"It is getting a little hot in here," Sunglasses said.
"You're not that hot." I coughed and flapped the shirt.
"You said I was stupidly attractive."
"Obviously you are hot, but this room is not that hot… see I have a condition…"
"A condition," he repeated. "Like a medical condition?"
"Like a sexual condition!" Jemma called out. The man seemed confused yet amused as I floundered.
"You're not helping," I hissed at Jemma. I swallowed again. The sweat dripped down my scalp.
"It's not contagious. I just go a little weird around—" I swallowed again. "Stupidly attractive men." The last bit came out in a rasp. I took a sip of the drink I had just made for Sexy Sunglasses. "Crap. I'll make you another one."
He held up a hand to stop me. "So, attractive men make you wet? I mean sweat?"
Trying to avoid his gaze, I rang up the painting. Or tried anyway. My iPad wouldn't register the finger taps. I wiped my hands. "It's almost as if it doesn't want your business," I joked while silently threatening the iPad with a baseball bat in an empty field. "To think, this is supposed to be a quaint, historic town, and yet here I am, offering my nighttime services," I joked desperately as the app made a frantic beeping noise and told me it couldn't connect to the server.
"This is a brothel?" Sexy Sunglasses asked, confused.
"Lord no! This is an upstanding establishment! I was just trying and failing to be funny. I don't dothatfor payment. I just paint. That's my painting. It's a joke, ha ha." More finger guns. I could feel Jemma cringing. It was like those dreams where I was back in middle school and suddenly I didn't have any clothes on, except this guy was so attractive, I actually wished I sort of didn't have any clothes on.
"I know," he said and smiled. Then he took out a wad of cash and put it on the counter. "For the painting." He took the drink and downed the rest of it. "And that."
I counted the money. "I can't charge you for the drink. Let me get you your change." I knew I didn't have enough cash lying around to give him money back, and I prayed some would magically appear as I opened and shut the drawers on the bar.
"Keep it," Sexy Sunglasses said.
I mentally did the math. "It's a seventy-five-dollar tip."
"I like to support local business," he replied, taking the giant painting off the wall and hefting it easily with one arm. The muscles bulged under his shirt. "I like making art too. I'm a very talented finger painter, you know."
I made a squawk like a dying chicken.
He slipped on the sunglasses and looked over the top of them at me. Jemma shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
"Actually, I think I will take that snack," Sexy Sunglasses said, looking right at me but reaching for the popcorn. "May I?"
"This is mine," Jemma said around the popcorn, holding the bowl to her chest. I grabbed the bowl from her, and we engaged in a brief tug-of-war.
"It'smine."
"You said you were on a diet, Jemma," I hissed.
"I lied."
"He paid a lot of money. Give me that popcorn." I wrenched it out of my friend's hands and shoved it at the man. "All yours! You even get the bowl! Come in me anytime! I mean, come back in to see me anytime!" My clothes were drenched in sweat.
The man paused and looked at me. Seeming like he decided something, he slid a black business card across the tabletop. "If you ever want to get creative in a way that doesn't involve selling a painting," he said in that atrociously deep voice, "call me. Ask for Donut Danish."
"I'd like to eat his donut Danish," Jemma muttered under her breath. I kicked her.
My friend and I waved furiously through the window as Sexy Sunglasses walked to a sleek sports car parked across the street. He didn't turn around, just drove off like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Man," Jemma said a moment after we both managed to calm down. "You really blew that one. It was one for the record books. I was about to have a stroke from secondhand embarrassment."
I took her drink and downed the rest in one go.
