Cowboy Baby Daddy

I bought the tickets on a whim last night. I really wouldn’t mind something a bit more serious, but I wanted to get the sex part out of the way before we got into the stadium. Otherwise, there’s no doubt in my mind that she would spend the whole game trying to figure out a way for us to do it in the stands and not get arrested.

Come to think of it, I don’t know that she would have a problem getting arrested while having sex. Knowing her, it’d probably just be that much more of a turn-on.

“No,” she says, “that’s okay. I’m a Mets fan anyway.”

The horror.

“I think they’re playing the Mets, actually.”

“Dane, I should be honest with you.”

It’s that exact phrase, said that exact way, that gives honesty such a bad rap.

“I hate baseball. I said I was a Mets fan because I had no idea the two were playing and I really just wanted to get out of it. I’m actually kind of relieved you just wanted to stop here for a quick one. We really don’t have to go to the game.”

“Ah,” I say.

I turn the car on and put it in reverse. As we pull out of the stadium, I’m just wishing I hadn’t spent the money on the tickets.

“So,” Wrigley says, “have you talked to your roommate?”

“About what?” I ask.

“You know,” she says. “Things are getting kind of stale, you know, with your unwillingness to be my bitch.”

I can’t believe this is how she really talks.

“I’m not following,” I tell her.

“Have you had the conversation? Is she down for a three-way, or am I just flicking the bean to the complete wrong thing here?”

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell her. “Despite its ramifications to your bean-flicking, I don’t think that Leila would—”

“Leila?” she asks. “Your roommate’s name is Leila?”

It’s about here that I realize Wrigley and I really don’t talk much about anything that doesn’t have an orgasm at the end of it.

“Yeah,” I answer. “Why?”

“That night on the roof,” she says. “Are you a complete idiot?”

“What are you talking about? What about the night on the roof?”

The question’s no more out of my mouth than its answer is in my brain.

“You called out her name when you came,” she says. “You’ve got a thing for your roommate.”

“I really don’t—”

“It’s cool,” she says. “I told you I don’t want any of that relationship torture, but it’s kind of bullshit that you’re just going to keep her to yourself like that. I bet she’d be my bitch. She’s the quiet type. Actually, I bet she’d end up wanting to make me her bitch. I saw the way she looked at me when I popped out of the room flashing my honeypot.”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound when you say shit like that?”

If my tone weren’t so hostile, I might be able to pass the question off as a joke.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she fires back. “I’m just talking a little bit of slap and tickle. I’m not saying I want to steal her from you. I’ve never been with a woman. I’m curious.”

“You know, I find it really hard to believe there’s anything you haven’t done in that arena.”