72 hours, but more importantly, 31 hours.

The first time we met, I managed to not make eye contact. His friend was interviewing for a position at the club I teach at. She got the job, and he stuck around.

The second time we met, I weaseled my way across the court and through 20 other pros to make sure he became my partner for the upcoming drills.

The third? We sat on opposite ends of a table in his home--since his friend and I have become relatively close the last couple weeks. We joked a lot, and he challenged me.

"Are you hungry?" -Him
"What are you talking about?!" -Me
"I can cook you something; I have granola bars, too." -Him
"One, I do not trust your cooking. Two, I cannot eat wheat, weirdo." -Me
30 seconds later...
"Are you sure you don't want food?" -Him
"Why do you keep asking me this?" -Me
"Because, you keep eating your hands and fingers--you seem hungry." -Him

Within 72 hours of that evening I had stopped biting my nails and gotten a manicure; 24 hours later, he complimented my hands.

Another 48 hours passed, and a whirlwind of an evening caught up with me, and I left his home--not because of him. As I reached my car, my phone lit up. "If you want we can go for a drink... if you're not too pissed." We drove, and without any direction, we continued to drive. I decided to turn for my favorite beach--a place he had not been. Two hours later, we walked along the full-moon-lit shoreline back to my car. We drove back to my work and sat while we talked and ate Snickers icecream.

Fast forward 32 hours. We have been shopping for specifics--swimsuits to take to Shelter Island, so we can swim at one of his client's homes. Shopping does not bring out the best in me--worst actually. It's like me being hungry--I get super annoyed and testy. That being said, on top of the shopping, ole grumpy gills herself (me) was starving. We head to Shelter Island--his favorite place out here--for some Mexican food. Of course, the place was closed. On to the grocery store--which, might I add, we both have a strange love for. Ok, blah, blah, blah.

The next day, we wake up, sweating to death from the lack of air conditioning on the island.

I shower, get dressed, and we leave. He drives me to my home where I cook and we eat breakfast, then he drops me off at work. I'm really confused at this point.

I slept in a bed with a literally gorgeous 24 year old man, nearly naked, and nothing happened. There was one really awkward pop kiss from me, naturally. Nothing happened, though. I couldn't decide if this was a good or a bad thing.

Does he like me? Is he gay? Did I do something wrong? Am I gross? Maybe he was just being respectful?

Well, apparently, he likes me, he's not gay, and I did nothing wrong.

31 hours later... I found all that out.

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