I really don't

So there’s this cute barmaid I work with at The Club. I say work with, but we never actually worked at the same bar. I’m always with Blondie and she just fills in once in a while.

She’s pretty, she’s fun and she’s not even 20. I figured I’d try to know her. The Universe decided to make it happen, in a way so effective I didn’t think it was even possible.

A few weeks ago, I stopped at her bar to chat a minute or two, before the doors were opened. Her bar is literally on the way to mine and I kept it very cool.

A minute later, I was chatting with Sara, this tall and hot blonde waitress, who was overly flirty. She’s often like that at 3am when she’s drunk, but it wasn’t even 10. All that in front of the cute barmaid. Once again, I kept it cool.

She added me on Facebook and we chatted a few times. Each time, she was the one engaging the conversation, and each time, I was the one ending it. We would talk for a good half hour when I’d say “gotta go”. But each time, the conversation would go on and I would always blame it on her: like please, you gotta let me go now, I have stuff to do. Playful of course.

Then there was a staff meeting, where we both were. I gave her a nice and genuine smile when I came it, but sat with Blondie the whole time. We chatted a bit on the curb outside when the meeting was over and went our way.

She’s been starting MSN conversation all the time since, even putting herself “appear offline” while talking to me for long times.

Turns out she’s from a small town, far far away and came here for school, in September. She hasn’t made many friends yet and she’s pretty excited about her first summer in the city. I offered to play tour guide, something I love to do. No one loves this city like I do, and knows it the way I do.

Last night, we had drinks at The Drinkery. She loved the place, loved the drinks I picked for her, loved the flair they do over there. As always, I knew everyone in the place.

At one point she says: You’re a real star here, aren’t you?

I kept it cool: Well it’s family here.

When we left, I told her which way to take and I walked away right there and then, without pulling any move whatsoever.

It’s all about logistics. Tonight was about her testing me, seeing me outside of work for a whole evening. She still has one paper to finish before her semester is officially over and she knew she was going home alone and not too late.

Like Wyclef said: Good things come to those who wait.

So she’s coming over Monday to have dinner. I think I’ll take her to the huge fresh market. She might have already been, but maybe not and it’s still something fun to do. You go handpick your ingredients, letting yourself be inspired by what you see. You come home and you cook the hell out of them. This setup has never failed. Not once. I cook well according to any standards, but for a mid 20s single bartender living alone, I cook fucking well. They usually jump me before desert.

But this one, I want to make sure we’re friends before we sleep together. She’s a fun girl I’d like to have in my group of friends. I’ll have plenty of free time this summer and there’s no better way to spend it than with a cute girl. I have very good friends, friends that will be there all my life, but they’re not the people I can spend all my afternoons and nights with. They’re all working 9 to 5 (some 8 to 8, 6/7 ), they live with their boyfriends and girlfriends or they’re traveling the world.

No, spending time with someone new to the city will be awesome. It’ll make me revisit places I haven’t been in ages and will make me do things I probably wouldn’t have bothered to do.

Plus, it’s no secret that hanging out with cute girls attract more cute girls.

There’s two types of player, in a woman’s mind.

There’s the self absorbed player, who do it to tell his friends, who accumulates women like hunting trophies. These guys don’t respect the women they’re sleeping with precisely because they’re sleeping with them. Like, Woody Allen said in Annie Hall, which he attributed to Groucho Marx: I would not want to belong to a club that would have me as a member.

Most women, in other words, the not too stupid and not too drunk women can smell this kind of player come from miles away and will protect they’re girlfriends from him.

Then there’s the gentleman player. The one who sleeps with women because he truly loves them. The kind that respects the women he sleeps with, that doesn’t judge them, that doesn’t get jealous or possessive. The kind that will make a women feel sexy, desired and appreciated when she leaves in the morning, after a cappuccino and croissants.

Most women love this kind of player and even if they’re not interested, they’ll let him get away with pretty much everything.

And there’s no better way to set that frame than to hang out with beautiful girls who you’ve obviously slept with. You don’t have to mention anything, other girls will pick up on the shared complicity. It shows them that you’re used to being with pretty girls, that you don’t idolize them, don’t put em on a pedestal, appreciate them for the person they are. And most important, it shows that you’re a guy who respects the girls he sleeps with, enough to be friends with many of them.

But then again, if after a cocktail or two and half a bottle of wine, this cutie jumps me, I don’t see how I could possibly get out of it. I really don’t.