Lucky Number Three

On Friday, I was absolutely worked up about Mr. Ridiculously Handsome. (Why yes, that's the official new name for Secret Admirer around here. I shall call him Mr. RH for short.)

I knew that we were planning on hanging out of Wednesday of this upcoming week... but honestly, that's several days away. And that was no good for me.

So I used my feminine charms to convince him that it was absolutely imperative that I have a margarita directly after I got off work at 8 pm on Friday. Luckily for me, he took the bait.

Hook, line, sinker.

Of course, it was rather spontaneous so of course I didn't have anything but my work clothes with me. White top, jeans. Completely unsexy. I was actually wearing a tiny red bow in my hair. Totally cheesy.

But I honestly didn't even mind too much because I was just excited to see him. (I know, gag. I don't think it's cute how sappy I am right now. It's insane.)

So we deposit ourselves directly in a booth at my favorite Mexican joint (which I refused to go to on our first date because I know too many people there) and I order us a giant Friday-night-special margarita.

Now have I mentioned.... he's not much of a drinker?

I know, I'm as shocked as you are. Probably even more.

But he swore to me that he's not a non-drinker, just not a big drinker.

So obviously I had to test him with the big ass margarita. Duh.

He kept up with me, which was admirable. And I only accidentally knocked over my glass twice. Don't worry, I caught it both times!

We talked the whole time and I honestly can't even remember what the conversation was about. Family, school, and work, obviously. But I think we also talked about the future and what we want out of life. Deeep stuff.

And, per twitter's request, I told him that my friends had voted and told me our next date should be mattress shopping. He laughed. And then insisted we do it. I declined.

We left the Mexican place and I drove back towards where his car was parked. At first I felt a little weird about driving on all of our dates so far but then I realized I was a control freak and am OK with it.

We chatted in the car for about 2 hours. The windows were fogging up (it was unusually chilly that night) and it just felt nice to talk. I teased him about his age, despite the fact that I promised not to bring it up for the rest of June. Lost that bet.

And despite the fact that my brain was sending out the message kissme kissme kissme what the heck is wrong with you??, I had resigned myself to the fact that it was not going to happen that Friday night.

It's 11:56 pm and I tell him that I turn into a pumpkin at midnight and shoo him out of my car...

.....

(do you know where this is going?)

.....

First kiss. Just like that.

The background music?

(I still feel terrible about this.... damn you XM radio for failing me!)

Teenage Dream by Katy Perry.

Which, in a way, was kind of perfect because I felt approximately 15 years old at the moment.

I, of course, had horrible breath from the Mexican food we ate for dinner and had lost my gum somewhere between work and dinner.

Mr. RH told me later he almost didn't kiss me because he knew that I wouldn't be happy that I was wearing my work clothes when it happened. Smart guy, how does he already know me so well?

He kisses me a couple more times and I physically shoo him away because honestly... give a girl a break here. Mexican food and chapped lips from yapping for hours on end.

It just doesn't get any sexier. Or not.

And that was the mystical third date. Try not to freak out with excitement.