He's gorgeous. Creamy Irish skin, red Irish hair, intense blue Irish eyes ... and drunk as an Irish cop should be on a Saturday night. It's not exactly coffee, we're at the bar with a group of friends. Me, Cosmo's and him, Guinness (I know, big surprise!) He's flirty in a safe, sweet sort of way. After just getting out of a show, everyone is in a good mood and we make fleeting eye contact throughout the night. Never lingering too long. Not thinking anything of it. But as we stand to leave, I know he's thinking more and more about those looks. Those looks that said, I want to take you home with me tonight.
Sadly, I am not that kind of girl. No matter how "bad ass" I try to be, I always fall back on my sweetly predictable good girl behavior. If he wants to see me, he can call me and set up a date on purpose. I am not denying major interest in this 6'1 (6'2???) police officer from the Bronx. He's funny and cute and in better shape than I will ever be. He walks me to Penn station and kisses me good night on every corner from 23rd street to 34th. I leave him my number and he calls it right away. Feeling ridiculously confident, I turn on my high-heeled shoe in the snow and saunter off to catch my train. It is only when I look at my phone that I realize his number came up "Private" and I have no way to call him back :-(
Maybe I should've just gone to the Bronx!!!