Pseudo-Celebrity Pseudo-Dating

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I recently decided to meet up with a guy whom I had only spoken with online.  We had mutual friends, and he seemed interesting enough, but really, I admit, half of me agreed to hang out with him because of the fact that he is somewhat famous and the child of celebrities, as well.  Part of the appeal of living in LA is that I am intermittently put in normal situations with people who are somewhat not so normal.  I truly convinced myself that I would ignore any hype and get to know him as a person, not let the celeb appeal sway me to feel any different about him than I would feel any other young, rich, slightly ego-swelled kid.  I was also convinced that it would be cool if I could make him fall in love with me, just for fun.  I was reminded upon our initial interaction that, oh yeah, I can never make anyone fall in love with me.  Sure, I’m not hideous and I have a certain quality that has been described to me as an “awkward charm,” but it started to seem completely unrealistic that by being myself, I could somehow romance the pants off of a total babe six years my junior, much less someone who parties with supermodels in Europe.  Despite his age, I’m sure he is quite knowledgeable of the multiple manipulating tactics of women, and has acquired his own arsenal of strategies himself.  I’m not sure if earnestly discussing philosophical thought, incessantly quoting writers, or occasionally letting me notice that he was staring at me with piercing blue eyes are some of those devices, but as the night progressed, I became a little frightened of the idea that, instead of him falling in love with me, I would definitely be in danger of falling for him if this kept up.  Eventually, after several hours of not making out, he made the small move to share a blanket with me on his friend’s couch he was crashing on.  He then fell asleep spooning me, leaving me wide-awake listening to the rain, wondering if I even liked this guy enough to fall asleep with my make-up on (break-out city!), if I was doing this to prove that I could hang out with pseudo-celebrities or that it didn’t even matter, would I want to be around him in the morning if I did fall asleep, if we would ever fall in love or at least kiss, if I was even being pursued to begin with or if I had merely been used as a temporary distraction to his apparent ennui.  I slipped out of the spooning position, gathered my things, and set out into the rainy night in a car I was borrowing from a friend.  A strong scent of expensive men’s cologne had taken over the car and I saw he had left a button down shirt on the passenger’s side floor.   Upon returning home, I sent him a text saying he had left a “manly smelling shirt in my car,” to which he replied “Haha cool!”  I have not yet received a reply to my text, “want it back?”  I am going to assume, he does not care.