I’m in that wallowing stage of a breakup. I can’t really bring myself to be excited about anyone new.
An old fwb is conveniently single now too. We go out for drinks on a rooftop bar. I can tell he’s trying hard not to look at my cleavage.
I give him a coy look and say, “It’s okay. You can look.”
He laughs and says, “I was trying really hard not to.”
“I could tell,” I laugh. We slip into a familiar place.
The last time we talked, he told me pretty arubtly that he had gone on a couple dates with someone and needed to stop sleeping with me to see where that went. The night comes to a point where I think he wants to clear the air about it.
“This might sound weird, but I don’t think having sex with you is good for me.”
I gave him a confused look.
“I just knew that having really good sex with you would get in the way of me really connecting with someone else.”
Part of me is a little flattered. “I respect that. And now?”