The next day, Clive texted, “We need to plan a sleepover soon. I want to wake up with you.” Hmm. What did it mean? We agreed to meet four evenings later. And I told my brain to put the brakes on thinking this was anything but casual fun. As confused as I was, one thing seemed clear: Clive is not commitment material.
And so Friday night came. I texted, “So what’s the plan? Are we grabbing a quick bite or just hanging out at your place?” I needed to know whether I should microwave one of my in-a-rush meals—nachos or veggie dogs.
Clive replied: “I’m a terrible cook but I’m putting together a spinach salad and ravioli dinner. All vegetarian.”
Interesting. Don’t overthink this. Don’t ask what this is. Just live it. And so I packed some overnight clothes in my backpack, picked up a bottle of wine and headed over. This is not dating. Do NOT let your brain go there.
Clive greeted me with a kiss and another one of his long, warm hugs. In an instant, there was no place I’d rather be. Easy, boy. It felt so good.
Over dinner and the hours that followed, we talked and talked. Clive seemed to have this desire to know me—my family, my experiences, what makes me tick. He also shared lengthy stories about his past marriage, his ex-partner and his work. I did my best to stay in the moment. Still, I had to remind myself: Don’t ask. Don’t seek to define this. Stay carefree. Stick to the plan.
Eventually we began to make out and Clive escorted me to the bedroom. It had been a lovely night. We’d spent hours learning about one another and now, after the extended hello, we were getting to what this was all about. Just a hookup, I told myself as Clive kissed me.
But my brain is a pesky organ. It always wants knowledge. Don’t ask. Don’t you dare ask!
“What are we doing? I mean, we connected on Manhunt. But then…” Yep, I asked. Of course I asked.
And Clive smoothly answered, “Let’s just see where things go.”
Somehow I managed to put my brain in park for the rest of the night. Eventually, Clive slept and I stared at the reflection of the digital clock on the ceiling. I must have drifted off in a light sleep a few times. Clive pulled me closer whenever I turned toward the edge of the bed.
As I showered in the morning, Clive prepared my coffee with a fancy gizmo and served pastries he’d bought the night before. All my thoughts were punctuated with question marks.
And again, what are we doing? This time I kept my questions to myself.
I headed off for an appointment as Clive readied for a busy weekend of work. We’d see each other again.
Or would we?