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“You’re up to something,” I say as I push the bar up for the tenth time this rep.
“A date. Tomorrow night.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, sitting on the bench and turning to face him.
“I have a date tomorrow.”
“Shit, it’s not a mom, is it? We have a rule against dating moms of our students. Don’t you remember the Jackie incident?”
“Of course I remember the Jackie incident! It was my balls that kid kicked when he found me sneaking out of her room in the morning!” Shaking my head, I stand up so he can take the bench. “And that’s not it. I’m not dating a mom. I’m dating a perfectly respectable young lady, who happens to be home for the summer.”
“A college student? You’re dating a fucking college girl?”
Rhenn lies back on the bench and grabs the bar. “She just graduated.”
“High school?” I ask, knowing full well that if he answers yes to my question, I’m letting the bar, and all of its weight, drop on his chest.
“Fuck off, Dr. Adams. She’s in grad school. Twenty-four, which is a perfectly respectable age.”
“Fine,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the bar as it rises and lowers to his chest. “What does this have to do with getting off easy today?”
“You’re going with me,” he grunts before pushing up one last time and setting the bar in the cradle.
“What? The hell I am.”
“You said it yourself, you’re ready to start dating. Your dick probably hasn’t been played with since Collette, and it’s time to get back out there, my friend. There are so many women out there willing to help you out with your little problem,” he adds with a smirk.
“It’s not a problem,” I reply, finishing off my bottle of water.
“Dude, anytime you’ve gone more than a week without dick-action is a problem. And it’s been, what, nine months since the bitch from Hell stole your shit and left?”
I don’t confirm nor deny.
“So that’s why you’re going with me to meet Shelli and her friend Becca. You’re going to have a few beers and get to know this woman. And if you’re lucky, she’ll help you out with the dick-play part.”
“You’re horrible,” I reply, wiping my face with a clean hand towel.
“Actually, I’m fucking phenomenal. At least, that’s what the ladies keep saying.”
The shitty part is, the asshole is right. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman (dental hygienist excluded). There’s no better time to get back on the horse than now, right? I don’t even have to waste time trying to find a date, since my friend has pretty much already arranged one for me. That beats the hell out of Internet dating.
“Fine. I’m in.”
“Of course you are,” he says, tossing his used towel into the basket. “You and your dick will thank me later.”
Ignoring his parting comment, I head to the shower, his laughter fading as I go. It’s now or never. No, I don’t expect the first woman I date to be “the one,” but it’d be nice if she wasn’t a cat-stealing, raging bitch on wheels.
Hell, I just need someone who likes to laugh, drink coffee by the Bay, and enjoys Mexican food as much as I do. Someone who kisses like a dream and maybe lets me hold her hand while we’re watching a movie. And shower sex. Someone who doesn’t mind getting wet and dirty, while you’re supposed to be getting clean.
Is that too much to ask?
