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What if this magic chemistry we had Plus, I was free to date anyone I wanted. (I neglected to remind myself that in order for someone to get me, I would have to let him get to me.) A year passed, then two..still, I continued to talk to Jamie every day. Even my therapist got uncharacteristically direct and said he didn't like what was happening. One day, I was in a taxi with my good friend Patty when Jamie called.

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A few weeks later, I noticed that Jamie's number was often busy. "Because his number has been busy a lot." She hesitated, and I felt an immediate stab of jealousy. "Jamie and I have been seeing each other in real life," she said. avoided real-life relationships in favor of a fantasy.

Then one evening, Patty casually mentioned she'd spoken to him the night before. That night, I tested out my sneaking suspicion by directing a fabricated accusation at him: "Patty tells me the two of you have been having phone sex," I said. I'd chosen Jamie for the very reasons he'd chosen me: We were terrified of intimacy. I was able to identify unavailable men and avoid them.

But just to be sure, a few months into our "relationship," I sent my friend Dana, who lived in the same city as Jamie, on a reconnaissance mission to the opening of one of his stores. It was something I'd never done before—at least not to this degree.

She called me later, saying she'd shaken his wedding-ringless hand. "A little surprised to hear that you'd sent me, but otherwise just a nice, normal guy." That night, Jamie and I laughed about my deviousness, and he asked what else I needed him to do to prove he was who he said he was. We shared our deepest, most creative fantasies..of which involved an 18th-century doctor and the invention of the vibrator (let's just say embarrassment was never an issue).

Prior to Jamie, I'd dated a string of emotionally unavailable men, and I was terrified of repeating old patterns; the idea of getting to know someone slowly appealed to me. I was raised by a passionate, volatile father who alternated between exploding in anger and begging forgiveness.

When he wasn't in one of his moods, he lavished attention on me—standing proudly in the doorway as I practiced piano, praising my artwork, taking me for hair-raising spins on the back of his Yamaha motorcycle. Late at night, we would sit in his den, talking about art, politics, even sex.

This guy had already managed to hurt me, in the space of just two weeks. We spoke for hours about everything, from our damaged childhoods to jobs to exes to first kisses.

Then he'd found me—a woman he might want to have a real relationship with. "Please," he begged, "give me another chance." I hesitated. I'd planned to merely dip my toe in the water, but instead, I cannonballed right in.

I think I'll always be evolving in that department.

All I can do is fight the urge to live in a fantasy—so a Jamie can never set up camp in my heart again.

The mere sound of Jamie's voice made my heart thump wildly. He said he'd like nothing more than to meet me but admitted he still felt scared. "You might not be attracted to me." In hindsight, I should have cut and run right then.

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