The night wore on and we never had a lack of things to talk about, from goofy inebriated small-talk to our station in life and what we're looking for in life and relationships.

I made a special point to look at the back of her admissions tag. She had my business card, I figured, so it was only fair that I know her full name, which is on the back of all the tags. "Shawn Fitch?" I thought to myself, remembering a girl I knew a long time ago with the last name. But that wasn't her name, that was just an assumption on my part because I saw the F and the top part of the T. I removed my thumb and corrected myself.

To the bar, to the balcony, the bar, the balcony, our talking continued. We started making more and more physical contact. I'd say something and place my hand on her shoulder. In the bar She'd chastise me for something and tap my hand, then leave it placed on top of mine. Outside, I put my arms around her and she put her hand on my leg.

Then there was a moment. That moment where the back of my head sends a message through my various synapses with the singular message: "Kiss her."

But I couldn't. My best friend was sitting across the way, talking to us. So a message followed shortly after with the message "Wait, not yet!"

My best friend went back inside, the couple other people left, and we were
alone. It didn't take long.

Once we'd broken that threshold, the evening began to speed up. We didn't really talk about it at first. In fact, prior to that we'd never even mentioned the prospect of an 'us' and, to be honest, I wasn't quite sure if I wanted one.

Shortly after, we were joined by a crowd of people enjoying the fresh air. A young man with a goatee and sunglasses in the dark began playing his guitar for his friends. As Shawn and I slow-danced to "Hotel California," I decided that I wanted this to be for real. I just had no idea how to tell her that.

She swore she loved me and I told her that I'd do the same
Then I OD'd in Denver and I just can't remember her name

After another trip to the bar and back out to the balcony, I was looking out at the state capital absorbing it all with her under my arm. My mind was awash in alcohol, but I was trying to wade through it when she asked, "So what happens when you go back to Houston?"

I told her that I wasn't good at or comfortable with flings. She backed off and asked what I meant by that. Our inebriation was immediately put on hold while we discussed it. Three hours. Not a deal-killer, really. We both really wanted to try. "What can I do not to mess this up?" she asked.