Here We Go Again

Mr. WPY was back from Vegas and playing last night. He was in fine form, and is on his way to tying my league record for consecutive cashes.

He was also looking absolutely, incredibly wonderful. Tanned and rested and *gulp* fit. Oh. My. God. If I'm lucky, between sightings I manage to forget how entirely splendid he is. But that has the effect of making the refreshing of my memory that much more devastating. The man is beautiful.

When he arrived, he beckoned me out to his truck and bestowed upon me not only the signed Doyle poster but also one from Annie Duke inscribed "Chicks Rule!" I took this as excuse to throw my arms around him and give him a big hug. I'd tried to hug the guy before and always had the feeling he was a little uncomfortable with it. Not this time. A little surprised, maybe, but definitely not uncomfortable.

I thanked him for thinking of me. He said, "Of course!"

Lots of table chat. He was relaxed and forthcoming. I busted out fourth, and stayed to deal. He went out third, and stayed to help. Or something. We left the host's home together, and then parted ways at our vehicles.

When I got home, after a detour at another game, there was an email from him waiting. All poker-related. But still, he's done this lately. Like before he went to Vegas, he phoned me after the game (we hadn't had a chance to say goodnight), and brought up something about the game. It seemed odd at the time, and my thought was that he just wanted to touch base with me. I shrugged it off, however, since when I called him back he had company at home, and my thoughts went immediately to the cupcake of despair.

Now I'm back in the soup again. I am tickled beyond all measure that he went out of his way to fetch those tokens back from Vegas for me (and, I may add, for no one else). He is utterly charming to me and, let's be frank, I adore him. I predict another round of out-of-control pining.

Gah.