So....what the hell am I supposed to do with this?

I got a call from The New Yorker the other day at 4 a.m. But before I go on with this story, I feel I must brief you about mine and The New Yorkers relationship.

When I was 16 I went on vacation to the beach with my family and my best friend Jamie*. Jamie and I were walking down the sidewalk from the beach in our bathing suits, thinking we were hot shit. All of a sudden a car of guys drives by us and they yelled something at us. We waved and giggled with excitement obviously basking in the attention. We keep walking and we realize that the same car is parked in a parking lot right in front of us. The guy in the passenger seat, James*, leans out and introduces himself to us. After talking for a few minutes, the boys invite me and Jamie to a party at the beach house they are staying at. We are ecstatic.

We get ready. Dressing in our most "adult" looking outfits since we are obviously going to lie about our age. We get to the party and low and behold, we are the youngest people there. I think the average age of the attendees was 21 so we tell them that we are 18 and go to the local community college in Small Town. This is when I meet The New Yorker.

We start talking and hit it off immediately. He is an aspiring screen writer and I'm an aspiring actress so of course we get along. He also informs me that the name of the heroine in his newest screenplay is also my name. I am mush. This continues until I get the dreaded phone call from Step Mommy informing me that me and Jamie have to come home. I immediately feel lame that I have to tell this guy, who is 21, that I have a curfew. I tried to spin it as best I could to make it seem like my Step Mom is a bitch and I have no idea why she is doing this to me. Plus, Jamie is pretty drunk by this point as we are both relative light weights since neither of us drank a lot. The New Yorker offers to give us a ride.

Jamie is hilarious on the ride back, rambling about nothing and just keeps saying "I'm wasted!" so that keeps me busy most of the way. As soon as I get out of the car at the condo, The New Yorker calls my name and I duck my head back into the car. "How about a good night kiss" he asks. I reply "Umm....no. I don't think so. It was nice meeting you though". Did I mention I had a gigantic herpe on my lip at the time? Yea. The last thing I needed was him to lick off the enormous amount of lip gloss I had on this thing.

We exchange numbers and I don't really expect to hear from him again. Boy was I wrong. He calls me and we talk a fair amount and I know that I have to tell him the truth. Here is how the conversation went: Ray: I have to tell you something. N.Y.: Really? What is it? Ray: You might get mad. But it's only fair that I tell you. N.Y.:......um. Okay. Ray: Remember how I told you I was 18? Haha, well I'm actually 16. N.Y.: [really long awkward silence] Well..[clears throat] I'm glad you told me. And you know, this is kind of weird but, I still want to talk to you. I think you're really awesome.

We talk for an entire year after that. Every day. Then comes time for Senior Week at the beach. We decide that he is going to come down for a day or two and see me. I was really excited to see him but SO nervous at the same time. When we finally saw each other, it was extremely difficult to look at each other because we were so used not seeing the other one talk. Well, we're out in the hallway and he is trying to go in for the kiss and I can't stop laughing. It's just too weird! But he went in for it and it was AWESOME! So we spent most of the evening making out with each other.

We met briefly the next day and that was the last time I saw him. We've kept in touch over the years, not talking as much but we still have a connection. Well, we reconnected last fall since we were both single again. He had since moved to California to pursue his professional golfing career. At one point he offered to pay for a plane ticket for me to go out and see him but that worried me a little so I politely declined. As time went on, we talked less and less and in the late winter he told me he had a girlfriend. I heard from him again in the spring when he told me he was moving to South Carolina with her. I was a little surprised at the strong feeling of jealousy that I felt.

Now brings us to the present. Before I received the 4 a.m. phone call, The New Yorker texted me a few nights before and told me that he felt like he had made a mistake moving with The GF. I asked why and he told me that he lost interest and just wasn't happy. Then he says "is it wrong that I keep thinking about you and all I want to do is see you and make love to you all night long?" I had no clue how to respond so I think I just said something like "I'm sorry things aren't working out". I didn't hear from him after that so I just wrote it off to drunk texting.

The phone call. I ignored it since it was so late/early and figured that he's just leave me a message. Well he did. I listened to the message and this is what it said verbatim: "Ray. What's up? What's up, baby? Sorry I'm calling so late. It's like, 4:30, 5 o'clock in the morning. I, uh, broke up with [The GF] tonight. A few hours ago actually. I am in a shitty little motel. I'm actually gonna be heading back up to New York for a few days so she can move her stuff out of my place. I, uh, wanna see you. Maybe I could stop by on the way to New York. I don't know where you are or what you're doing. Maybe on the way back, I don't know but I am just calling to give you a heads up. Anyways, I do miss you and I definitely wanna see you. It's... me and you have one of those weird things going on. It's odd but it's definitely great. So give me a call tomorrow and let me know what's up. Okay? I'll talk to you later, sweetie."

What. The. Hell.

What am I supposed to do with this?! I mean I want to see him but....whoa. I don't know how to think, I don't know how to feel, I don't know what to do. Mother says to make time and to see him. It's obviously fate and we do have a weird connection. Maybe this is our chance? The realist in me is thinking "pfft. You're kind of a rebound. He did just break up with her". My libido is screaming "DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!"

Any input? Ray

*names have been changed