It was a beautiful spring day as I hung out with friends at Sivas in Midtown. I was on Bumble attempting to rebound after an awful date from the weekend prior.

I matched with a brown-skin guy from Decatur as the DJ played “Set it Off” by Boosie.

He passed the ‘Ranch vs. Bleu Cheese’ test and we were laughing from the moment we started chatting.

Him: “I would like to continue this conversation in person if you’re available to meet tonight.”

It was already 5pm on a Sunday.

Fuck it.

How many Ls could I take in a week anyways?

His beard was luscious and I wanted to see how our connection would be in person.

I told him to pick a spot and I agreed to meet him later in the evening.

I went home, took a shower, curled my hair, changed clothes, walked the dog, then headed out.

The place he chose was 30 minutes away in Decatur. At that point, I was just hoping he was worth the drive.

I pulled up to a small hookah spot, stepped out of the car, and we met at the entrance.

He was handsome. Smelled wonderfully, nicely moisturized beard, dressed well, beautiful smile.

We got a booth in the back and he ordered a hookah, with mint.

Him: “I come here and think. It’s a low-key spot; which I like. I studied abroad in the UK during undergrad, and the only spot that played American hip-hop was a hookah lounge. And I’ve been smoking hookah ever since.”

We started talking about our careers and he asked me did I go to graduate school. I said yes and asked him the same.

Him: “I graduated from Emory’s School of Theology.”

School of Theology?

Me: “Wait. You’re a pastor, nigga?”
Him: “A preacher. But, I’m not in the pulpit. I decided to take my ministry to coach and mentor teens to play basketball and go to college.”

The entire time I thought how I’m not cut out to be anyone’s First Lady.

The date ended up being great. We talked and smoked until 12:30am. He walked me to my car and asked me if I had plans for tomorrow.

Me: “Uh, no plans; it’s Monday.”
Him: “Let’s go to Bar Taco. You mentioned you love Bar Taco and I could go for a pear margarita.”

I agreed, we hugged, and I left.

The next evening, we met at Bar Taco in Inman Park for tacos and pear margaritas. He began to vent about his job and discuss his current experiences with seeing a psychiatrist.

He explained how his walk in Christ, and being a twenty-something, didn’t always go hand-in-hand. He described having an internal battle between his flesh and his purpose.

I appreciated his vulnerability and celebrated the fact that he was a black man taking his mental health seriously.

All in all, things were going wonderfully. Two days in a row.

He walked me to my car and we ended up hugged up, leaning on the hood.

Then we started kissing. Passionately. Under the street light.

It felt like time had stopped completely.

We gasped for air and laughed as I wiped his lip of my lip gloss.

It was after midnight.

He kissed me on the cheek and suggested that we go see “Us” the next day.

I couldn’t believe what was happening.

I told him I needed to wash my hair and get my life together and asked to go to the movies on Wednesday. He agreed and we set the date.

I hadn’t had a connection like this with someone since last year. Texting someone everyday; sitting at my desk daydreaming about his kisses; telling my coworkers I met someone.

This felt right.

We met up Wednesday at Atlantic Station and I was excited to see him again. I brought mini Jack Daniels bottles in the theater as we poured our spirits into Coca-Cola slushies.

After the movie, we sat in his car and talked for an hour about life and work, with kisses in between.

Things started to heat up and he asked me how far I lived from the theater. Since everything was going so well, I didn’t want to be intimate so soon.

He started becoming transparent about how he felt about him and me.

Him: I always go into things trying to control and manipulate the situation, but with you, everything has been so natural. I want to spend my time with you. I want to be around you. I am 100% myself when I’m with you.

Someone sent him a text while we were in the car and he let out a deep sigh. He told me how that was the last woman he dated and said he wasn’t interested in talking to her anymore.

While holding my thigh, he texted her back and explained how he didn’t want to continue pursuing things. Then he kissed me on the cheek and drove me back to my car.

Could this be something?

Granted, it was only four days; but a solid and consistent four days nonetheless.

It was his school’s spring break and he wanted to meditate to get his spirit right with God. His texts started becoming inconsistent and his eagerness to see me, on his week off, dwindled.

I went to Texas to visit my girlfriend during the same time-frame and the time away allowed me to rave about how good of a guy he was, but also put things into perspective.

Was he talking to someone else?

Possibly.

But there is no way God put a preacher in my life for me not to take him seriously.

Right?

A few days went by and our communication was nearly nonexistent. As a last ditch effort, I texted him to see what was up.

He asked me to meet him at the top of a parking deck, with wine.

It was 11:30pm.

Against my better judgement, I got out of bed, brushed my teeth, went into the kitchen, and grabbed my ex and my anniversary wine we bought in North Georgia in 2016.

I’d been yearning for an occasion to pop that bottle and make memories with someone new.

Before I got in my car, I grabbed a wine opener out of the drawer and sped down I-75.

I met him at the top of the deck, went in the back of his car, and we talked for an hour.

With no cups, we faced the bottle of blueberry wine.

I loved that wine.

Memories of my ex and I picking out our favorite surfaced as he and I started kissing in the backseat.

I asked him if he had a condom and, of course he did.

Am I really about to have sex in the backseat of a car?

At 31 years old?

Yes.

After about 10 minutes, he threw the condom out the window, sat back, and said he had to tell me something.

Him: “I like everything about you. Your personality, you’re easy to talk to, you’re funny; but, I don’t see this going anywhere. I still want to be your friend and kick it because I want to continue spending time with you.”

WHAT?

What in the fuc….what?

Speechless.

Him: “Why are you so quiet? It’s unlike you to not have anything to say.”

At that moment, I knew being silent was the best alternative. Because cursing a preacher out was surely going to land me a first class ticket to hell.

He talked about everything he’d been praying about and going through. Claimed he needed more time to date other people and understand this path God had him on.

In complete shock, I gave him a hug, got out of his car, put the wine bottle on the ground, got in my car, and drove home.

Devastated.

He texted me hours later and apologized about how he handled the situation. Said he prayed about it and knew I didn’t deserve that.

I wrote him back a long message explaining how absolutely used and played I felt.

As he apologized again and used his faith as a shield, I unfollowed him on Instagram and erased all of our messages.

How did the best Bumble experience turn into the most traumatic?

After the wildest month of my life, I deleted the app.

I was absolutely done with dating.

Well, until I wasn’t.