The bartender and I met the old fashion way, via a Starbucks line. He spoke and I heard that lovely Irish accent, and immediately asked where he was from. He happily told me Ireland and asked me to sit with him. We talked for about thirty minutes before he asked if I had been to Harvard Square. I advised him “Not yet” and we made plans that Monday to meet for some drinks.

The guy was truly outside my box of guys I normally date. He was only 5’8 and super slim, and already bald at age 32. He did have gorgeous long blond eyelashes though, and a very deep thinking look about him.

Monday after class I headed towards Harvard Square. He text me and let me know he was running late. I was starving at this point and ordered a pizza and beer without him. He finally arrived and ordered is drink. Within 15 minutes of us talking he immediately reached for my hand, and started rubbing it.

Ok I am seriously not that chick. I don’t do PDA. In my longest relationship I never did PDA. We made out once in a club and I saw the photos and knew never to do it again. I don’t mind little things of affection or a peck here and there, but full out hand holding and thigh rubbing in public is not me. Rubbing my back actually makes me more stiff. I suck I know, but I just don’t like it.

After I told him this, his response is that he is a huge PDA guy and nothing wrong with hand holding. We left dinner and he immediately grabbed my hand. Oh no. I snapped it back. He took notice. He took me to another trademark bar in Harvard Square, and this time moved from trying to hold my hand to rubbing my back. I think he was determined to win the PDA war. I don’t know if it was the kamikaze shot, the thick accent, or the exhaustion from school, but I stopped fighting it, in the bar. He also brought on the charm. You are very beautiful, I don’t understand why you don’t have a boyfriend, yadda yadda yadda.

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