He was here shooting a series and he'd come into the bar when I worked lunch and order wings and whatever IPA I recommended.

We loved each other's company but we initially said that nothing could happen. Then we had too many Yuzu Margaritas and he kissed me on the lobby couch—and he's a terrible kisser. But he's probably the hottest thing I'll ever have sex with...getting thrown around by that man. " My eyes must have been as big as the superhero's resplendent biceps, his prolific pectorals, his—we'll just leave it at that. "No one knew who he was when we were seeing each other. I never gave him my number, but he always knew where to find me. Thank the lord my uniform involved something with pockets. She moved, and the last time we had goodbye sex I pulled a muscle in my arm. " He raised his Martinez, "I still have those panties in my closet." My first bar gig in the city came with an interesting crew of regulars.

We began to chat and then, without word or warning, he disappeared out the door.

Is it laziness or hope that urges us to see where the night takes us in the place we spend a majority of our time and, in theory, make a living?

If Bar 4 asked me out, what would've happened then?

The last half hour of my shift, he would arrive and try to score his favorite seat, right at the end of the bar where he knew I would sit to eat my dinner and have a glass of wine. We laughed, we flirted, he occasionally brushed my arm or found an excuse to lean in closer.

But, in an entire year of fake dinner dates, the man never once asked me out. The role of bartender/friend/flirt/performer can feel like a balancing act at times.

He'd call to make sure I was working." "People fetishize you behind the bar, dude. “This beautiful woman I met at Imbibe Ball used to come into my bar after we first met.” This particular friend happened to work at one of the foremost cocktail bars in the country. They would primarily congregate around the end of the downstairs bar, spilling into the serving area where they were able to avoid the theater goers and tourists who ran rampant in those parts.

One particular regular happened to not only be young, witty, single and attractive, but he also happened to live right upstairs.

"It's actually an amazing story—his agent hooked him up with an apartment next to my old bar.

He'd feed me sushi and throw me around because he's, well, a superhero.

Our cameras work.' She moved at the end of the summer; the break up sex on my roof was incredible." Elijah's story was fresh in my mind when I went into work the next day and found myself across the bar from one very hungover friend.