“Yes, sir,” I say. I turn to head off, and he slaps my ass once again. “I think I’m going to file a complaint with HR for that one.”
“I’ll warn my lawyers.” He flashes that smile of his once again, and I find myself excited about tonight.
It’s totally a date, I think. Of course, I know it can’t be, considering our lives. But after all we’ve been doing, it just feels like saying it isn’t a date is just us being in denial about how good this all feels and how much we like each other.
* * *
I keep trying to remind myself that this isn’t a date, but considering how much time I spent picking out this snug black polo and these jeans that shape around my ass just right, that’s hard, and Mikey’s looking about as adorable as ever in a navy shirt that his biceps stretch to the point where I think if he flexes too much, he might tear the fabric.
“You look hot tonight,” he tells me, clearly thinking about the same things I am.
“Whatever. You just like that you know you’re getting steady action.”
“No. You’re hot as fuck in that shirt, and you know it. I think you just wore it to tempt me.”
“Doesn’t seem like I have to do much to tempt you.”
“You really don’t.”
I roll my eyes. “So what the fuck made you choose this of all places?”
“Are you kidding? I love Dave & Buster’s. This is where I’d bring Kate and Jordan when I was in high school. Hell, we’ll still come here occasionally when we can all get together. I think we need to bring Kate here so we can cheer her up. Like, do it to celebrate finishing the renovations. She and Roger deserve something special, some sort of treat once we get her moved in.”
For some reason, the mention of Roger and doing something special for Kate sparks an idea: “What if we got the baby room together for her?”
“What?”
“Like, what if we went shopping and pimped out a baby room for Roger?”
“Oh, man. I think that’d be an awesome idea. She’d flip out. We could get it all set up for her…”
“Yeah. Paint the walls blue. You know, do the whole nine yards with it.”
“Why’s the wall gotta be painted blue?” Mikey asks.
“’Cause it’s a boy?”
“You don’t know. Maybe he won’t always identify as a boy. Why would you want to push that on him? Reinforce these gender stereotypes?”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Yeah. No. If I had a kid, I wouldn’t want to just have the pink or blue. And yellow is a fucking awful color, so I always figured I’d go with something a little less confining. There’s this shade of orange that I really liked when I was at Home Depot one day, picking out colors for my place in California. I always thought if I had a kid, that’s the color I’d pick.”
“I want to critique your choice of the color orange, but first, I want to seriously know, how much thought have you given to having a kid?”
“A, as in one kid? Oh, I plan on having several. Like three or seven. I’m not sure.”
I can tell he’s making light of it, but there’s something serious to what he’s saying, too. “Be real with me for a second. Like, you want kids?”
“Don’t you?”
“I haven’t given it any serious thought, I guess. I’m more surprised that you have.”
“I guess that’s what five years’ age difference does. I mean, I’m getting near thirty, and I would seriously like to have a kid at some point.”
“Don’t you need to get a little more serious with someone for that to happen?”
“Look at you and all your traditional values. I figured, considering you were raised by a single dad, you’d understand more than anyone. I can always get a surrogate on my own. And I’m happy to do that.”
