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But after a lot of number two
I definitely liked the sound of that…
Me
Looking forward to it already…
And with that, he read the message and then logged off.
Shame he’d stopped messaging so soon. I was enjoying that. I looked at the time at the top of my phone. It was now 10.30 p.m., which meant it’d be 11.30 p.m. over there. Fair enough if he was working on new recipes, and he did say he had an early start.
I lay back on the sofa and started to think of him. The flashbacks of him kissing my breasts flooded my brain. Oh my God…
It was now Sunday.Almost five days since I’d been back, but it felt like five hundred.
I’d spent Friday and most of yesterday either thinking about Lorenzo, staring at photos of him on his Facebook page or sleeping to avoid thinking about him and staring at his Facebook page. It wasveryunhealthy. Thank goodness I was going to have dinner with my parents tonight. Lord knows I needed a distraction.
I hadn’t heard from him since Thursday and was desperate to. So after deciding that three days was enough time to elapse and not appear too keen, I made the first move again and sent him a message. As before, I tried to keep it light and breezy:
Me
Good morning, how are you? How’s the new group?
You’d think that messaging would have helped. It didn’t. With every single second that passed, I started overthinking about what I’d written, wishing I’d said something better, funnier or sexier and wondering whether I should have messaged him first or waited for him to make the first move.
I know there’s a million rules about this shit. Hundreds of articles have been written about the importance of the man instigating everything and the woman not messaging first three times in a row, or is it twice? I couldn’t keep up with all these theories.
In fact, now that I thought about it, did I really want to? All this ‘playing it cool’ and ‘not being too keen’ was actually exhausting. Surely if there was a magic formula, then everyone would follow it and men and women would understand each other perfectly? I’d try just going with my gut, and if I felt like messaging, I would. Hmmm. But it’s hard to be strong when you’re ‘lost in the sauce’, which my niece Jasmine informs me is the ‘hip’ way of referring to someone who is lust-sick.
The next stage of my downward spiral caused me to log on and off WhatsApp every five minutes just in case he’d messaged and I’d missed the notification. What the fuck was wrong with me? The combination of having time off and being in lust was clearly kryptonite for me. I knew what I was doing was stupid, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. I looked at the message again. The ticks were still grey, so it wasn’t that he was avoiding me. Just that he hadn’t read it yet.
If I took a moment to think logically, I’d realise that it was around 11.30 a.m. their time, and he’d already told me that he was working with a new group, so he must be busy showing them how to make lunch or something. It wasn’t realistic to expect a reply now.
I attempted to pull myself together, put my phone down to one side and went back to sleep. Yes.Again.If sleeping was an Olympic sport, this weekend I would have won gold. When I woke up two hours later, I made a beeline for my phone.
There was a WhatsApp notification. He’d replied with two messages:
Lorenzo
Not as nice as yours
Lorenzo
And no beautiful girl
What does he mean by the second message? Is he disappointed because there’s no beautiful girls there?
I’d let that one slide and just keep it light-hearted.
Me
Ha-ha! Well, our group was pretty cool
Me
I’ve not seen any hot Italian guys in London either
Now I was back to the waiting for him to reply. This was driving me mental…
