Over a drink, he told me he’d fallen in love with me.
His intensity frightened me—he seemed desperate and a little unhinged.
I told my boss I had a dentist appointment and ducked out to the Library Bar at the Royal York hotel, wondering if we’d find each other attractive or if he’d even show.
The man who arrived was at least a decade older than his profile photo.
He was attractive, with a chiseled face and a broad smile.
He’d ended their first date by kissing her passionately—something she hadn’t experienced in years. She and I had met years earlier while working for the same PR firm and had bonded over a shared crush on an extremely handsome younger colleague.
I should have felt guilty embarking on this betrayal. The ages of the men contacting me ranged from 27 up to the mid-60s.
I’d recently started a public relations job on Bay Street, and I had some urgent project deadlines to meet.I visited the gym more often, lost some weight and even underwent some laser cosmetic procedures, all in attempts to delay the inevitable.