I felt nervous.
I felt happy.
I feltforher.
We signed up for a year with Club 24, had lunch at a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant and found a grocery store where we bought enough food to feed an army.
By the time we put everything away and unpacked a few boxes at our new home, it was time to get ready for our dates.
My date tonight was Michele. Luckily the date info in my back office only said that she wanted to meet up for drinks. I didn’t have it in me to role-play; pretend I was her boyfriend, her husband, her boss … her whatever the fuck she wanted. She only wanted a drinking buddy and, of course, whiskey was calling my name.
I drove to the bar that she wanted to meet at. The job info stated that she’d be wearing a black dress, drinking a Cosmopolitan, and she had long, straight brown hair. As I walked to the bar, scanning it for her, I didn’t feel nervous. The nervous energy left after the very first date three years ago.
I had to admit, the moment I saw Michele, I was attracted to her. But she didn’t make my pulse race. If she suggested we go back to her place or fuck in her car, I’d be down with it.
“Michele?” I asked, placing my hand on her shoulder.
“Gabe?” she asked, turning around on the barstool.
I gestured toward her drink. “Starting without me?”
She smiled warmly. “It’s my first one.”
I slid onto the stool next to her, flagging down the bartender and ordered a Jack and Coke.
“Whiskey man?” Michele grinned.
“It’s my poison of choice, yes.” I laughed.
“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” She shuddered. “It’s gross.”
“It’s not that bad when you’re used to it.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Do you come here often?” I chuckled at my cliché line.
“Sometimes for happy hour with my friends.”
We made more small talk. I told her how I’d just moved from the Los Angeles area while she told me that she moved to Vegas ten years ago to try and make it in show business. We ordered another round of drinks and I inched closer to her, trying to give her the best experience possible. Women paid decent money for a companion for a few hours and we did everything we could to make them think they were the only woman we were thinking of.
“Would you like another drink?” I asked, pointing to her empty martini glass.
“Actually …” she bit her lip as if to entice me, “we have an hour left. Would you like to come back to my place forcoffee? I live right down the street.”
Oh, the good old coffee line.
If you hire an escort, just fucking say, “Would you like to go back to my place and fuck?” I mean, seriously. Escorts are at your beck and call. It may not be plastered on the walls of our company because it’s illegal to pay for sex, but if you’re feelin’ it, just come out and ask.
I smiled, looking at her lips as she spoke. “Sure. I lovecoffee.”
I followed Michele to her house. An hour wasn’t a lot of time, but with my job, we didn’t have to stick around and cuddle after—unless we still had time and they wanted to.
“How do you like your coffee?” she asked, walking toward her kitchen as I closed the door behind me.
“Michele.” I chuckled. “You and I both know I didn’t come here for coffee.”
She smiled back with a nervous smile, averting her eyes as she asked, “So do we just start?”
