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“What look on my face?”
His smile widens. “Oh, you know… that look. You know what I’m talking about.”
I shrug.
“You just look like a man who’s getting some naughty texts, is all,” he explains. “Am I right? That's what's happening.”
“Well, if you're all set here, I want to take another sweep around the building and then get out of your hair.”
He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his shiny shirt and smirking.
“Who is she? Girlfriend?”
I shake my head.
“Not one of mine,” he sniffs. “Right? I snagged those girls here fair and square, August. You have to find your own.”
“Not one of yours,” I sigh.
The depths of this douche bag constantly take me by surprise. Every time I think he's out of options, he finds a new way to disgust me.
“What's her name? Jenny? Kathy?”
I don't answer, just squint at him, wondering where he's going with all this.
“Martha? You look like a Martha kind of guy. Betty? Esther?”
“I really don't know what you are talking about. I'll just be going —”
He stands suddenly. “No, I'm actually interested,” he insists. “I don't know anything about you, man. Least you can do is tell me her name.”
I shrug. “Actually… no idea.”
His eyebrows go up. I think he waxes them or something. They're very neat. Two pointy rows.
“You don’t know her name? How did this happen? You into some kind of freaky set up? You military types are pretty weird.”
“No, she just… didn’t tell me yet. She says we know each other,” I shrug, hearing how strange that sounds when I say it out loud. I glance at the face of my phone, wondering if I should investigate this further.
I definitely should.
“Oh, I get it,” he smiles, nodding knowingly. “You're baiting the trap. Smooth. I'm impressed.”
“Yeah, baiting the trap,” I agree, wondering what he's talking about. I hope he’s not talking from experience… but then, he probably is. He’s probably always trying to lure women into his ‘trap.’
“Nice,” he smirks. “Well, if you want my advice, you can't ever go wrong with the cum shot. Ladies love that shit. Just don't do it in the studio, man, that's gross.”
“Wow, Kirkman,” I cough. “You’re sending videos to these girls you’re picking up? Fantastic. I’m surprised that hasn’t gone viral yet. Melanie’s going to be so impressed.”
He shakes his head, shrugging. “No, man. You’re using Instagram, right? You don't have to worry about that.”
“I do have to worry about that. it's my job, remember?”
He raises his hands, smirking insufferably.
“No, old man… listen. If you're sending messages to some bird on Instagram, direct messages, I mean… those videos expire. They can watch him once, maybe twice and then they're gone. It's totally safe.”
I shake my head. This is news to me, but for some reason I don't want to admit that.
