Welcome to 29 Dates, where we explore the weird, wild, and sometimes wonderful world of dating. Look out for a new story every day this month.
I honestly had no idea he liked me. I didn’t like him all that much but he was good enough. Tall and kind with thick forearms, honed from playing drums in a mediocre rock band. He dressed well: denim jacket and jeans, with an artfully tousled mop of blonde hair. He was what I like to deem a classic misfire — I’d liked his friend, let's call him T, for years.
That night some unfortunate dancing ensued. S and I exchanged numbers, had a brief flirtation over text, then faded out of each other’s lives.
Almost a year went by and I’d all but forgotten about S until one day I found myself looking for a palate-cleanser.
So when he messaged me on Facebook, this acquaintance of T’s, I answered immediately.
We went to a bar, consumed more wine, and I asked myself back to his place.
On a wet November evening, I found myself sitting opposite S in a Japanese restaurant, eating scallop sashimi and sipping red wine. We talked about music, mostly: the bands he toured with, the egotistic banter that ensued. We went to a bar, consumed more wine, and I asked myself back to his place.
He said yes and off we stumbled. When we got in the door, my heart skipped a beat. There on the chair in the living room was T’s coat, distinguishable by the faded back patch he’d sewn on himself with red string.
"Yeah, how do you know T?" S replied. "He lives here. He’ll be back in five, actually…"
Reader, they were the longest five minutes of my life — followed by five of the most awkward.