Addicted To Love?: The One Guy You Should Never Get Feelings For

We all know him: the one guy you meet who instantly charms you with his looks, confidence, and overall perfection. He’s talented, funny, and works his magic with no less than six girls at a time. This isn’t a story about me getting hurt. This is a story about me being stupid.

When I first met him he wasn’t the one I was interested in. I was casually hanging out with a friend of his, and he happened to join us for a beer at my apartment. I remember thinking, “This is hands down the nicest guy I’ve ever met”, but my mental assessment didn’t go too far past that. To be honest, I forgot his name the day after I met him. It wasn’t until weeks later when I was covering his show that I started to let my girliness get the better of me. As soon as we arrived at the venue, I turned to my friend/photographer and said with simultaneous dread and curiosity, “I’m going to leave here tonight with a crush on him. Just you wait.”

And I did.

Two days later I slept with him. We hung out at an industry thing, and he was sweet, and gorgeous, and funny, and I enjoyed literally every minute with him that night. The entire time, however, I kept thinking, “This is just for fun. He gets any girl he wants. He’s not the guy to fall for.” Everyone warned me against getting real feelings for him, so I did what I could to remain completely detached from the situation emotionally.
I didn’t mean to like him. It was an accident.

A few weeks later he told me he had started seeing someone, and I told him that was amazing news, half-knowing the entire time that I would likely end up seeing him again in a matter of weeks (this girl also happened to be someone I know quite well, yet haven’t spoken to in years – a girl whose photograph hangs on my wall in the very apartment where he and I first met. Oh, the irony). I went back to sleeping with a guy all my friends hate, and I moved on with my life. One drunken night I messaged him, and sure enough he had already bailed on the aforementioned situation, and told said that he missed me.

Two days later I slept with him.

We carried on a shadow of a relationship that changed depending on how the light hit it. We had really sweet moments that made me feel gorgeous and special, and despite my better judgment I allowed myself to recognize the butterflies he gave me. We went for food, liked all the same things, and everything felt really natural. There was no better feeling than when he would kiss me in public, letting the whole room know that for at least the next eight hours I was his and he was mine. I liked waking up in his bed. I was hoping this one was different, but being the intelligent girl that I am I kept snapping myself back to reality: How many other girls is he doing this with? When will he get tired of me?

I immediately recognized it when it happened. Soon the adorable text messages became fewer and farther between. Soon it was harder and harder for us to make plans to see each other. Soon I felt less and less important to someone who I’m not entirely sure I was important to in the first place.

I’m usually quite good at compartmentalizing a casual relationship: us hanging out in public, us hanging out alone, and us having sex were all completely different arenas, around each I had built tiny little walls. But I let the situation get the better of me, and I can’t quite pinpoint exactly when I allowed him to crawl into my brain and take up residence. I was doing everything I could to keep him at arms length, but he was so disarming that my irrational brain took over and formed a schoolgirl crush like a virus.

I was a novelty that was fun for a little while, which was fine because I knew the parameters of the situation going into it. I could never fault him for what I knew to be true the entire time: this was going to be something fun – nothing more, nothing less. I’m the one who broke the rules. The rational part of my brain was preparing me for his inevitable absence every time I got excited when my phone lit up with his name.

I didn’t mean to like him. It was an accident.

Alex Payne

Alex Payne

Contributor at Addicted
Alex Payne is a writer/editor/blogger living in Toronto, and a complete pop culture junkie, writing about music, dating, and whatever else she wants to rant about. She's obsessed with cupcakes, Kate Spade and The Simpsons. Oh, and vodka.
Alex Payne