“He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?” the man asks, referring to Jace.
Ah, the male quest for dominance. If they had any perspicacity, they would have figured out a long time ago that no matter what they do, women are always going to be the ones running the show.
“I think I’ll be fine,” I tell the man. “Thank you again for the offer, though.”
“Yeah,” the man says, giving a death stare to Jace. “You have a good night.”
The man walks away, and I’m not sure if the look in Jace’s eyes is relief or just more irritation.
“You seem to enjoy messing with people,” he says.
“It’s a hobby of mine,” I agree. “So, doc, where were we?”
“You were saying sorry for the fact that my girlfriend is the one that-”
“Oh,” I laugh, “right. Yeah, that’s got to be hard for you.”
“What’s that?” he asks. “I think it’s a testament to her trust in me that she’d be-”
“She’s got someone on the side. Do you really think anyone would be so willing to have you go out on dates with an endless string of at least occasionally attractive women that they’d actually tell a good-looking doctor like yourself to take up whoring?”
“I’m not a-”
“Whatever,” I tell him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but that chicky poo of yours, she’s looking to ease her own guilt by telling herself that whatever you’re doing when you go out on these dates has to be worse than anything she’s doing.”
“It’s not like that,” he protests.
“All right,” I smile. “Just don’t be pissed at me if you go home one night to find some other guy playing ‘just the tip’ with your old lady.”
The expression on his face is much clearer now. He’s pissed.
“You know,” he says, “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I think you’re lashing out because you’re scared or upset, and I really don’t think that we should be doing this.”
“Oh, come on,” I tell him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t think it was a little strange that she just comes up to you one day and tells you that escorting really gets a bad rap and you should check it out as a fallback position in case the whole oncology thing doesn’t work out.”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He drops a 20 on the bar and says, “Goodnight.”
“Hold on,” I tell him, grabbing his arm.
“What?” he asks impatiently.
“I didn’t bring any money,” I tell him. “Would you mind spotting me cab fare?”
He shakes his head and walks out of the bar, leaving me to figure out how to get home. Luckily, I think I know just the guy, and he’s already making his way back over to my stool.
“You all right?” the man with the ridiculous facial hair asks.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “but I’m wondering if I could impose upon you.”
“You what?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”
“Sure,” he says. “What do you need?”
I smile.
Before long, we’re back at my apartment, and I’m trying to figure out whether I want to offer the man a drink or whether I’m in the mood to offer him something else.