finally I acknowledged his existence and made small talk with him until the guy I was there with returned to the table.
In all honesty, I didn't really want to kiss either one of them. As I explained to the guy from down the shore, I'm not really into kissing guys unless I'm into them. For me, it's not fun unless there is an element of romance involved. Guy from down the shore recommends drinking more for added spark; he insists people become wondrously attractive the more intoxicated you are. As I've mentioned before, he and I approach life very differently.
I look up and he continues on, "Can I get your number?"
I respond with a smile, and a light-hearted laugh. I'm thoroughly amused by this man's bold approach to pick me up from a subway bench.
"Come on..." His nervousness was evident, yet endearing. He had a great smile, actually. "I don't know." He fumbled for words. "Who are you? Let me at least sit down."
I moved my purse from the seat beside me. "So who in the world are you?" He asked as he took the open seat.
"I'm Katrina." I reached over to shake his hand.
"Hi. I'm Derek. Nice to meet you. So can I get your number?"
"Ah, I kind of already have a few other complications in the works." I explained. (By complications, I mean guys I am somewhat interested in.)
"So you already have 3 boyfriends? That's okay. Let me be your fourth."
"I don't think so."
My train started to make its way into the station. I stood up and so did he. In doing so I realized he had to be at least 6'3". I'll admit, he was good-looking. If he had picked me up from a church bench, rather than a subway bench, I would have given him my digits.
"That's your train, isn't it?"
"Come on." He pleaded, "Let me get your number."
"Sorry." I stepped on to the train and the doors closed behind me, shutting the doors to possibility.
(Coming Soon: Part II)