“Multiple someones.”
Her brows rise and then it dawns on me how that sounds.
“It’s work, I promise. I’m not married… or with anyone for that matter.”
“You sure about that?” Her question lingers in the air and the longer the pause beats between us, the more it feels more like a challenge begging me to grab hold of the bait.
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“You’re married all right.”
I wiggle my vacant ring finger to prove her wrong.
Squinting, she inspects it. “Oh, no, I got that part. I meant that you may be single but if that’s your work phone, I think it’s safe to say you’re married to work. Am I right?”
I never thought of it like that. I’m dedicated to my work, sure. And I’m grateful for what it’s provided me. A very comfortable life, a way to provide my mom the financial stability and security she deserves by taking on her medical expenses since her health has been on the decline for years. I’ve been able to not only invest and put away for retirement but to also give back —since my dad instilled in me at a young age the importance of being charitable. It’s given me so much, but I’d be lying if I said that I don’t feel indebted to what I do. Stuck. None of which I’d associate with actual marriage, but the nuance of what she’s saying isn’t lost on me.
“I work a lot, but no, I’m not married to my job.”
“You could’ve fooled me with the way your phone has been going off.”
“Yeah, because I was tied up,” I remind her with a wink.
She grins, rather mischievously at that. “Tied? More like buried in something, but tomato tomahto.”
I playfully shrug. “I’m not complaining.”
“Good. Me neither.”
Leaving it at that, we make our way back through the crowded bar, walking through the doors, and onto the equally crowded Manhattan street.
It’s surprisingly chilly out tonight for it being early summer and when I see her teeth chattering, and goosebumps pebbling her skin, instinct kicks in and I take off my suit jacket to drape over her shoulders. Or at least, that’s what I’d intended to do until her blue eyes double in size, looking at me as if I’m about to stab her.
“What are you doing?” She gasps.
“You seem cold, I was just going to lend you my suit jacket.”
Exasperated, a sigh comes barreling out of her mouth.
“What? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Are you kidding? You haven’t done a damn thing wrong. That’s the problem.”
“I’m not following,” I admit.
Another sigh slips through her lips, and instead of responding, she leaves me hanging to grab her phone.
“Trust me, you aren’t the problem here. I am.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She stares at her phone screen. “Well, believe it. I’d elaborate but my Uber is about to pull up, so that doesn’t give us enough time for me to divulge all my issues. Sad, I know.”
Sure enough, her Uber arrives and I don’t know what to say. I stand still, speechless, trying to think of something, and thankfully my brain decides to turn on just as she goes to take off my jacket.
“Leave it.”
She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, okay. Because it’s customary after you break a woman’s orgasm record to gift her an article of clothing that cost more than most people’s rent.”
