The Most Perfect 18 Hours of My Life...

We met up in downtown BK at around 8PM Friday night, just for a leisurely stroll to the Promenade. I love it there; used to go with my mom all the time and dream of living across the water in the big city. As usual it was full of couples and tourists and families at the playground. Someone's yard had the sweetest smelling flowers around.

The ice cream place was packed, and the pizzeria had a line wrapped around the corner, so we opted for a little place for a bottle of red and some appetizers. We watched the Yankee game and caught up; it had been a while since we spoke. The crab cakes were delish and the wine went straight to my head...I was feeling good.

We went back to his place. He opened a bottle of champagne (even though he almost had to carry me all the way over- that wine killed me!) and I opened up the dominoes. I beat him 109-59, and he tried to redeem himself with a game of gin (I won best out of seven). He mentioned how much he missed my smile.

Then the wine and champagne decided that I'd had enough and when my head became too heavy to hold up he brought me a change of clothes and put me to bed. Helped me get dressed, even. Didn't try anything, just helped me get dressed and put me to bed. Like a true gentlemen. And I dozed off.

In the morning, I woke up in his arms. His big strong manly arms (GOD I'm a SUCKER for ARMS!!!) and it felt so nice. So I kissed him, and he kissed me back and that was nice, too. And maybe some other stuff happened too but nothing like YOU'RE thinking. Not that.

Around 11:30 we go get brunch on 5th Ave at this cute cafe/wine bar. On the way over we point to all the brownstones we'd love to live in and he promises to buy me at least seven of them before our day ends. After brunch I decide he should walk me home, even though he has somewhere to be at 4. "Only to 15th Street," he says. But I know better.

On the way we chat some more, and he has this thing he does, where he won't let me walk on the street-side of the sidewalk and every time it looks like I'll end up on that side, he takes his big strong man hands, places them on the small of my back, and gently guides me towards the inside of the sidewalk. I see people looking at us and smiling, because, well, we look good together.

We get to the Pavilion and I keep walking instead of hopping on the train. And he keeps walking, too. "Why am I still walking you," he asks. "Because I'm cute and I have a million dollar smile," I say, flashing my pearly whites. He rolls his eyes...but continues to walk me home.

Somewhere along Greenwood Avenue, we joke about my neighborhood being in the "ghettos of Park Slope" and he keeps doing that hand on the small of my back thing that sends shivers up and down all of my parts.

At my place, we plop on the couch- we had been walking for at least 90 minutes. I'd never been so tired. Or turned on. I remembered that the night before, when he was full of wine and champagne he basically professed his love to me, saying that a platonic relationship with me would be hard. And I started thinking how easy it would be to just be his girlfriend- he's totally smitten with me, has a body to die for, doesn't want kids and understands my mood swings like only my bestest friends do. So easy to just give in.

But even with his manly arms and gentleman ways and sweet lips and body of a god...there are just no sparks. I don't like him like that. I wish to GOD that I did, but the fact is if it's not there it just isn't. I've already learned that the hard way.

So in the middle of our almost-mistake, smarter heads prevailed. We did nothing. He had a game to get to. I had a promise to myself to keep.

It was the bestest time I'd had in a really long while.

Just...with the wrongest guy ever.

*smooches...self-sabotaging all over Brooklyn*
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You can't know how happy I am that we met
I'm strangely attracted to you
There's someone I'm trying so hard to forget
Don't you want to forget someone too