I met Fred the good old-fashioned way. In a bar.

He was funny, down to earth and seemed very genuine, which was part of the attraction. We talked and flirted all night. Oh, and he was hot. Brutally hot. And did I mention that he’s hot? At the end of the night, I went home and immediately started fantasizing about him. Yes, sexually.

Our first date was the best first date I’d had in a long time. I felt instantly comfortable with him, we laughed our asses off, and the chemistry was undeniable. At the end of the night, we made out by the car, and I displayed superior restraint in not molesting him. He said he had to go home and take a cold shower. So did I. Spectacular first date.

Except…

There were a couple red flags. He knew he was hot and he knew he had a way with women (“I feel comfortable talking to them”). This bothered me. Couldn’t he be just a little bit insecure? Or at least modest? I imagined this chick magnet must be fighting them off with a stick (quote credit: Grandpa). Could I handle that? Okay… file that in the back of my head for later.

The evening of our second date, he called at 5:30, left a voice mail. I called back at 6:00, left a voice mail. Did not hear back from him until 8:00. I was pissed. He explained that he’d fallen asleep and apologized profusely. Reluctantly, I met him for a drink near my apartment.

After more groveling (him), the cold shoulder (me), and a couple sangrias (us), I decided to just enjoy the evening. It was fun, though I was somewhat more guarded this time. I could feel him undressing me with his eyes, which irritated me further because I was telling a very fascinating story about swimming with stingrays in Belize. But okay… I did wear my sexy green sweater, so who could blame him?

The bar closed and we did our make-out-by-the-car bit again, this time a little steamier. He said he was working every night for the next two weeks, but suggested he come over Saturday, whispering, “You could make me lunch, and I could make you moan.” Yes, for reals. I said something like, “Mmm, that sounds fun.” And it did, I wasn’t lying. I hopped in the car and started driving home. Then it hit me…

Did I just schedule sex?

And not just sex – first time sex. Suddenly this felt weird and creepy. It would be the third date – a perfectly acceptable first time sex date – but I became anxious and neurotic. What would I wear? What would I cook? We would eat, screw, then bye, honey, have fun at work? No, this wasn’t right. Gradually my anxiety turned into anger and I was convinced he was just using me for sex, like every other guy. He was a self-professed chick magnet, after all.

I made up an excuse and texted him that I had to cancel. He said that’s too bad, but we could reschedule. However, my anxiety had only grown and I decided that he most definitely just wanted a roll in the hay, and I couldn’t deal with that nonsense again.

I had my whole dumping speech planned. I would be calm, cool, confident and honest. I was not going to invent something about moving to Cairo and I wasn’t going to just not call back. I disapprove of games and lies, and I would behave with integrity, even though lying or ignoring would have been easier.

A couple days later, he called and I panicked. When I saw his name pop up on the screen, I nearly dropped the phone. I let it go to voicemail, but eventually mustered up the courage to call him back.

I expected him to say something suggestive and ask when we could reschedule our sex date… but he didn’t. He didn’t mention it at all. In fact, we had a really nice conversation about family, sports, and art for about 45 minutes. I’d almost say we bonded a little. He asked me to go to a play on Friday and I accepted.

Perhaps he, too, realized that the lunch/sex date was too much too soon. Or maybe he sensed my discomfort. Whatever happened, he bought himself a second chance, whether he knew it or not.

I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep with Fred. I don’t know if we’ll make it past the third date. But the lunch/sex date is history and we’re going to a play.