I nearly fall off my barstool laughing. I’m arrogant? He says yes, but it’s sexy arrogance. What the fuck is sexy arrogance, I ask him. He tells me to think Heather Locklear in Melrose Place.
Not bad, I can handle that. I can be Heather.
The night before I’d gone to a birthday party hosted by Australians I know from my years spent in Sydney. There’s an Aussie guy there that I guess I’ve caught the attention of judging from the glances he keeps throwing my way.
It gets to the point where I’ve got three full bottles of Bud in my hands and I’m unable to literally hold anymore beers. I have to tell him to stop buying me drinks. He’s not even chatting me up, just throwing drinks at me. He’s no idea how else to show his intentions.
At the end of the night, he orchestrates it so that we share a taxi home, despite the fact that it’s a stretch to pretend we are going in the same direction.
The next day I receive a Facebook friend request from him. He messages me telling me that when we were in the cab and he’d gone for the kill, afterwards he’d leaned back and looked at me and said “Wow, you are a really good kisser”.
Right so that’s this arrogance coming in.
New York men are sexy arrogant. They are unapologetic about what they want.