The Scot- Date 4

The first time I used Tinder (Tinder 1.0 back in January), I met the most incredible guy from Scotland. He was smart, funny, charming, (all my usual weaknesses). The only problem was that we didn’t connect in a romantic/physical level. I’ve never been more annoyed with myself for not fancying a guy. I’ve fallen for some real scoundrels, and here was this LOVELY guy who was everything I thought I wanted, and there was just nothing….. we went on 3 separate dates, just to try and make it work (all 3 were amazing), and still nothing.

So…. back to the present.

After all the disaster dates I’d been on recently, I decided to reapproach The Scot to see if a stint of crappy men made him more appealing to my weird taste. I sent him a message (see previous post here), and he agreed to take me on a bike ride. I’m not going to lie…. I was excited. My friends were excited. My mum was excited. The Scot was the perfect man in so many ways.

We met at his apartment and I was impressed that he was a home owner and seemed to mostly have his shit together. As he opened the door, his hands, face and arms were covered in oil and he was servicing his spare bike for me to ride. I’m not sure if this was a planned display of sexiness or not. I’m pretty sure there is a similar scene in every great porno, with the mechanic covered in oil. I should have found this hot as hell (he does have nice arms), but my libido was dead and it did nothing (yes, I am annoyed at myself also).

So he gives me a tour of the flat (it’s cute), shows me the curtains in his bedroom (this isn’t a euphemism), and makes me a drink.
We catch up for a couple hours talking about his planned trip to China, his job, his life in general. I’m just talking as much as possible to avoid going on the bikes.
Now dear reader, I’m an above average cyclist. I can’t do wheelies, but can get from A to B quite competently. The problem however is London motorists are notorious “bicycle murderers”, and frankly going on the roads in this city really scares me. I was happy for the conversation to keep flowing in order to avoid the inevitable cycle hell.

At this point, he wants to show me the roof garden, with its 360 views of London. Again, any other situation, this would have given me goosebumps (I love a good view of the city).
The view was incredible, and he points out all the sights. He also rather magically produces 3 juggling balls from his pockets. I had noticed them in his apartment earlier (he has a playful side), but hadn’t commented. He then went on to try and teach me to juggle.  I was shit. We did however hav a beautiful “Ghost” moment, where he stood behind me and wrapped his arms through mine to help me get the hand motion right…. what’s wrong with my body guys? This should have been hot!!! 🙁

So, the inevitable happens and he asks if I’m ready to get on the bikes. Fine. It’s time.
I brought my helmet, and a padded seat cushion (I have a gentle ass), and I secretly wish I had stabilizers.

He can tell I’m nervous so he says we will go to a park just at the end of the road. This guy is such a good guy that as soon as we get to the end of the road, he gets off the bike and walks his bike across the zebra crossing, just so I don’t have to cycle across a busy street. Girls, he’s perfect. I’m disappointed in myself also.

So in the park, he goes over how the gears work. His super fancy bike cost more than my car (which I bought on eBay), so you bet I’m paying attention. I also like learning and being taught something new by a smart Ivy League equivalent is usually hot. In this instance, it felt like a sibling.

So to “warm up”, we cycled around the football pitch. We laughed. We smiled. We talked about movies, etc. he asked if I was ready to try a road yet. I wasn’t. So we went round the pitch again. And again. And again. We probably went round about 35 times in total. The footballers had stopped playing their game and were now just watching us and cheering us on every time I managed to change speed and gain some speed. The children in the play park next to the pitch had taken to betting on who would “win”. I was white bike and the cheers of “go white bike”, “white bike girl” and just “white girl”. This defo fueled my competitive edge. I felt like I was doing the Tour De France. I sneakily looked over at The Scot, and he was trying so hard to hide his mortification in the circumstances. He is a semi pro cycler and was clearly embarrassed by the entire thing. But he saw I was looking, and he just smiled the widest smile.

After a few more laps. We did a little stop by a pond. Where I showed off the Latin plant names for all the plants I knew. And we talked about butterflies (I have a phobia), and bees (I don’t have a phobia), and everything under the sun.
It started to get late, (and I decide to save him the mortification of cycling around in a circle past the footballers again) so we drop the bikes back at his. Neither of us want this day to end, so we decide to go for a walk along the River and grab a coffee. He does what any good guy does in Starbucks when offering to buy me cake (my weakness), and asks the ingredients for every slice to see if I can eat it. I can’t. But he buys me ice tea and we sit outside enjoying the rest of the evening.
Conversation flows so easily with The Scot that neither of us realized where the time had gone and the staff had closed up and removed all of the outside tables (including ours). They now needed our chairs.

It was the most abrupt ending to the most perfect afternoon. And no, reader. I still don’t fancy him. But I’ve made a new friend