I turn the business card over in my hands a few times. It’s nice. I guess I didn’t realize local bank branches give out business cards this fancy.

So I guess he was a little bit arrogant.

And helpful.

And kind.

And hot.

And...what the hell was I thinking back there?

I finally reach the subway, and I realize that I walked here in kind of a blur. Not so great for my personal physical safety, but I can’t stop myself from thinking of him.

I press my fingertips into the corners of the card.

Personal Banker

I’ll say. And the way he told me to just sit there and let him take care of everything? Come on.

And the way I actually let him touch me like that?

Oh, jeez.

I’m surprised by the buzzing of my phone as I’m about to walk down the stairs to get on the subway at 59th Street. It’s my best friend and roommate, and she knows how anxious I was to get all this administrative crap over with.

“Hey Beth,” I answer. “What’s going on? I’m about to come home.”

“How’d it go? You get your account number successfully? Were you able to navigate the subway, unlike the byzantine automated phone system the bank has?” she asks, giggling.

“Yeah. I’m not usually that technologically impaired, but I did it.”

“Alright, so get your butt home so we can spend the rest of the day on the couch.”

“Okay. Be home soon.” I start to walk down the steps to the 6 train, but don’t hang up yet. If I get disconnected, fine, but I need to tell her about the lumberjack in the slim suit I just met.

“Beth?” I say.

“Yeah. Still here.”

It sounds like she’s got some morning talk show on in the background and is slurping milk out of her cereal bowl.

Beth works from home most days. She’s a freelance copywriter, and she and I are pretty much exact opposites.

Beth likes to stay in. She’s a night owl. She appreciates cold beer and prefers partying at home with a box of Wheaties.

I like to go out. I’m an early bird, though I haven’t caught many worms, so to speak. I don’t like drinking, and I like cheeseburgers better than cold cereal.

Oh, and most of all? Let’s just say I’m not very experienced when it comes to guys.

Which is surprising, considering how much I love going out and meeting people.

I’m not a prude! I’ve been accused of that on a few occasions, but between having my first kiss at 18 and focusing so much on my studies, the opportunity never arose.

I guess now I’m making up for lost time by going out and meeting men.

And this bank guy doesn’t seem like a bad option for just getting it over with.

“Beth, I’ve got to tell you something.”

I say a silent prayer to myself for the call to get dropped so I don’t have to tell her yet. I mean, I want to tell her, but it’s a little bit embarrassing that I’m thinking about losing my V-card to some random guy I just grinded against in his place of business.

I mean, on top of it, he didn’t even take my number! I’d have to make the first move. And that’s not me. Clearly, if I’ve gone this far without doing it, that’s so not me.

“Tell me what, honey? Everything okay?”

The sound from the TV in the background goes mute.

“Oh, yes. Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to turn off your show for me.”

“Screw that. What’s up?”

“It’s not a big deal. Look, I’m going into the subway right now. I might lose you.”

I carefully walk down the sticky steps in my new low, chunky-heel Mary Janes. Practical and cute, and a throwback to the 90s, my favorite decade.

“Oh, you forgot to refill your Metrocard again and you have no cash? Just take a cab and I’ll give the guy my card when you get here.”

“No, no. I have a Metrocard. I think,” I say.

“Then what is it?”

“Look. I met a guy. A really hot guy.”

“Oh! Julie has a boyfriend! But hon, why is this something that you couldn’t wait to tell me?”

“Because, I think I have an idea. What if...what if he was the guy?” I ask, rummaging in my bag for the Metrocard I could have sworn I had.

“The guy?” Beth gasps. “The guy you finally screw? Oh, our Julie is becoming a woman!”

“Shh! Someone might hear you!” I whisper.

“Oh, stop. Who? The TV? The neighbors? I’m the only one around. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Well?” I ask. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a fabulous idea. Now get home so we can luxuriate on the couch in our face masks until your special night arrives, and you can tell me all about the lucky guy.”

“Got it. See you soon.”

I swipe my card and dash through the turnstile as the 6 train arrives on the Bronx-bound platform. If I don’t hurry, I might get left behind.