who are you?

Seven months after Bubbles vanished from my life following one sexy night together, he casually reemerged with a text: “How you been? I’m living in LA now.” It was a welcome surprise. He’d told me he planned to move to the west coast, but I didn’t know exactly when.

After establishing that we lived near each other, he texted me, “I’ll come see you soon.” I thought it was ballsy that he didn’t bother to ask if I wanted to see him.

When I let him into my apartment building one week later, the first thing he said was, “I missed you.” Another bold statement. Could he really have missed me when we’d fucked just once? Whatever. It was a hot thing to say. And it let me know what kind of guy he was — self-assured, smooth… and maybe full of shit. Typical fuckboy traits. Under the harsh yellow light of the elevator, I noticed whiteheads on his nose and thought, See, he’s human. No need to feel nervous.

Once we were inside my apartment, we briefly caught up on each other’s lives before hooking up for the second time, which was just as satisfying as the first. Maybe more. At one point, while we were lying in bed, Bubs remarked that we had “so much chemistry.” I felt it too and was glad we were on the same page.

He seemed more talkative and personable this time around. He voluntarily relayed stories from his recent travels, welcoming me to look at photos from his trip on his phone. It caught me off guard. The guy I had previously written off as one-dimensional was turning out to be dynamic and endearing. 

“You gave me fuckboy vibes before. And I’m not saying you’re not a fuckboy…” I prefaced before telling him, “But, you’re actually…engaging, you know?”

Bubs laughed and said, “Yeah, I know.” His tone told me he was well aware of his charm. It was a shift from the version of him I’d experienced during our initial hookup in the spring. Now it was November and I would soon fly home to New Jersey to spend time with my family. 

A friend told me it was good that I was leaving. “Probably best that way,” she’d said. “Let the tension build a little.” I agreed. Having space allowed me to keep my emotions at bay. But who was I kidding? If this became a regular thing — long nights of lusty sex — it would only be a matter of time before I’d become attached.

When I got back to LA a month later, I reached out to Bubbles and saw him for a third time

When I got back to LA a month later, I reached out to Bubbles and saw him for a third time. Afterward, I wasn’t sure where we stood. Would we keep hooking up on a regular basis, or would it be sporadic? Would it end at a three-night-stand? I could take it or leave it. I was still in that emotionally safe space at the beginning of a situation — when nothing is at stake because I just don’t care that much.

When he hit me up one week later, I went to his spot for the first time. “Come sleep at my place,” he’d texted me. “I’ll get you Uber.” It was another gesture that made me think I might’ve been wrong about my initial assessment of his character.

This time I didn’t feel as nervous. I was mostly excited to spend more time with him. As usual, we had great sex. I put a finger in his butt for the first time, and that night we slept entwined. 

He would later tell me he doesn’t sleep cuddled that way with everyone. I thought it was bullshit and rolled my eyes. “Shut up. What’s the difference?” I challenged him. Without missing a beat, he answered, “Like, with your whole body.” It made sense. Maybe he wasn’t full of shit.

In the morning I woke up with my head on his chest. “I’m getting such good sleep,” I said in amazement. “Me too,” Bubs said back. I resisted kissing him because I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet. He didn’t care; he put his tongue in my mouth and kissed me aggressively. I let out a laugh and told him he was crazy.

Because it was my first time sleeping at his house, I thought the considerate thing would be to leave early, so as not to overstay my welcome. But Bubbles saw me booking a rideshare and stopped me; he wanted me to stay. After he gave me head and we had sex again, I collapsed into him and sighed, “I’m obsessed.” He then insisted we get food and that he drive me home. This was not fuckboy behavior.

I looked at Bubs differently after that. My interest in him grew. I thought about him more. I wanted him constantly.

I knew where this was going. 

I’d invited him to come with me to a party the next night, but when the time came, I didn’t hit him up — I held back.

I was trying to reel myself in. The following months would prove it to be useless.