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So I kept dancing and enjoying being watched by a hot guy. But he never approached me. I couldn't get over that. I could see how attracted he was. I knew we enjoyed talking to one another. Why didn't he make a move?
And then I did something that still surprises me to this day. And I wasn't even drunk. I approached him. Not in my usual, subtle "go-stand-nearby-and-smile-so-he-knows-it's safe-to-approach-me" way, either. I walked straight up to him, stood closer than is appropriate for people who are friendly acquaintances and said, "Hi".
We spent the rest of the evening on the verge of kissing. Then we walked to our cars and made out for a while. And then I went home and had a panic attack.
I didn't want a boyfriend and even if I did, this guy was not boyfriend material. He was still emotionally extricating himself from his ex-girlfriend. He didn't have a real job. He was too open. I resolved to ignore the whole episode.
Except that he gave me the nicest shoulder massage at rehearsal a few days later. And he left a rose on my car. We had an after-rehearsal drink the next night. He was so damn kind and sincerely interested in me as a person. It freaked me out.
A few nights later, I told the whole saga to my friend Mimi. We were at Happy Hour, and, knowing that she would be going home early to her fiance, the night loomed ahead of me. After a few drinks (too many), Mimi suggested that I call Hot Guy and invite him over.
I did. And despite the fact that Hot Guy was at his normally sacrosanct "Guys' Game Night", he came right over.
And so we began dating.
We got engaged a year later. Two weeks after we got engaged we found out we were pregnant with Ironflower. So Hot Guy is now Hubby, although I think he'd prefer it if I were to continue to call him "Hot Guy". Maybe I'll switch.