Seven Signs He's Just Not That into You...

When I first moved to Los Angeles, it was essentially an exercise in diving into the biggest dating pool I’d seen or been a part of in my entire life. After growing up in rural New England, the City of Angels provided this single girl with an overload of dating options almost immediately—and, though I’d held off for years, encouraged me to finally download all of our notoriously favorite dating apps: Tinder, Bumble, Hinge… the list goes on, and on, and on, and on.

Of course, as anyone who has ventured into the wild world of dating apps (not to mention the wild world of dating apps in Los Angeles) knows, having more options at your fingertips does not necessarily mean having more good dates. In fact, in the time since I’d moved to Los Angeles and downloaded said apps, I’d had a multitude of not-so-great-dates, ranging from the “This’ll be a funny story later” to the “Maybe I should just give up on dating altogether.”

I had just been on a date that fell into the latter category one weekend in late February. Maybe it was something about spending yet another Valentine’s Day alone, or perhaps I was just bored—either way, that February had been a particularly desperate attempt at swiping through date after date. That last date, with a guy named Josh, was me promising myself that this one would finally be a good one—or, at least, not a bad one.

I’ve been wrong before, and I’ll be wrong again, but this may have been my most egregious error in judgement.

First off: his Tinder profile picture looked absolutely nothing like him, which ended up leading to a situation where I thought some rando was hitting on me when in fact, no—that was my date. That was all fine, though. I could get past the picture discrepancy, and plus, the point of this date was hopefully to learn more about someone who might just be amazing.

I would like to point out that I have always had both high hopes and high expectations, which, in situations like these, do not play well.

Long story short, Josh managed to hit several of a series of what I call “first date red flags”, including (but not limited to): being extremely rude to the bartender, being unable to quit adjusting his crotch, and being unable to stop asking questions about how it came to be that I was biracial (Hint: When two parents love each other very much…).

The date didn’t last very long. That night ended with me and my roommate Alice systematically deleting our dating apps over a couple tiki drinks at our neighborhood bar.

The following Monday, I went into work and spilled the entire story to my dear coworker/friend Scott, an LA native who not only always gave great bar recommendations, but would willingly listen to my dating struggles while we made our morning coffee. This particular morning, however, Scott surprised me by saying something that is becoming increasingly rarer to hear with the rise of dating apps:

“I have someone I’d like to set you up with.”

I was thrilled. Clearly, the reason for all of my dating failures was that I was leaving it up to an algorithm to find my next great love. I trusted Scott; anyone who he considered a friend was probably super cool, super sweet, and wouldn’t attempt to play twenty questions when it came to my race.

Within the next day, the date was set. I was to be meeting Scott’s friend Jacob at a cute little dive-y bar in Little Tokyo that Friday, and I could not have been more excited. Obviously, I knew that I couldn’t—shouldn’t—put too much pressure on this date, and yet something inside me kept saying, “This could be really, really good.” I spent the following days perfecting my outfit, planning my hairstyle, and learning as much as I could (within reason) about Jacob from Scott. And then, Friday rolled around.

I showed up at the bar ten minutes early, after spending the afternoon meticulously preparing for this date—and damn, I looked good, if I do say so myself. Arming myself with as much false confidence as I could muster, I begged myself not to screw this up and went up to the door of the club—only to find out that it was closed for maintenance.

I don’t know if I believe in fate, but maybe that should’ve been a sign of what was to come. I didn’t have too long to think about it, though, because at that moment an Uber pulled up at the side of the curb and out stepped Jacob. I’d only seen one picture of him, but I felt as though I could have recognized him anywhere. We smiled, did the awkward first-date-hug, and I told him that the bar might not be an option for the night.

“That’s okay,” he said. “There are tons of really cool bars around here. In fact, there’s one I think you’d really like just down the street, if you don’t mind walking.”

Considerate, had a backup plan, easy-going. Talk about points on points. We walked a little way, slowly getting to know each other. Another LA native, Jacob had tons of questions about what it was like to grow up in New England. In fact, it was almost as though he had prepared a list of interview questions and I could barely get a word in to respond in kind with questions of my own. The conversation was so entirely dominated by him asking how Walden Pond-esque my childhood was, that the night just about flew by. He was easy to talk to, the drinks were great (another tiki bar—yes, I’m a fan), and suddenly it was nearly one in the morning. At a lull in the conversation, once we’d realized how late it was getting, I tried again to find out a little bit more about him.

“I feel like I’ve shared my entire life story,” I joked. “What about you, though? What was it like to grow up in LA?”

“Eh,” followed by a shrug.

Eh and a shrug. Seriously? Before I could try and get him to give me more, he’d called an Uber that was apparently no more than a minute away. I pulled out my phone to do the same, not entirely sure if something was wrong, but he stopped me.

“No, no, I called this one for you.”

Well, that was sweet.

Within five minutes we’d said our goodbyes and I was off in the first Uber that anyone else had ever bought for me. Though I looked back on the night and felt that, overall, it had gone well, I should’ve seen sign number one staring me right in the face.

1. He’s just not that into you if he won’t share anything about himself.

Okay, I’ll admit, this one’s kind of tough when you’ve only just met someone. Maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re embarrassed, maybe there are a ton of other reasons why they’re not totally inclined to share anything on a first date. But that’s what a first date is, right? A chance to get to know someone? And while I left the date feeling like he could probably write an (albeit kind of boring, given the material) book about my childhood in New England, I felt as though I’d learned just as much about him as if I’d simply scrolled through his Bumble profile. While it seemed like Jacob was endlessly curious about what made me me, he always seemed to clam up whenever I tried to learn about what made him him. When someone isn’t willing to share anything with you, which became a theme the entire time we dated, could it simply be because they don’t trust you? Or is it that they’re not into you enough to share?

When I went back to work on Monday, Scott assured me that Friday night had been one of the best dates Jacob had been on—and I admitted that I agreed, though I hadn’t heard anything to confirm this from Jacob. In fact, it wasn’t until Wednesday of that week that he asked to do something again—but I didn’t care. Up until that moment, there had only been a handful of second dates; this one seemed promising.

A second, third, fourth date later—we’d been seeing each other every single Friday, without fail, spending hours at a time together just talking, or watching movies, or exploring LA’s seemingly endless supply of new, themed bars. And while the conversation was always fun, I began to notice something pretty glaring, especially as we dated further into the month of March: Jacob seemed afraid to touch me. Now, I don’t mean to say that I need to always be right on top of or next to the person I’m dating; in fact, I’d rather keep displays of affection much more on the private side than the public side. That being said, it became clear when going back to his apartment one night to watch Casablanca (a movie I’d never seen but was something I assumed would be a perfect romantic choice).

When I tell you that he quite literally sat on the opposite side of the couch from me, I am not exaggerating. In fact, I wish I were exaggerating. Did I smell? Had I forgotten to brush my teeth? Did I have something hanging from my nose? Nope. As Casablanca’s love story played on, I began to wonder if my love story was really something that would look anything like sitting-as-far-away-from-the-person-I’m-with-as-humanly-possible. I tried inching myself every so slightly closer, eventually getting close enough to press my knee up against his. He sat there, frigid. I leaned up against him.

“Is this okay?”

He nodded and smiled awkwardly, and then proceeded to pat me on the knee. This was sign number two, though I didn’t want to admit it at the time.

2. He’s just not that into you if he never, ever seems to want to touch you.

I’d like to remind you that we weren’t in public. There wasn’t anyone else around. In fact, we were in the comfort of his own apartment, watching a romantic movie, four dates in. And he couldn’t bring himself to touch me. Now, my self-esteem isn’t through the roof or anything, but I know for a fact that I’m not gross. And why invite someone you’re dating over to watch Casablanca if you’re going to spend the entire time with your arms crossed, staring intently at the TV?

Of course, I really wanted things with Jacob to work out, and so I did what anyone who knows something is wrong but insists on pretending it’s not would do: I rationalized that he must just really be into Casablanca.

I know.

That night, after watching Casablanca, Jacob took me out for Pho and we talked about the Dodgers (perhaps the only interest of his that I’d actually been able to glean from him). It went well, no better or worse than our usual dinner conversations. He’d certainly seemed to liven up once we were at dinner, no longer crossing his arms or looking like he was trapped next to some strange creature he’d mistakenly invited into his living room. At this point, I do have to say that I was beginning to find it more and more difficult to brush off his lack of affection, but that night when he walked me to my door, he surprised me by leaning in for a kiss.

To clarify, yes, this was our first kiss.

“I really like you,” he smiled. And in that moment, all of my worry dissolved and was replaced with, well, not quite butterflies, but a warm and fuzzy feeling like none other. We shared one more kiss before I went inside and fell asleep, incredibly excited that for once, something seemed to be working out. Though it’d taken four dates, the kiss had made everything up until then seem just perfect.

Looking back, I realize how dangerous—and unfair—it was to put so much pressure for success on one person, one situation. But after months of really bad dates, even something like this was enough to make me hope again. And yet, again, high hopes X high expectations = disaster combo. That night, though, this truth seemed worlds away.

The next week, as I packed for a visit home, Jacob texted me and asked me to dinner—he wanted to see me one more time before I left. I remember smiling to myself and gleefully telling Alice that I think this might really be something. After all, if he wanted to see me before I left, that clearly meant that he thought he was going to miss me while I was gone. And if you miss someone, you’re into them, right?

That night, we ate at this adorable little nacho-themed restaurant (nachos are one of my favorite, favorite guilty pleasure foods—he’d been listening) and for the first time, I was able to get a little something out of him and who he was. Over dinner, he shared stories from high school. What it was like to sneak out of his parents’ home and stash liquor in the bushes of his backyard. The girl he went to prom with and the trouble his friends and him would get into over long summer vacations. For once, I really started to feel like we were connecting—just two people, on their fifth date, in a tiny nacho restaurant in West Hollywood.

When he dropped me off at my apartment, he said those three little words: “I’ll miss you,” and sealed it with a kiss. I promised I’d send him pictures of my cat and all the snow still on the ground back in New England, and he promised he’d text me back. Falling asleep that night, for the first time ever, I was a little bummed to be leaving the city for two weeks.

But after three days back home and two unanswered text messages, I began to wonder if to him “I’ll miss you” meant something more like, “Have a nice life.” Over the course of my entire two weeks away, he responded to maybe a couple things I sent him. I got the hint, towards the end, and just stopped trying. Again, though, I found myself rationalizing.

“He’s probably busy,” I told myself. “He’s got a ton going on with work, and stuff.”

And stuff.

I pushed down my uneasy feelings and tried to just focus on enjoying my time home, but I couldn’t entirely get rid of that little voice in the back of my head that was telling me that this just might be a sign.

3. He’s just not that into you if when you’re out of sight, you’re out of mind.

By the time I boarded my plane back to LA, I was almost certain he’d just forgotten about me entirely. The last communication we’d had was days old, and it was lukewarm, to say the least. And yet, just before I switched my phone into airplane mode and settled into another long cross-country flight, I got a message from him.

“Have a safe flight!” it read. “Text me when you land… dinner this week?” Whether foolish or not, I let this single message wash away any doubts I had. He still wanted to see me, after all. We quickly made plans for him to come over and watch movies Friday night before I turned on airplane mode. I spent the entire flight thinking about just how perfect I was sure this next date was going to be.

In the days leading up to Friday, I was almost as excited as I’d been before our first date. Jacob had never actually been inside my apartment; this was the perfect time to show him my space, something that I’ve come to believe is very important with someone you’re dating.

My theory is this: A bedroom says a lot about a person. How you decorate your space is largely indicative of what’s going on inside—whether you’re creative, modernist, minimalist, vintage, classic, however you define (or choose not to define) yourself. And though I’d seen Jacob’s fairly empty bedroom just a few weeks earlier, I was sure that he’d see my bedroom and fall even further for me. I’ll admit that I’m still trying to piece together how that makes sense, but it’s what I was thinking at the time—c’est la vie.

I was also thinking, however, that this might just be the perfect opportunity to, for lack of better verbiage, get it on. I was certain that my time away had somehow kindled more desire than the couple of kisses we’d previously shared. And so, with this newfound confidence, not only did I rearrange my bedroom, but I picked up a couple of brand new, super sexy, super lacy bra and panty sets. Friday night was going to be absolutely perfect.

First, of course, Jacob would have to pass something that Alice and I like to call the “couch test”. It’s not really a test, per se, but Alice and I have this tiny little Ikea futon that makes up just about all of our living room furniture. It’s our spot, and Alice and I have designated sides of the couch that we just instinctively take whenever we’re hanging out watching movies or having a girls’ night. The thing with the futon is that it’s so small, it barely fits three people. And so, we’ve decided that if both of us can sit comfortably—not awkwardly—with someone one of us is dating, then that someone has passed the “couch test”.

Jacob arrived around 9:30 with his copy of the 1992 Batman Returns, and all three of us settled into the couch with popcorn. The following was what I thought at the time had to be the most awkward two hours and six minutes of my life. So much so that I found myself wishing that I could make a time machine, go back to the early nineties, and convince Tim Burton to cut that thing down by, like, forty percent. And I could tell that Alice could feel the awkwardness.

Yet again, Jacob was as far as he possibly could be from me, which was almost comical given the size of the futon. I sat smack in the middle between him and Alice. Midway through the movie, Alice turned and shot me a look that can’t be described as anything other than, “Yikes.”

And so I spent the last half of the movie rationalizing again.

“There’s probably no way three people can even fit comfortably on this futon anyway.”

“He probably just doesn’t want to be weird in front of Alice.”

“Maybe he finds complete lack of contact until we’re in the bedroom to be the sexiest kind of foreplay.”

It’s funny how complete desperation will make you believe almost anything.

Finally, after the credits rolled on Batman Begins, Alice announced that she was heading to bed. I led Jacob into my bedroom and shut the door, hoping he’d be interested in heating things up—and, he was. The following ten minutes, however, resulted in perhaps the strangest sexual encounter I’ve ever had. He’d clearly come prepared with condoms and seemed to know what he was doing initially, but when it came to the actual sex part, he was totally silent and robotic. I’m talking not a single sound, and no movement other than the back-and-forth of missionary. And eyes squeezed shut, too, as though if he opened them he’d realize he was taking part in the original sin with some kind of monster. I tried asking him if he wanted to change positions, and he merely nodded. No words whatsoever. This should have been a blatantly obvious fourth sign.

4. He’s just not that into you if there’s absolutely no communication during moments of intimacy.

While I understand that some prefer no talking when it comes to their intimate activities, this was on a totally different level. And so, it was over relatively quickly.

He stayed the night, snoring soundly next to me, while I wondered what it was that was wrong with me. Was I simply so unsexy that the only thing he could hope to do in order to get off was grin and bear it, eyes closed?

More rationalization: Maybe he was simply really, really nervous. Most of the time, your first time with a new partner isn’t anything to write home about, anyway—and this is totally true. There was something, however, that kept even my deep hopefulness from overcoming the feeling that something might just be wrong.

The next morning, we got up and I offered to make him breakfast. While I’m not the greatest when it comes to the kitchen, I can make some mean scrambled cheesy eggs. He insisted that he wasn’t hungry, but I could feel my stomach arguing for something—now—and so I ended up making those scrambled cheesy eggs and eating them awkwardly in front of him. Neither of us said anything about the night before. Rather, Jacob pulled up a list of authors that’d be reading at a book festival in mid-April. After I finished eating, we cuddled on the futon and picked out which ones we’d like to go see.

This was a particularly hopeful sign for me—if he was planning things out a couple weeks in advance, he must see this going long term. Right? After Jacob left, I let that thought—and that thought alone—occupy me for the rest of the day.

The next Saturday, it was date night as usual. Though we’d originally planned on marathoning The Office at his apartment, he asked me to a party that one of his friends was having. I talked it over with Alice, and the two of us came to the conclusion that being introduced to the friends is not only a good sign, it’s a great sign. And honestly, even if we weren’t quite 100 percent in the bedroom, and even if he didn’t seem to want to be very close to me most of the time, getting to meet the friends trumps everything. At least, that’s what I told myself.

And so, I was more excited than ever when Jacob picked me up that night. He seemed to be pretty amped up, too, talking more about himself than even that one night at the nacho restaurant. We stopped to grab finger foods and beer for the party, and he even drove me past his favorite house in the Hollywood Hills. For a moment, I had this feeling of comfort—like I could see us doing this all the time. Like this could really be that something that might one day lead to the great love. And I realized, riding in the passenger’s seat as he drove along the crowded 405, that I was happy.

Do you ever have those moments that you wish you could capture in a bottle because they’re just so fleeting? That was one of them. Because the next few hours made even the failed “couch test” look totally normal. Which brings me to the next sign that I should’ve seen slapping me in the face.

5. He’s just not that into you if he’s totally silent when you’re hanging out with his friends.

We arrived at Jacob’s friend Stephen’s house around 8:30, and were the first ones there. The moment we walked in, I felt out of place. Stephen’s apartment was very nice, and so was he, but after Jacob briefly introduced me, he and Jacob launched into a conversation so specific that not only could I not follow, but could barely contribute. It was like I wasn’t even there, like I’d been invited by accident or was some kind of fly on the wall. More people arrived, and though I was able to meet some and start conversations, it was almost as though I’d showed up alone. Jacob and I were sat on a couch—and yet again, he’d moved himself to the furthest edge of the couch, practically squeezing himself up against the arm of the chair as if I were a complete stranger. And, worst of all, he spent the entire night not only practically ignoring me, but focused on his phone.

Cool.

After a couple of hours, he asked if I wanted to get out of there and grab something to eat. I was almost surprised he’d remembered I was there. Out of some last-ditch spark of hope, I agreed to grab dinner. We settled for a cute little Thai restaurant off of Hollywood and proceeded to have a nearly silent meal. We paid, we left. He drove me home, and was suddenly ridiculously animated again, waxing poetic about the very best bedroom lamps he’s ever encountered. I was definitely a little annoyed, but most of me just needed to go home and think everything that’d just happened through—and so, when he brought me to my front door, I told him I’d see him soon rather than inviting him inside. It wasn’t until I was lying in bed that I realized I’d forgotten my wallet in his car. I hurriedly texted him, and he reassured me that he’d bring it by the next day.

After sleeping on it, I was ready to make some more rationalizations. I know what you must be thinking: When is this girl going to get the hint? And yet, you can’t help what you feel—and so there I was, describing the night as not-so-awful to Alice the next day. This, looking back, was one of my mistakes. Perhaps if I’d been more honest about how “meh” everything was going, someone with an outside perspective would’ve slapped me in the face and told me to shut it down before I caught feelings. But now, it was too late. Feelings caught and rationalizations made, I excitedly opened the door for Jacob when he came over to drop off my wallet.

“Do you want to come inside? Maybe we could get around to that marathon of The Office,” I offered, taking the wallet from him.

“Ah, I’m actually supposed to go hang out with my roommate today. Maybe next week?”

I tried to conceal my disappointment, nodding and smiling. “Next week it is.”

He hesitated for a moment, then kissed me, and left.

And that was it.

Two, three, four, five days went by without hearing anything from him. I texted to see if everything was okay, but no answer. And of course, I was too embarrassed to say anything to Scott at work, and so the time continued to stretch and I heard nothing from Jacob. The next week went by and another started. I texted one last time to see if we could get together at all the following weekend.

That Thursday at work, with my text messages still unanswered, Scott asked,

“So how are things with Jacob?”

I forced a smile. “To be honest, I haven’t really heard from him in a bit.”

Scott just nodded. “He can be a busy dude. I’m going to dinner with him tonight,” he added.

“Nice.”

Busy, alright. The next sign was clear as day, dawning bright as the fluorescent lights in our office.

6. He’s just not that into you if he disappears for two weeks.

That night, after what I’m assuming had been an all-telling dinner with Scott, Jacob actually responded to me.

“I’m so glad you texted me,” it read. “I was thinking we should just be friends.”

I read that text message over and over again to see if somehow I had gotten it wrong, but there it was in black and white: He just wasn’t that into me.

I didn’t even have the energy, or the heart to ask for clarification on that, especially not through text, and so I responded with something along the lines of, “Sounds good, have a nice life.”

And then, and I’m not even embarrassed to admit it, I cried myself to sleep.

With a couple months of perspective between now and then, I wish that I’d said something, that I’d stood up for myself and let Jacob know that if he wanted to be friends that’s fine, but ignoring me for two weeks was simply not cool (and, not to mention, not the way you treat your friends). Plus, the “I’m so glad you texted me” is maybe the worst attempt at making a not-so-fun-to-receive (or send) text message any better.

I spent the next several weeks actually back on those same dating apps that I’d cursed just months before. At least, I thought, going on one-off first dates hurts a lot less in the long run than catching feelings for someone who just simply doesn’t have them for you. I went on more bad dates, of course, but I finally went on some good ones, too. And slowly but surely, the age-old adage that you get over someone in half the time you dated came true. By mid-June, I was just about totally over Jacob.

Of course, that’s not where this story ends. After all, the thing about being set up by a friend is that if it doesn’t work out, there’s always a chance you’ll have to run into the person it didn’t work out with at social events. Which is exactly what happened over this Fourth of July.

One of our mutual friends—another someone I’d met through Scott—was throwing a going away party over the long weekend right before Independence Day. I made Alice come with me, knowing the likelihood that I’d run into Jacob. And even though I was just about totally over him, I didn’t want to see him and have nobody to bounce how the night really went off of. It’s a good thing that Alice went with me, too. Because the only thing—the most obvious thing—that I hadn’t expected was to see Jacob there… with his new girlfriend.

7. He was never into you when you see him with his new girlfriend and he’s a totally different person.

When I say totally different, I mean complete 180. Where he never touched me in public, he had his arm around her nearly all night. Though I tried my best to avoid them, I somehow always stumbled onto them sharing a secret kiss or hugging or something that just would’ve been a complete impossibility when I was dating him.

At first, I was pretty hurt. I’m not going to lie, I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck was wrong with me that he’d never treated me with such clear adoration. And then I realized what might be the most important realization I’ve had: There was nothing wrong with me, we just weren’t right together. Jacob had probably noticed it early on, but didn’t know how to end it properly (hint: stringing people along is maybe not the right way to go about it) and let it go on until he couldn’t bear it anymore. I wish he’d been able to tell me straight up. I wish I’d been able to let myself come to this conclusion earlier on. And yet, that’s not how life works.

Instead, I learned a ton. I now know the importance of being honest with myself about when something just really isn’t working. And since dating Jacob, I have found someone who not only isn’t terrified to be near me but someone who I never find myself rationalizing things with. It’s possible. They’re out there. Even if this one doesn’t work out, hopefully, I’ll see it coming a lot sooner than last time. And, most of all, I’ll be able to recognize if and when he’s just not that into me.

Disclaimer: This piece is a work of fiction based on stories and experiences I've collected over the years.