They Always Come Back

More disastrous dating in LA

We sat poolside on a Tuesday afternoon, sipping Sauvignon blanc on ice till we ran out of things to talk about. The silence was thick so I busied myself, using my finger to draw my initials into the sweat of the glass, which was only a quarter of the way empty when he stood, came to me, and took me by the hand. He led me through ivy covered French doors and into the cool of his Bel Air mansion, up the stairs and into a bedroom that I can only assume was his.