A couple of days before I decided that I needed to sit on the bench for a couple of games, I accidentally gave my number to Ronaldo.
Ronaldo is a regular at The Bar who I met a while back through a friend. He is Spanish, supports Barcelona in the Champion’s League, is sweet and speaks English in that sing-song way that only Spaniards do. Yet, on the outside, he looks like any other Greek. Short, lean, brown hair, brown eyes.
On this particular night, I was on a high. On a temporary, Real is sitting directly opposite me so he’s definitely going to talk to me high. And so I did what any self respecting girl does in such a situation.
I used that high to attract other males in the hopes that that would encourage Real to notice me.
I chatted with Ronaldo at half-time and before I knew it I had made a bet with him; breaking one of the few rules I actually have in regards to talking to men.
[Never take a bet with a man who you do not want to see naked. Ever.]
Of course, he lost the bet. And of course, that meant that he had to buy me a beer. And of course, he did not mean right now. And of course, now I had to give him my number so that he could call me for that drink at some future date. And of course, by this point, I could not say no.
***
I cancelled on him last week because I! AM! SITTING! ON! THE! BENCH! But, he called again. And again. I had a feeling that he was not going to give up. Seeing as I was not attracted to him at all, I decided that one drink could not hurt. I would either hint delicately or tell him forthright that I was not interested in him, in that way. And that, that would be that. Back on the bench I would go.
***
“You here alone?”
“I’m waiting for Ronaldo.”
“Oh cool.”
“He said 6.”
“I’m sure he’s on his way.”
“Yea.”
“He really likes you.”
“Oh yea?”
“He’s definitely NOT going to stand you up.”
“I forgot my mobile at home. So he has no way of getting through to me if he does want to cancel.”
“He’ll be here. He’s really into you.”
***
An hour and a half later, I took out my wallet.
“You leaving?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“I was supposed to meet someone at 6. But he’s still not here. I think I should go.”
“I think so too.”
***
I got home and there was a lone text message. Sent forty minutes after we were supposed to meet.
I’m an hour away. Leaving now. Will you still be there?
It took all the strength I have to keep my hand from throwing my mobile phone against a wall and my voice from screaming indecencies out the window into the setting sun.
***
If the ones that are supposedly into you, if the ones that are chasing you, if the ones that seem safe because they are genuinely nice guys begin to play the game in this way? If the ones that you don’t even really care for begin to get under your skin in this way?
Then my boots are remaining off and I am staying as far away from this bloody game as is humanely possible.
