One of my dating-related New Year’s Resolutions is to work on being more “approachable” to men. Like, smiling at a guy I’m attracted to. Or initiating polite conversation with a man I think is hot.
I’m a whiz at doing these things if I’m not attracted to a guy.
Well, today, I resolved to change that.
The sun was shining. People filled the sidewalks. Conversation and laughter wafted through the air. Spring had sprung and I was feeling happy and confident, bordering on cocky. Until I saw H.I.M, standing outside one of my favorite coffee shops.
His dark brown hair, a tad too long, was combed back from his face. A neat mustache and goatee, sprinkled with a strand or two of gray, framed his sexy lips. The tip of a triangular tattoo traveled up his neck, ending near his jaw. His tall, toned body, encased in drab brown, transformed his Muni bus driver uniform into designer clothing.
He looked like no San Francisco transportation worker I’d ever seen. His bad boy image was totally at odds with his profession. And, for the first time I can remember, I experienced that “raw energy” emanating from a man that I thought only existed between the pages of the books I write.
Feeling shell shocked, I totally forgot to invoke I Am Approachable Rule #1: Smile.
As his friend held the door open for me, I thanked him, and went inside. I dropped my backpack at an available table and then joined them in line. All the while, my heart raced and my mind scrambled to come up with a witty I Am Approachable line.
Mr. Sexy ordered his coffee drink, his deep voice sending heat to my stomach.
I remained silent, dumbstruck.
When the owner handed him a paper cup overflowing with foam, he politely asked her to scoop it all off. “I’ll get it in my moustache,” he added.
My tongue became unstuck. Remembering I Am Approachable Rule #2: Say Something, I said with a chuckle, “Then you can do one of those milk commercials.” (Okay, so it was a weak opening line. But you gotta give me points for hormonal distress!)
He returned my chuckle without turning around, giving me a side glimpse of dazzling white teeth.
And then he was gone.
The conversation behind the counter invaded my hormone-induced coma.
“I would do anything to be on his bus,” said one.
“He can take me anywhere,” said another.
Feigning nonchalance, I asked, “Do you know him?”
“He’s filming Mission Street Rhapsody nearby. That’s Benjamin Bratt.”
I frowned. “Who’s Benjamin Bratt?”
At their incredulous looks, I took my latte and slunk to my table. Booting up my laptop, I Googled ‘Benjamin Bratt’ and then clicked on the link: http://www.askmen.com/men/apr00/20_benjamin_bratt.html.
My mouth dropped open.
That was Benjamin Bratt? Sandra Bullock’s love interest in Miss Congeniality? Julia Roberts (ex?)boyfriend? But, most importantly, he was the guy I had lusted after in Love in the Time of Cholera last November?
A sense of pride buzzed through me. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t noticed me. And I probably wouldn’t have said a thing, had I known who he was. But I’d inadvertently practiced my New Year’s Resolution on the Benjamin Bratt.
Confidence and cockiness returned to my chest. Mr. Bratt today. Who would be tomorrow? 