I liked his manners. I liked the way he talked about his mom. I liked that he quit modeling to go back to school and find something he really wanted to do. I liked that he knew my family and understood where I came from. I even liked that he stood up to me—sort of. What I didn’t like was the way he had me doubting myself. It had been five years since I’d sworn off serious relationships, and in that five years I hadn’t once regretted that decision. I’d stuck to my rules, had a good time, and never felt lonely, deprived, or hurt. The guys I’d dated casually here and there hadn’t made an impact, exiting my life as easily as they’d entered it. They were nice guys—smart, attractive, attentive, successful. But they didn’t do anything to me. There had been a few wild one-night stands and intense extended fuck flings, but not once did I consider anything more with any of them. That kind of passion just wasn’t sustainable for more than a few weeks, and frankly, none of those guys were very interesting beyond the bedroom.
