He was the most gorgeous guy. Bright blue eyes, curly dark hair and tall with a brilliant smile. He was an architect, with a wonderful old restored Morgan. He picked me up in it, and we went for a drive along Skyline Boulevard, the forested road from San Jose to San Francisco.
He could drive, too. He knew how to get the most from his car on the rural road, but he didn't show off or try to scare me. We stopped about halfway, to look at the view of the bay. He held me, lightly, at the windy overlook. I could feel his fit but not over-muscular body. I'm not going to screw this up, I told myself. /node/57054
We ate at Farallon, where they knew him and he knew all about the menu. Then we drove across the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito, to have a drink and look at San Francisco, sparkling beyond the dark water.
All the time, we talked. He was fascinating, but he listened to me too. He didn't talk about himself, either, he talked about ideas. He'd glance at me like he was studying me, hanging on every word. It was unreal. Was he secretly a cannibal? Dating Disaster: My Date With A (Former) Suicide Girl
Finally, we got back to my apartment and cuddled up on the sofa. I looked at him like he was an ice cream sandwich on a summer day. My roommate was out, having an adventure of her own, no doubt, leaving the place to me. Softly, he ran his fingers through my hair. He drew me close.
He was one of the world's great kissers, of course. I could feel my skin start to flush, and my heart beat fast. I started to unbutton his shirt, eager for whatever would happen next.
"It's been a beautiful day, Jane," he murmured.
"It's not over, Scott," I whispered.
His face changed instantly. "Oh, It's getting late," he said. He took his arm away and looked at his watch. "I've got an early meeting, I'm afraid."
He was gone in thirty seconds, and no, he never called me. That's because his name was Matthew.