“Aren’t you, like, a broken man?” I asked, my hand protectively covering my lips. “Probably,” he conceded.
I don't remember when I first developed a crush on him, just that after enough sightings in our small D.C. neighborhood, he had slowly moved to the center of my frame. He started showing up at my friends' parties and popping up on my email chains. I’d often see him riding his bike around town, helmetless. I knew he had a girlfriend. I was pretty sure he didn’t know my name.
When I received confirmation that he was officially single, I didn’t make any sudden moves. But our hangouts started happening pretty organically, and soon they were stretching late into the night. Once, after a night out drinking and dancing, I invited him up to my apartment for a nightcap. We sat on my bed, not drinking our drinks. He leaned over to kiss me. I stopped him short.