I’ve known Clay for years. We were always great together. We were better friends than boyfriend and girlfriend. I knew he liked me the minute he introduced himself. No, that’s wrong. I knew he loved me. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, maybe I should have, I still hate the saying. I was out with my friends one night and he was there. He came over, hugged me, looked into me, and I felt like he knew all my secrets. He knew some of my secrets, but this felt different. It was terrifying. He might have looked at me like that because my g-string was hanging out of my jeans all night, and I was just another girl with her underwear hanging out. No, it wasn’t that. I felt a jolt. I’ve never felt that before. There was something different this time. It felt like love and hate. No, more like life and death. I couldn’t tell him that. How do you tell someone, “I just saw us dying together.” I had to pretend he was still amusing and sort of handsome. We were leaving the bar and he asked for my number. No, that’s wrong. He didn’t ask for my number. He still had that. He said, “I need to see you again somehow.” I told him I had a boyfriend. This was not a lie. He didn’t seem phased by the response. He kept looking at me and smiling. He said, “I know you are with someone. The truth is, I’m with someone too. I care about her. However, I can’t ever stop these feelings I have for you. I’ve never been attracted to some one like this. I don’t know what to do.”
The next morning happened, and my mind was still fuzzy from the margaritas. I wasn’t fuzzy about Clay. That feeling didn’t go away. Again, I didn’t tell him anything. Well, I told him something about being a great guy, but given the situation, our past, it wouldn’t work. The funny thing is, now, I felt the same way. I wanted to break up with my boyfriend that instant. He might as well of not existed anymore. I felt like the stupid girl from fifteen years ago, falling for guys in the blink of eye. This was even worse, falling for the same guy again, in the blink of a half-dozen margaritas. The man I was going to marry was out there now. He now had a had name and face. A name and a face I knew well. I knew he was dating some other woman, probably waking up next to her, fuzzy from the same margaritas. I felt no jealousy, no agony, no remorse about the relationships that were about to end. I knew he would not end up with her, but with me. It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t waking up feeling superior or feeling like a beautiful super model. It was a feeling bouncing around my bones. No, it wasn’t a feeling. I knew it. I’ve never known anything. I knew Clay was mine. Does he love you? No. He loves me. I don’t even feel bad for her, whoever she is. I wouldn’t feel bad even if I knew her. I finally know something. It’s not wrong, and I’m not fucking apologizing. I’m not toying with his heart this time or my own.