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)
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.