"I didn't hear what you said," I tell him.
"Can I buy you a quick drink so we can go somewhere quieter?"
I glance at my watch again. I'm a busy woman, and there are bottles of wine waiting for me at home. Pursing my lips to the side, I look up at his tall stance, finding distress in his eyes and stress lines parting his forehead—that can't be good for a perfect face.My God. Why do I become soft around needy men? It's like I have a gift for attracting this type of man. Except,thesemen seem to need attention when in reality they only want to gain full control, which then causesmeto feel needy. "I don't know. I should get home."
"Sure, yeah, I understand," he says. "Thanks for the heads up today. I'll be more careful when the next job comes up." He's giving me puppy dog eyes—he can't be serious. Did his pupils just get bigger too, or is it just my imagination?
No, I don't need this in my life.
I am happy without drama.
I am happy with nothing but my career.
No, no, I'm not. I'm bored, and I'm lonely, and my roommate is my only friend, and she's not the greatest.
"Wow, you're really milking this situation for sympathy, huh? Fine, one drink, then I have to get home to my couch—the poor thing has been alone and waiting for me all day. I need to feed and warm it up."
"First, I'm not 'milking' anything, but thanks for the jab. Second, I don't want to keep you from your—ah—couch, which is why I simply said, 'I understand.'" Wesley raises a brow as if he needs to appear confused by my statements, but I know better. I'm familiar with the game.
"Yeah, that's all you said out loud, but it's apparent you are proficient in talking with your expressions too. Let's go, pretty boy." The poor guy has no clue how much worse his day can get.
He sighs but doesn't argue as he places his hand on the small of my back to lead the way toward wherever he has in mind.
"The place over there," he points to the corner of the next block, "is quiet until later hours, and it's close by so I won't need to keep you from your couch for too long."
"Good, I like quiet. Plus, I can rest knowing the staff will hear you scream if I need to use my pepper spray."
He doesn't respond, but I'm sure he "fears" me like most men do when I use my threats.
We enter a small, modern looking bar with empty booths and plenty of free stools at the bartop.
"Sit wherever you'd like," the man behind the bar says.
I take the lead and sit in front of the bartender, and Wesley takes the seat beside me. "What can I get you to drink?" Wesley asks.
If he's buying, I'll skip the wine. "Captain and Coke," I tell him. "Oh, and with a cherry, please."
"Two Captain and Cokes, hers with a cherry," Wesley tells the bartender, who is staring at us curiously for longer than necessary
"Maybe he recognizes you," I whisper.
"Maybe," he says, cocking his head to the side as if he's trying to figure out if he knows the bartender, possibly.
"What did you need to ask me?" I cut to the chase while helping myself to two cardboard coasters from behind the bar. I slide one over to Wesley and place the other in front of me.
"How long have you worked at Virtual Generation?" he asks.
I sigh and look up at the ceiling, using my fingers to count. "It's been three full days now."
"Shit," he says. "I didn't realize you werethatnew."
"Yup, and so far it's the most amazing job I've ever had."
Wesley shakes his head and runs his hand down the side of his face. "If that's the case, you may want to consider a career change."
"Already on it," I tell him.
A couple of minutes full of silence isn't awkward like I would have expected, and Wesley seems more down to earth than I originally gave him credit for earlier. There's a mirror in front of us, but he's more interested in the game on TV. That's a good sign.
