There have been several emails asking about my Friends With Bennies situation. A lot has happened, so here's the first part:
I was headed back to NYC, excited to get back home, sit on my own couch, watch the endless DVR, sleep in my own bed, hit up my favorite neighborhood cafe owned by the rasta, dread-wearing asian lady. I had lunch dates and dinner dates lined up. Happy hours to attend and friendships to resume. Particularly Steve. Steve and I were still talking, toeing the line between friends and more, trying to pretend there was no giant pink elephant teetering on the phone lines over which we spoke. Now, I was back and the promises made had to become reality. Steve had just moved into a new apartment around the corner from mine. He was excited for me to stay with him instead of he with me. I was excited too, but I wasn't sure if I was excited for the same reasons. I had been sifting through my feelings for him, trying to differentiate between loving him as I loved my MAN and as I loved a friend that happened to be a man. I was starting to feel like the latter which is classic B. Love the chase, hate to waste. I love the feeling of something blossoming, of the light drama of it all. The excitement. But I get bored quickly and once I get 'em, I start sabotaging or growing tired of the time wasted with them. Old habits die hard.
Plus, Steve had major competition. Nothing ruins a QB's season like having the next guy come in and take the team to the Super Bowl. I feared Steve's season was nearing its close.
But Steve was unaware of the possibility of a trade, so as soon as my feet hit the hot asphalt that is unlike any other city's, Steve was making plans. I was convinced I'd know the answer upon seeing him. He showed up that night and just as I'd suspected, the feelings threw darts at me, hitting hard, adding pressure, telling me the decision was already made. I knew what was to come and as he hugged me, I thought the words, realized they were hiding under the surface, ready to reveal themselves. He drew back and held me at arms length, going in to kiss me and the look in his eyes scared the crap out of me. He was all in.
Blackie Collins is a Manhattan turned LA girl with a big heart and a closet full of girly things like skirts and heels. She loves laying on the beach, dogs with people names like Linda, hoop earrings, and sky-high platform heels. When she isn't writing, she can be found scouring blogs, brunching with friends, or enjoying happy hour at any hour of the day. Her true passion is boys. It is perhaps the reason she can't get anything done. She lives in a great, rent controlled apartment with a great, uncontrolled dog. She has quite a few parking tickets, and dreams of the day DVF or YSL decide to slum it with a line in Target. Get it in with her at http://thatbitchstolemyline.com, email her at firstname.lastname@example.org, or follow her on Twitter @blackiecollins.