Am i dating a bad boy
It was a lot easier to fall for a guy who I knew, on some level, wouldn't fall in love with me. The real risk would be to finally be vulnerable to love. It was that I was scared to be in a real relationship. Peter made me deeply happy, not constantly anxious that I wasn't good enough.
His solidity was exactly why, I realized, I loved him so much.
I met the Brazilian in line for a film screening while visiting Manhattan from San Francisco.
I was convinced I'd found my ideal man: intellectual, witty, artistic, and .
They'd subtly reject me but keep me around for fun, playing games where I always ended up the loser.
(OK, I Googled him.) When I saw his sly smile and unruly black hair, I couldn't help thinking that, by comparison, my live-in boyfriend wasn't quite as darkly seductive or exciting.
Outwardly, I told myself I was having fun and it was just a matter of time before someone wanted to settle down; inside, I started to worry that I wasn't lovable or exciting enough. Sometime after the Brazilian, a buddy observed, " need to be the Brazilian in your relationship." By that, she meant I needed a solid guy I could rely on. She had a point, but the kind of guy she described sounded so boring I figured I'd be better off getting a dog. I passed over his profile, which depicted an earnest guy with bright blue-gray eyes wearing an old Guatemalan sweater. There were no witty phrases in his e-mails, no sense that he was teetering on that razor's edge between genius and madness.
Unconvinced of his romantic potential, I invited him over for soup, less a date than a get-together with an old friend.
At the same time, it made me incredibly anxious: I loved hearing Peter's offbeat observations about music and architecture, watching him rewire the lighting in my apartment, listen- ing to his boyish laugh—but where was that manic streak of irresponsibility I craved? I didn't have to try to pin down an artistic, wandering soul to persuade him to love me, or clamor for his attention.
Without that, the romance seemed to lose a certain thrill.
By our second month of dating, Peter told me he loved me, that I was beautiful, that he liked my shoes, and that he was the luckiest man in the world to find me.