The F-Word

“Your date’s job,” I say.

She nods. “Got it.”

I smile, ask the waiter to thank James for us, and we head into the night.

It’s chilly. Bailey’s new scarf isn’t enough. I take off my tweed jacket and wrap it around her.

“Oh,” she says, “you don’t have to—”

But I do. For starters, it’s the right thing. Besides that, I get a kick out of how she looks in it. She’s so small and I’m so big. Even with her wearing those heels I’m taller than she is by six, seven inches. The result is that she’s lost in my jacket and, damned if I know why, but seeing her looking so delicately female in something that I know is still warm from my body is…

Christ!

I put my hand lightly in the small of her back and we head for the curb where I hail a taxi. We get in, and I give the driver my address.

“Isn’t that your place?” Bailey asks.

“It is.”

“Why are we going there?”

“I’ve seen your apartment. Now you have to see mine so you can talk about it with some authority.”

“If the subject should come up,” she says.

“If it should,” I say in agreement. “Plus, you get to meet Walter so you can talk about him too.”

She thinks about that. “I guess that makes sense.”

“And,” I say, “so we can watch a football game.”

She swings towards me. “Watch a what?”

I grin. “I TiVo the Monday night games so I can watch them whenever I have the chance. And this past Monday was an exceptional game.”

“Because?”

“Because the Patriots played the Bills. In Buffalo.”

“And the Patriots won?”

“Damn right.”

“So if you already know that, why watch a boring game?”

“Boring?” I chuckle. “How little you know, woman,” I say, and mostly because I can’t help it, I lean close and kiss her gently on the mouth.

* * *

Walter greets me the way he always does. I know it looks as if he’s going to devour me whole, but his enthusiasm is slightly lessened by the presence of a new person in his life.

He takes his massive paws off my shoulders, drops to all fours and cocks his head at Bailey.

“He won’t hurt you,” I start to say, but my PA is already squatting down, holding out her hand and crooning Who’s a beautiful boy? to my behemoth.

He approaches her slowly.

He doesn’t see that many strangers. The truth is, I can’t remember the last time I had someone here he didn’t already know. See, the thing is, the guys I hang out with stop by for—what else?—football and occasional let’s-just-bullshit sessions, but I don’t make a habit of bringing women home with me.