There are certain inevitabilities . . . when you meet someone and the chemistry is ridiculous. And it is just out there, acknowledged, no matter how illogical, nonsensical, or absurd.

When you know, you just know.

We make less sense than me and YM, who is worldy and wise despite his age. And who I am officially no longer dating and has become so dear to me.

I’ve been toying with what to call him. Nothing describes him accurately — or becomes too on-the-nose.

Before I name him, I will describe him: he is sexy as hell, but not handsome. He reminds me of a French model or soccer player. He is frequently unshaven, smelling vaguely of cigarettes and booze. He is a writer, and just got his advance for his second book. He is tall and thin, a hipster, but also an ardent and unironic sports fan.

There is just something about him, and not just the neon flashing danger sign.

We know my world is already small. His notoriety makes it smaller still. He is a bad boy, with a reputation as a heartbreaker, who most of our mutual friends think is a total asshole douchebag.

But he isn’t.

Or rather, not enirely. He is a bit misunderstood. He is deep and lovely, and despite a lot of stress and tension, he sacrificed his Friday night to be there for me as a friend.

I met him at YM’s birthday party. He was hot. 6 feet tall, jeans, t shirt, unshaven, bald. Interestingly, I saw a comment he’d made about me without mentioning my name. And I knew it was me because that click was there.

We communicated a little, and he hit on me within four days. I dutifully reported it to YM, as they are friends. YM said “there is no way he likes you.” Uh-huh.

We began communicating regularly, a little under the radar.

We then bumped into each other at a big party. When I first saw him, we had this wickedly awkward moment, we hugged and went to kiss each other hello, even though we don’t have that relationship.

He was pretty drunk when I arrived with my best friend W, and everyone was drinking rather heavily. We spent a lot of time talking and he looked hot. Well, he is hot. And he is I suppose a rock star in his industry, so people who don’t really like him respect him and have to deal with him.

So he is drunk and talking to me with his hand on my ass or my hip, telling me all the reasons we can’t date. YM looked on in the distance, unable to see where his hands were.

That was two and a half weeks ago.

Since then, he asked me out to brunch, for drinks, or to come over . . . pretty much daily.

We bumped into each other last weekend at yet another YM party. He was in the middle of a fight (at this point on the phone) with a woman who’d flown in to see him and was staying with him. The circumstances are a little uncertain and there is still a lot of controversy. I don’t feel like getting into it, but it’s bad and it’s caused a bit of a schism.

Anyway, at YM’s party, I am standing between YM and let’s call him FM, as each is whispering to me. FM is largely upset because he knows that this incident makes him look bad . . . and bad to me. It doesn’t really though because I was getting updates from her friends and I knew what had happened. But he was devastated about the hit to his reputation, so I assured him it would be okay.

He is 7 inches taller than me so he tends to stand close when we are talking. He likes me, so he puts his arm around me, too.  Despite standing less than a foot from us, YM is oblivious.

Since the big party, we started talking on the phone and exchanging texts messages. He flirts with me outrageously and I hold him a bit at arms-length. Friendly, flirtatious but at a bit of a remove.

He is YM’s friend, though he doesn’t know we dated. (We kept it randomly quiet.). But we are both single… And he is hot.

I know he has a bad reputation. He is a bad boy. But he’s really sweet and charming.

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