“Uh huh.”
“Why do you know ASL?”
“So I can communicate with my best friend.” He turned to look at me and abruptly changed the subject. “Why’d you give the valet a fake name?”
“Because I’d like to keep a low profile while I’m here in San Francisco.”
“You blew it when you handed me a business card with your real name on it.”
“You weren’t someone I wanted to lie to.” Except about the blow job, apparently.
“But that’s what you’re supposed to do with guys you pick up in bars.”
I frowned and asked, “Lie to them?”
“Of course! Create a whole fantasy for them.”
“So, for example, tell them you’re twenty-seven instead of thirty-five?”
“Thirty-four, and once again, fuck you. But yes, exactly. I’ll be lying about being twenty-seven until I’m forty. Fifty, if the Botox works.”
I grinned and told him, “It’s good to have goals.”
“Agreed.”
“So tell me, Jack O’Donnell, what do you do for a living?”
He waved a hand dismissively and said, “I’m in acquisitions, but let’s not talk about work. I’d much rather talk about who was blowing you a mere six hours ago.”
Shit, he wasn’t letting that go. I deflected by asking, “Jealous?”
“Cautious. If there’s a husband or boyfriend in the picture, then—”
“There’s nobody,” I assured him. “I just got lucky earlier this evening when I stopped off for some coffee.” Fuck, this was getting worse by the minute. And this was why lies were such a bad idea—they usually spiraled out of control.
“Hey, we all need hobbies. If yours is being a man-whore, more power to you.”
“So judgmental! How long’s it been since the last time you had sex?”
“A nice, respectable twenty-four hours, thank you very much.”
“And that’ssomuch better,” I muttered.
“It is! Call me hopelessly prudish, but one sexual encounter a day is generally my limit.” He turned to look at my profile and added, “Plus, if it’s only been six hours, I’m not even sure you’ll be able to get it up again.”
“I didn’t finish earlier. He had to go back to work.” Still spiraling and becoming more ridiculous by the minute. It was too late to back out and admit I was full of shit though, so I just had to roll with it.
“Well, that’s what happens when you let random Starbucks baristas blow you in the parking lot. They only get fifteen minute breaks, you know. That’s usually not enough time for the extra frothy cappuccino treatment.”
I chuckled and told him, “You have a way with words.”
“Thank you.”
“He didn’t work at the coffee house though, and it wasn’t a Starbucks.” Please let this topic die soon!
“I’m glad you clarified that. Those details are obviously important.”
“They are.”