The Flaming Letdown

Right. Buckle in, because this one's a bit of a rollercoaster—just minus the seatbelts, and with more accidental eye contact across pubs than is healthy for anyone emotionally stable.

It all kicked off on a standard club night. You know the vibe: sticky floors, overpriced vodka sodas, and the DJ playing a remix of a remix of a remix. I was out with the usual crew, just vibing, when one of my mates rocks up with a mate of his. New guy. Cute. Bit of a belly, but wore it like a badge of honour. Cheeky grin. Hair so good I considered asking if he had a sponsorship deal. Naturally, I flirted like I hadn’t just spilled a drink on my own shoes five minutes earlier.

There was a bit of back-and-forth between us on the dance floor—eye contact, banter, one of those almost-a-moment moments—but nothing concrete. Logistics were against us. I was practically clubbing in Narnia and needed to head back before I turned into a pumpkin.

Fast forward a few weeks. Same group, different pub. I'm mid pint when my mate goes, “Oh, you know that guy I brought out the other week? He likes you.” I nearly choked on my crisps. "I like him too!" I blurted out like I was on some rom-com set.

Numbers were exchanged. Texts were sent. Mostly vague "you coming to the next group hang?" kind of stuff, not exactly Shakespearean sonnets but hey, it was something. I turned up to the next meet looking like I'd just walked off a magazine shoot (in my head, at least), and there he was—doing that flirty grin again.

He cleared a spot for me next to him. Eyes locked. Sparks flying. It felt like the inside of my brain was playing a cheesy slow jam. Later, we headed to a club, and that’s where the kiss happened. Insert heart-eyes emoji. And just like that, he drops a casual, “I could come home with you?” with the kind of tone that’s half flirt, half challenge.

I warned him it was a trek and would be strictly PG. Spoiler: it was anything but. We got steamy, and not because of broken radiators.

Next morning, we shared a semi-domestic journey—him heading home, me off to sport like some post-hookup Olympian. Then came the sport club Christmas party. He was on a pub crawl I hadn’t been invited to (rude), turned up absolutely trolleyed, and we played that weird dance of “I’ll ignore you if you ignore me but let’s still undress each other with our eyes from across the room.” Eventually we gave in. Round two happened. Same plot, different day. Except this time, I woke up with that unmistakable uncertainty, something just felt…off.

I invited him to chill with me and a visiting friend. He said no. A whole week went by. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I was gutted. Properly. Already doodling his name in the margins of my mental notebook like some teenage idiot. When he finally texted, I couldn’t deal. Ghosted him. Not proud, but heartbreak was already hovering like a storm cloud and I wasn’t ready to get soaked.

Then, boom—a month later, a message: “Why didn’t I hear from you?” I snapped. “I’m not a toy you can play with when you’re bored, lonely, or horny.” He hit back with, “ok, wow.” And that was that.

But plot twist! Months later, I get invited to a mutual friend’s birthday. I show up, drinks flowing, and who walks in? Yep. Hair still great. Nerve still intact. He walks straight over and goes, “We should probably address the elephant in the room.”

Mate, the elephant had built a flat and applied for council tax by that point.

I was cold, but curious. We talked. I called him out. He had an answer for everything. And somehow, against all better judgement, I ended up back at his. Finally slept with him. It was…fine. Think: decent takeaway after a long night—not life-changing, but it did the job.

Texted him the next day, hoping we could talk. Lay it all out. Be grownups. He agreed. Then, on the day we were supposed to meet, he bailed. “I’m sick.” Classic. So I ghosted. Again. Emotional fatigue, darling. It’s real.

I heard through the grapevine that he told someone I was the best sex of his life. Which is…baffling. I thought he was distinctly average. Were we even in the same room?

Ran into him again. He came over. I gave him cold shoulder 2.0. He lingered. I floated away like the emotionally distant ice queen I had become. Self-preservation mode: engaged.

And here we are. I guess I found someone who wanted all the benefits of a relationship—flirting, late-night cuddles, emotional intimacy—without the actual, you know, relationship.

And it stings. Not because I wanted a fairytale. But because I thought, for a minute, that maybe this could have been something more than another half-hearted situationship.

Lesson learned: If someone wants to orbit you like a lonely planet, make sure your gravitational pull isn’t set to desperate. You deserve more than being someone’s in-between.

Until the next misadventure in modern romance,Your emotionally bruised but still fabulous narrator 💋

P.S. If you’ve ever been ghosted by a man with a smug smile and suspiciously good hair, I see you. We should form a support group. Or at least get drinks.