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“So are you attending a wedding?” Bridget asks.
“Is that a big deal?” I return.
Maybe I should have thought it through more before inviting Bridget. A wedding is a family event, and that might send the wrong signal to her, that our relationship is more serious than it is.
“It’s not like I’m taking you home to meet my folks,” I add. “My father’s dead. And my mom’s not likely to attend.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything like that. I don’t think I’d be ready to meet your folks yet, anyway.”
What does that mean? Is she relieved that our relationship doesn’t appear to be moving too fast?
“Maybe flying off to Thailand isn’t a big deal for you,” she continues, “but I don’t get invitations like that. Ever.”
“Then it’s your lucky day. I have to be at a wedding in about a week. I get a plus one. It happens to be in Thailand.”
“And I’d love to go, but Thailand is a little out of my budget.”
“You think I’d invite you to Thailand and make you pay for it?”
“Well, I didn’t want to assume.”
All the women I’ve ever been with wouldn’t have assumed anything else.
She eyes the dessert. “Mind if I dig in?”
“’Course not.”
She takes a spoonful and her eyes widen. She lets the mouthful linger, chewing slowly before swallowing. Warmth stirs in my groin. Yeah, I’ve got to fuck her soon.
“The thing is,” she says, “I also have school, I have an internship, and I have a job.”
She’s declining a date to Phuket? What’s the matter with this woman?
As if sensing my disconcertion, she adds, “I mean, it’s super generous of you, and I wish I could go…”
“Can’t you get class notes from a classmate or catch the lectures online?” I ask.
“My health policy seminar is discussion based. Participation is part of the grade. And it’s not that I can’t take time off from my job and internship, but a week is short notice.”
I stare at her, floored. I can’t tell if it’s really logistics and a strong sense of responsibility that holds her back or something else.
“If you didn’t have to worry about school or work, would you go?” I ask.
“I guess.”
She guesses? I expected a much more positive answer.
“You guess,” I echo.
“Letting a guy pay for dinner is one thing, paying for a trip to Thailand is…different.”
“Not to me.”
“Still, I’d feel guilty about it.”
Why should you feel guilty? I want to ask. But another thought comes to mind. “Would you feel better if you could pay for it?”
“Sure.”
“All right. I’ll let you pay for it.”
She does a double-take. “What?”
“Not with money,” I clarify.
“Then with what?”
Heat tingles through me. “A night at my club. The other side of my club.”
