One night when I was 35, single, and living in Charlotte, N.C., I was out at this dance club, when a cute guy approached me. He had short, really curly hair, and a nice muscular build. I wasn't sure that I was attracted to him, but he asked nicely, so I said, "Yeah, I'll dance."
His name was Michael*, and as we started talking, I realized he was a really fun guy. I was intrigued by his job, too. He worked as a helicopter pilot for a federal agency. His assignments were top secret, so he couldn't tell me a lot, but I found the idea that he was always running off to bust up drug rings—and packing a pistol at all times—exciting. It was the bad-boy appeal, except that he didn't seem to be one. Lemondrop: Why We Love Bad Boys (Even When We Know Better)
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In fact the only problem was he was leaving town the next day. "Why don't we get together the next time I come to Charlotte?" he told me.
Instead, we met up in Daytona. At the time, I owned a jewelry business involved with NASCAR—selling little checkered flags and race cars, so we were both traveling a lot.
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*Name and profession have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
Written by Jess Kennedy Williams for Lemondrop.