"Guess who is downstairs?" he asks, his eyes twinkling mischievously...
I knew immediately who he was on about. It was the young French guy that I often made jokes about becoming his sugar mummy...
"Yeah, he is down there..."
Well, nobody had to ask me twice. I put on my jogging shoes without socks and followed my friend behind.
I just happened to run into him...
"Oh hi" I say...
He kisses me on the cheeks...
We begin to chat, about nothing...something about shoes and running...I ask him if he wants to go out for a drink.
He follows me back to the apartment, I grab my coat and we go to the nearby bar.
I felt like a Puma. How old is he?
We talk about stuff, he laughs at all my jokes. I ask him if he has a girlfriend. He says he doesn't. The girl I thought was his girlfriend is only a friend. He does not like going to clubs. That's alright, I say. I and my friends just hang out at bars. He won't mind going out with me to a bar.
He walks me home. Kisses again.
I walk around to my neighbour's, another French guy. He comes out and smokes a cigarette on me. I am a passive smoker. We talk about our latest updates on romance. I tell him about the young guy. We both have a good laugh.
Life is sweet.