During the fall of last year I began dating a friend I had had a crush on for quite some time. I am seldom genuinely interested in men. I am picky and spent the bulk of my time focusing on my job and my teenage son. Both require a lot of attention. I had just not been looking for anyone. But my crush was hard to ignore. He was charming, attractive and outgoing. He was also a huge flirt. He loved female attention and he knew how to get it.

The maintenance guy at my apartment complex was HOT. He was in great shape. He was charming and conventionally handsome. He’s sharp features showed evidence of his Italian heritage and after years of construction work his upper body was broad and muscular. The women at the complex loved him. And he loved the attention. He knew everyone by name. He was friendly, open and very complimentary.

We began hanging out platonically in the spring. We occasionally went to lunch, had drinks at neighborhood bar or had beers at my place. I was completely enamored with him. My friends were shocked and supportive. Many commented that they couldn’t remember a time when I seemed genuinely interested in a man. The maintenance guy was different. When I saw him my heart and stomach got all fluttery.

Fairly early on in our time together I became aware that several other women in my apartment complex were clearly interested in him as well. He always discounted their interest citing, “Women always get the wrong idea because I am such a flirt.” Of course he said this and I assumed those women were everyone but me because he spent time with me.

After a few months a mutual friend approached me, out of concern. She asked if I was interested in the maintenance guy. I told her that I was. She warned me that he was a bit promiscuous and craved female attention. She told me that he was casually dating women. “He is not boyfriend material. He is a player.” she simply stated.

I took little stock in her warning. I was aware of his lothario like behavior but he had also confessed to me that he would much prefer to be in a relationship. I wanted the maintenance guy more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted him to want me and I was sure that ultimately my fantasy of he and I being together would become reality.

In the fall we began sleeping to together. He was the first man I had slept with in quite some time and I was instantly in love with him. For a short period of time we began spending more time together and I knew that we would inevitably become exclusive. He had told me that he had not been intimate with anyone in quite some time and was afraid of getting hurt.

New Year’s Eve I invite some friends over to drink. I hadn’t asked the maintenance guy because he had mentioned he had plans. It was brought to my attention that the maintenance guy’s truck was parked out back. I was confused but soon realized that he was at our mutual friend’s apartment. She lived across the hall from me and I could hear them talking inside. I was devastated. I didn’t understand.

A few days later he came to my house and asked why I had been so pouty the past few days. I assured him I had not been and he asked if I wanted to have sex. I should have said no but I didn’t. I wanted him and I felt desperate. I was grasping at straws. It was a truly heartbreaking experience. I knew he had slept with her but was afraid to hear him admit it.

The next day he sent me a text saying he needed to settle down a bit and just see one woman. I wanted so badly to believe that he had only been seeing one woman. He insisted he wanted us to remain friends but I had a difficult time concealing my heartbreak. A few weeks later his truck showed up in the parking lot again. This time it was parked in front of another building. It was there all night.

The next day my “friend” from across the hall told me the maintenance guy had started dating a women in the other building and that he really liked her. She said she was trying to be supportive but seemed a little slighted. He began spending every weekend there and stopped talking to me, citing that I was trying to make him feel bad.

I moved. I changed my phone number. And we don’t speak anymore. I wish he hadn’t been such a douchebag. I really did like him. I need a twelve step program for that… liking douchebags.