After stepping out of the stall, hoping the Linda woman is still in her stall, I thankfully find the sink open and the space clear. I wash my hands quickly and trudge back to my seat at the bar, surprised to see Wesley still here. I figured I would have scared him off by now. Maybe he's too drunk to walk anywhere. He's had twice as many drinks as I have, and I couldn't walk in a straight line if I tried.
"I'm back," I tell him.
"The bartender cut us off," he says. "This guy thinks we're too drunk to drink anymore."
"We're not driving, man," I tell the bartender.
"We have a limit, and he's hit the limit, so, no more. I'm sorry."
"Oh, you're done, but I'm not," I correct Wesley.
"You're going to stay here and drink more by yourself?"
"No, I didn't say that. I was making sure you knew I wasn't cut off too."
"Well, I just paid the tab, so I'm going to get going."
"You didn't have to pay for my drinks," I tell him, flopping my heavy hand down on his well-defined shoulder. He's warm, so warm. Why are men always so cozy and warm? I want to be cozy and warm too.
"I figured it was the polite thing to do after you put up with my whiny ass all night."
"True," I agree. "You were kind of whiny."
Rather than sit back down on the stool, I decide it's best that I get going too. It's a work night, and God knows, I still have to show my face at that shithole tomorrow morning.
"Thank you," I tell him.
"For what?" He looks confused, more confused than I feel.
"Paying for my drinks. Oh, you know what I should have gotten, though? I'm so stupid."
"What's that?"
I laugh first because the thought of what I'm to say has me cracking up before I can get a word out. "A milkshake. Do you serve those?"
"I don't serve those because I don't work here, but thank you for the milk joke. It's nice to know I can't go an hour without someone sharing an overused pun."
"I have more," I offer.
"I'm all set for tonight, but thank you," he says, sauntering toward the front door.
Following in his footsteps, I poke him in the back of his arm. "How far do you live from here?" I ask.
"Just a couple of blocks down the street thankfully. What about you?"
“Seven stops away on the Green Line D."
"Shit," he says. "That's a long ride for you take yourself this late at night."
"I've done it before. I'll be fine, but thank you." We're outside, and the windchill has picked up from earlier. It's freaking cold, but if I'm looking on the bright side, it would be a lot colder if I was sober. "Hey, good luck with everything. I hope your attorney and publicist get back to you soon," I tell him.
"Thanks," he says, stopping at the end of the block we're on.
"You okay?"
"I'm just pissed," he says.
"You just peed your pants?" I question.
