After breakfast in bed, Andy said goodbye with a kiss. I fell asleep with a smile, bathed in the sun, not a care in the world, southern comforts on my tongue. I woke to a text from Andy; I had an amazing time with you. Ketchup and all :-P We texted loosely back and forth for nearly a week. Nothing too personal, a game I knowingly played, always reminding myself not to come off too needy, too hungry. Even if I didn’t know what Andy was thinking, I still wanted to look good, like I had my shit together, my own life going on, but maybe I just looked like a fuckboy. It’s not like I ghosted him. I’d hold back with the good mornings and good nights and limit myself to maybe a family friendly selfie or a snap of a tasty dish I concocted (he responded “boyfriend goals” to my Coq au vin). Maybe a little flirty text here and there, but neither of us dove into conversation. I had the intention to ask him out again. Second dates weren’t really in my vocabulary. Except once or twice before and each time I realized we didn’t share much in common besides the obvious physical attraction. We ended up in bed, not talking, and ultimately never to see each other again, except on a hookup app, willfully ignoring one another. I hoped it’d be different this time around. Andy – No Dumplings – Thursday 7:34PM can you get out of work tomorrow? What do you have in mind? Coney Island. the two of us. I’ll make it happen <3 I had the urge to send a dick pic in response, like giving him a glimpse of my body fresh out of the shower, the lens slightly fogged over, the light cool would make it all the more tempting to see me. Most of all, I wanted to stoke the fire, but he wasn’t like all the other guys who needed a reminder of chemistry. I didn’t want us to get together just for sex anyways, so I kept my chub in my pants. Friday morning. We agreed to meet on the Carroll St. platform at 10am, or somewhere around then. I was the first to arrive, 30 minutes early to be exact, afraid that the always-unreliable G train would arrive too late and we’d miss one another. I didn’t want Andy to think I was flaking out. I brought bagels; his toasted and mine not, both stuffed with cream cheese gushing over the sides. I also got him an iced coffee sweetened with too much sugar and enough milk that it was almost white like liquefied ice cream, something similar to the sweet tea he said he loved. I took mine black. Almost 10, and a train hadn’t passed through the station in twenty minutes, so one was gearing to arrive, full to the brim with angry commuters, and hopefully Andy. I sat on a worn wooden bench in…