“This woman is crazy! She’s not a bitch, I’m sorry for ever implying that she was one. Because dogs are awesome. Dogs are man’s best friends. Dogs are loyal, friendly and compassionate. But this crazy voodoo witch is insane! She wrote an article about me! What kind of insane person does that? Who has a bad date and runs off to tell 20 million people about it, blaming an entire gender for the foibles of one conversation? No, no, no, no, I’m through. From now on, I am shunning her. I will never speak to this woman again. In fact, I’m getting a restraining against her tomorrow morning. She is a stalker, total stalker, like the Manson family, this girl.”

Nate snickers like a school girl, finding genuine amusement in my suffering.

“Oh, you like that? You think I deserve this? What a good friend you are."

“Dude, can I just say something?”

“Say whatever you want, I don’t care. I’m through with it. I’m tired of dealing with politics and with women’s lib.”

“I don’t think what Lyndia is doing is feminist or anything like that,” Nate says. “In fact…well…I think it’s kind of funny what’s going on here, actually.”

“Oh, you like that? You like my suffering at the hands of a mad woman? I’m not dealing with a normal twenty-year-old white girl. I’m dealing with fucking Tyler Perry. A crazy ass black man pretending to be a woman, dressing up like a white girl. That’s what Lyndia is. That’s the level of insanity we’re dealing with here.”

Nate cracks up laughing again. “Dude, I can’t believe you don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“What?”

“She’s playing you!”

“Playing me?”

“Come on, dude. Lyndia is obviously playing you because she likes you.”

“No, this isn’t a game, Nate.”

“Like hell. How many times have you given a woman a hard time, flirting with her and pushing her around a little bit? Every player knows that getting a reaction is better than getting no reaction. You didn’t even notice who she was until she busted your balls a little bit.”

I quiet down and think it over. Holding my forehead, trying to figure out if it’s even remotely possible that someone is playing the player.

“You mean…she’s mindfucking me?”

“Yeah. You’re like the guy equivalent of a hot milf to a smart girl like that. She knows the only way you’ll obsess over her is if she treats you like crap.”

“Jesus Christ. I…I never even thought about it.”

“Well who talked to who first? Did you approach her?”

“No. She spoke to me. She accused me of breaking food etiquette.”

“When?”

“Right around the time, I was…totally checking out that hottie from the party. Oh my God, you're right!"

“See? Do I know women or do I know women?”

I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Playing a player. I’ll be damned. Well, I got to put a stop to this. No more games. From now on, I’m calling her out on her bullshit.”

“Just be sure…”

“What?”

“I’m just saying,” Nate says with a smirk, “if you’re going to play mind games with a master, you better sure as hell win.”

“Hey man, don’t worry about me. I can be a player on and off the field. And oh yeah I can play dirty. If she wants to play ME, the master player, she’s got another thing coming. I never strike out. I always score and I always win.”

Hearing that Lyndia is playing me like a piano got me all riled up. I decided to stalk her Facebook account last night, which is where I heard that she’s going to be coming out tonight, in an Uber (naturally).

Namely, to Larry’s Sports Tavern. A dance club downtown with live music and cheap hard drinks. I’ve decided to pay Lyndia a little visit.

Not sure what I’m going to say yet, but I’m good at improvising. I think I’ll show up, be extra kind, and respectful…and then smack her down with a neg-hit compliment right when she least suspects it. I’m going to let her know that I ain’t playing her game. I’m the one ready to play ball.

Damn, not to get distracted from my goal of revenge tonight, but there sure are some hot ladies waiting at the bar tonight. I scan around my lovely surroundings and look for the skinny, goofy looking twenty-something nerd hiding among hot milfs. I’m sure she sticks out like a sore thumb.

There she is! I squint my eyes and make sure that the woman I’m seeing is actually Lyndia. Sure as hell. I’d recognize that hipster figure anywhere. Skinny with a tiny little belly. Wearing some babushka hat with a striped pattern sweater and dark pants. Look like she’s here to make a statement.

NOT look beautiful and have a good time. No, not Lyndia. She’s here to make people uncomfortable. That sounds like her.

I shake my head in shame as I walk up to greet the little social justice warrior queen. I’m dressed in a casual blazer and look damn good, which explains all the looks I’m getting from women on the dance floor. But tonight my goal isn’t flirting around. It’s settling a vendetta.

“Soo LYNDIA…” I say, looking cocky and sweet.

She turns around and makes eye contact.

But just as her eyes meet mine, my eyes drift down…

What the hell is she wearing?

I notice she’s not actually wearing pants—no, she’s wearing red yoga pants. And she is leaving…nothing to the imagination. Her yoga pants are super tight maroon colored leggings that show a well-defined outline of her cute little muppet.

Jesus Christ, I can basically see her pussy lips! What the hell is she wearing…and uh…uh…

Fuck. Now she’s staring at me and I’m at a complete loss for words.

“Yes?” Lyndia says in sarcasm.

“Um…hey,” I say shaking off the image of her perfectly sculpted camel toe. Remember man…repulsive personality. Try to stay focused. “Uhhh…I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, what a strange coincidence,” she says with a suspicious face. “Should one of us leave now or something?”

“Nah. Enjoy your drink. And hey, have a good night.”

“Oh yeah, right. I’ll sure try.” She says, rolling her eyes not too subtly.

I sit down a couple of stools away from her, still trying to process what happened. Was I lame or what? I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see her kitty up close. Does she walk around like that just to intimidate guys? What a tiger she is…dammit, I think she’s winning this player’s war again.

I let a few minutes pass, stewing in my juices of resentment. She can’t win this game. I have to out-psyche her first. I’m Rey Ramirez, NOBODY intimidates me. Hell, this is my bar! Everyone in here loves me. The world knows my name. It’s time to set things straight once and for all.

I hop right out of my seat and sit myself next to Lyndia who scowls at me in response. But I hardly notice because I’m already signaling to the bartender to serve us drinks.

“I’ll have bourbon. My friend Lyndia here with have a cosmo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust me, I know what you want. All twenty-year-olds drink vodka. You have to grow up to appreciate whiskey.”

“I don’t like cosmos.”

“Then pick what you want. I’m buying drinks tonight.”

“Oh really? What makes you think I want a drink from you?”

“Because you’re probably broke. And because you love alcohol as much as me. And because, I know, despite your pissy face right now, you’re just dying to talk to me again.”

She laughs. “Really? You sure have a high opinion of yourself, Rey.” She waves to the bartender. “I’ll have a whiskey coke.”

“Well, well, wise beyond your years.”

“A lot of people like whiskey. It’s very mainstream.”

We both take a big gulp. Maybe it's the alcohol talking, well, of course, it's the alcohol talking, but I really do admire Lyndia. At least her spirit, if not her attitude. She’s tough. She doesn’t let men intimidate her. That’s good for something.

“I really just want to let bygones be bygones.”

“What are bygones?”

“You never heard…ah, you know what? No big deal. Just an expression meaning, ‘Let’s start over.’ Let’s be friends.”

“Hmmm,” she says, almost smiling. “That might take a few more drinks.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lyndia that’s what I know. But hey, it’s a good night. I’ve got money. You got yourself an open tab.”

“Score!” she says, gulping down her whiskey coke and signaling for another one.

“You know for what it’s worth, I really think Reagan is a cool person. I’m sure you’re a good person too. Families you know…”

Gulp. She takes a gulp.

“Families depend on each other.”

“Yeah, we do," seeming to understand the nonsense coming out of my mouth.

I take another gulp. She follows.

“You and I are rebels, you know?”

“Rebels?” she smiles in curiosity.

“Yeah. It seems like we come from opposite ends of the spectrum. But you know people like you, who want to create new rules for everybody. You’re rebelling against conventions. Because nobody follows rules. But you and I, we’re the revolutionaries. We tell people you know what? Screw convention. Screw your rules. These are MY rules. And that’s what matters. And that’s why they’re scared of us.”

“So you and I are rebels, like Che Guevara?”

“Hey, that’s your comparison, not mine. And a totally white girl thing to say, just because our ancestors come from South America.”

She laughs. It’s not a racial thing. I just can’t think of any other revolutionaries off the top of my head.”

Another two gulps. She is keeping up with me like a trooper. I admire a woman who can hold her liquor. We are, after all, rebels. We drink like kings, not peasants.

“Lenin. Marx.”

“Who else?”

“Castro. Gandhi. George Washington, you know that one.”

“Eva Peron?”

“Sort of…” I say with a wince.

“Sorry, most of my knowledge of history comes from Broadway musicals.”

“I gotcha,” I say with a grin.

“Joan of Arc.“

“She was an anarchist in my opinion.”

“How sad that most of the revolutionaries in history are all men. Or at least, the well-known ones.”

I roll my eyes and start to slur out a response…

“But you know…you really know a lot about history.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” she says, finally giving me a full smile…even though it’s still closed lips. “It’s just a compliment.”

“Wow. I’ve never seen this side of you before, so normal and nice.”

“I am nice!” she laughs. “I’m just assertive. And a lot of guys can’t deal with that.”

“I can dig it,” I say with a manly nod…feeling the first buzz of the night. Oh yeah, the room is bright. The noise of the crowd is drowning out. I feel nothing but intimacy with the person I'm talking to. And of course, it’s the alcohol talking…but she really is beautiful. I can see some of Reagan in her face. And Reagan is definitely not. But Lyndia is younger…more ferocious. More cerebral. Amazing.

“I guess I owe you an apology too.”

“More like ten,” I reply quickly.

“More like one!”

“What’s that?”

“I do actually respect baseball. I used to watch games with my grandfather when I was younger. And I do kind of know who you are.”

“Really? So you were playing me?”

“I wasn’t playing you,” she says defensively, taking another drink and waving for another to the bartender. “But I was probably pissy and so I pretended as if I didn’t know who you were.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Yeah well still waiting for your apology.”

“For what, double dipping or-?”

“No, that was just gross. About disrespecting women.”

“How do I disrespect women?” I signal for another round, definitely feeling tipsy but actually enjoying the conversation for once. That’s the secret to tolerating Lyndia—get drunk! And I’m almost at the point where her intellectual arguments are fascinating.

“Because, you see women just for what you can get from them.”

“Ah, like your retarded article that you wrote for that rag.”

“That retarded article paid eight hundred dollars, so whatever.”

“Sure it did. Sensationalist garbage.”

“And yet your typical male response is to deny everything rather than see the feminist’s point of view.”

“All men are rapists? Really? If that were true, there wouldn’t be thousands of sick SOBs in jail right now. It’s a crime. And I stand by what I said. I’ve never forced a girl to do anything with me. They come on to me.”

“After you seduce them. You’re charming, sweet talking, making promises.”

“I’m making promises I intend to keep!” I say defiantly, but still laughing because of the good whiskey. “I don’t need to promise shit to get a girl into bed. I just need to live up to the promises I make.”

I pause. Oh fuck it, I’m going to say it.

“And the only promise I make is that I’m going to make her cum.”

Lyndia stares me down, probably poker-facing her way through this moment. Where I definitely hit a nerve. She probably doesn’t know if I made her wet or made her furious. Hey, it’s all the same thing for a player.

“Aside from that, all those women know what I am and what I want. And what we feel for each other is mutual. I don’t want to get married, neither do they. It’s the perfect relationship.”

“Well…”

“And I know a young twenty-something hipster like you will never understand. Because you want to get married. Your life is all about idealism.”

“Fuck no,” she says taking another shot and waving another round. “I don’t want to get married.”

“Then why take offense at my bachelorhood lifestyle?” I swish the whiskey around. I’m gloriously tipsy…but not drunk. It actually takes a hard-drinking SOB like me a lot more than this to get fucked up. But I’m tipsy enough to think Lyndia is looking mighty fine right about now.

“We are alike in that respect,” she says cautiously. “I consider myself polyamorous.”

“Polyamorous?” I laugh harder and order another two rounds. I gulp down one whole glass before I look her in the silly face and say…

“In a normal world, we call that fucking pussy for sport. No need to be ashamed of it, as long as it's consensual. Oh and as long as you make her come twice."

“See? That’s a sexist way of saying it.”

“Oh do tell me the respectful way of saying it.”

“I-”

“I’m not calling myself polyamorous. That’s a stupid word. Now you tell me the politically correct way of saying what I do.”

“Your descriptive words are juvenile, Rey. That’s the issue.”

“Fuck class. Would you rather me say, I have intercourse with vaginas? Is that the PC way of saying it?”

“The PC term is that you date a lot of women.”

“But…we don’t date. Not in the technical sense of the word.”

I stare at Lyndia again, daring her to get upset and throw a hissy fit.

“So what do I call it? I don’t take her to dinner. I don’t meet her parents. It’s not dating.”

“Well forgive me, Rey, if I don’t feel the need to swear just to emphasize the chaos of my love life.”

I sigh and crack up. “You mean the lack of your love life. Most women I know that take offense at swearing are the ones who haven’t been laid since the stone age. No offense though. It’s harder for smarter girls to get laid.”

“Not really,” she replies quickly. “We’re just pickier is all.”

“But for the record, and to make sure we’re still on good terms…I will say this. Any guy who would turn you down is an idiot. You’re the catch of a lifetime.”

I smile slyly, massaging her face with my dark and flirting eyes.

She smiles and grabs me by the shoulder just as a turn away. “What do you mean by that?”

“No touching! Personal space.”

“Oh gimme a break,” she says. “Why do men get so much credit for being rough and tough but the second a woman does the same thing she’s labeled a nutcase?”

“Get the hell out of here with your feminist talk.”

“No! You just keep up, big boy. You’re so manly, after all, you should be up for debate.”

I’m up all right. My cock is hard, not only from a relaxing series of drinks, but also because Lyndia is finally showing herself to be a somewhat normal human being. And the second I actually decide to like a woman, I also decide I want to have sex with her.

Damn, maybe Lyndia has a point. I have no female friends, at least platonically speaking.

One thing’s for sure…

“And I just think that, you know, men ought to be honest about that sort of thing. About you know…the way they see the world.”

I nod sincerely, trying to pretend as if this goofy girl isn’t drunk off her ass. She’s making less and less sense and yet seems to get friendlier the more wasted she becomes. While I do admire a girl that likes to party, I also have to admit she’s a lightweight when it comes to drinking. I could still drink another three rounds before I even think about stopping.

But she’s already laughing like a hyena and bouncing in the stool like a freaking rabbit. One thought occurs to me…as I so subtle gaze down at her pretty kitty protruding out of those yoga pants.

I could probably fuck her right now. Right this second. Her defenses are down, she’s having way too much fun. She’s grabbing my shoulder, letting me know she likes me. Part of me wonders if she would go for it…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, honey, but you sure look good when you’re saying it.”

“No really!” she says with a rowdy laugh and a punishing smack on my shoulder. “I’m serious. I’m just saying that all the guys I know…uh…that uh…”

The juice gets to her and she shakes off her bad memory. Trying her best to act like a civilized young lady and not a drunken fool.

“You know? The uh…the debate! What I was saying.”

“Mmm-hmmm. So pretty. Perfectly pouty lips.”

She laughs again…a boisterous laugh followed by a self-conscious rub to her hair.

Follow me to the bathroom. Let’s go outside. Let’s dance.

I’m so tempted to say it. All it will take is one sentence, one sexually charged thought to get her to drop her…well not her panties, but those cock-teasing yoga pants.

I could do it. It would be so easy and so fun.

And yet I can’t bring myself to say it.

Because dammit, she’s drunk. I know it. Half the bar probably knows it.

Just because she’s oblivious as to why she’s having so much fun doesn’t mean I can play dumb. A man, a real man, owes it to himself to walk away when the playing field isn’t fair.

What kind of a moral failure would I be if I was so desperate for sex that I used Lyndia’s weakness against her?

Sex is easy. For me. Hell, for any man who has basic social skills and not a lot of prejudice. Keeping your friends safe…now that’s a challenge.

“Hey kiddo,” I say, leaving behind a money shot of cash for our bill. “Come with me.”

“Okay…” she says softly, eyes wide, and probably horny with anticipation.

She follows me outside, stumbling along the way and grabbing my shoulders to keep her balance.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re taking my limo home.”

I send a text to my personal chauffeur who should be only a few blocks away. Our relationship is simple. I get drunk at any moment, he knows when he gets the text to come get me. And I pay him so much money he can take the whole month off.

“Ohhh a limo.”

“Is that all right with you?” I say with a sly smile. “Or does that offend some fringe group of millennials somewhere that some rich SOBs still drive limousines?”

“I’m okay with it! But I can’t speak for all millennials.”

She chatters on about stupid shit and I nod graciously, playing along. She’s definitely drunk and way too happy, probably thinking I’m going to take her home to my mansion and have sex with her for a whole whopping five minutes…

Right before she falls asleep in mid-thrust.

Charles my chauffeur drives up in the limo. I signal to him and wait for him to pull up. I open the door for my guest and help her inside.

“Ohhh that is so awesome! I’ve never ridden in a limo before.”

“No kidding. They don’t have limos where you work?”

She giggles madly. “No, not at the bank! It’s a minimum wage job. At least, until I can start my dream job.”

“Which is what?”

“Being president of course.”

“Ah, good goal. Start small.”

“Exactly.”

I giggle along with her as we relax in our seats. She snuggles closer to me, probably figuring that I need a little “Help” in making the first move. Naah, doll face. When I make a move there’s no mistaking it. I’m just trying to get your little muppet ass home safely tonight.

She giggles shyly as she moves her face closer to mine. She hums and makes sure her breath (smelling like a whiff of whiskey heaven) hits my neck.

I look away with a smirk on my face. She comes in closer again and I raise my eyebrow at her.

She giggles softly and I sigh…in discomfort.

She touches my shoulder…hands getting closer to my chest. I flinch…

“Lyndia, can I just say something? Like total honesty?”

“Sure…” she coos making intense eye contact with me.

“Even if you were the last woman on the face of the planet and I was ordered by aliens to procreate with you for the very survival of the human species? I would still say no. I would choose death over making love to your hipster dork body.”

Her eyes fume and I struggle not to laugh.

“You’re an asshole!” she says, backing away and sighing in disgust.

Ah good, the angry drunk Lyndia finally comes out.

“Who asked you, anyway?” she snaps back. “I don’t want your high mileage junk on me anyway. Probably slept with more skanks than you’ve hit home runs.”

“Definitely.”

“Fuck off. Just let me off here.”

“Nope.”

“No? Where are you taking me?” Her eyes light up in a fit of paranoia. “Oh my God are you going to kill me? Are you doing a Dexter thing?”

“Nah, I’m not going to hurt the future president. I’m taking you home.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Actually I do. I texted my driver your address. He researched your name and residence before he came.”

“What if I don’t want to go?!”

“You do. And you’re going to do as you’re told. Because being a drunken jackass in public puts you in danger.”

“Oh really? Oh really?!”

“Really. Not all men are as chivalrous as I am.”

“What the fuck ever! I do what I want! I’m just going to go back to the bar as soon as you drop me off.”

“Yeah right,” I wheeze. “You’re going to storm inside and collapse on the bed. Right after you puke up all my money’s worth.”

“You are the most disgusting man I’ve ever met!”

“Yeah, I am,” I say with a happy smile. “Why do you only try to score with gross, disgusting men?”

“I was NOT trying to score with you,” she replies. “I was just being nice. And as usual, you had to be an asshole.”

“No argument there. But hey, I was just being honest. You were throwing yourself at me and I just wasn’t feeling the attraction.”

“Oh right, because I’m just not milfy enough for you?”

“Yeah, that's it. No wrinkles, no sagging breasts. No t-shirt and jeans. Totally not attracted."

“Whatever,” she pouts, almost like her feelings are hurt.

“You have the perfect body. A perfect mind. You’re beautiful and ambitious. You’re fearless. Amazing in every respect.”

She stares at me and listens in interest.

“And yet I’m such a disgusting man that I’m still chasing over-forty bar sluts. Probably my low self-esteem. I don’t deserve you, kid. See, I’m just too intimidated to score with you. Life’s funny that way.”

“You’re an asshole, Rey Ramirez.”

Lyndia opens the limo door in a rage, not even waiting for Charles to come to a complete stop. But at least we got her home. She leaves in a huff and slams the door hard.

I roll the window down.

“Yup, the kind of asshole who reminds you to take your damned purse with you.”

“Gimme! Now get the fuck off my property!”

Charles and I cut up all the way home. Boy, this is a story for the ages.

Caller ID says it’s Lyndia calling me. Big surprise. Ten hours ago, she was stumbling inside her house, drunk off her pretty little ass. Now she’s probably calling me to apologize. Predictable. But I sure as hell deserve a thank you. A lesser man not only would have taken advantage of her last night. He would have also left her stranded there. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t leave friends drunk. Even friends of friends. Even friends of friends who hate me.

I grab the phone and grin.

“Well, well, sober up yet?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” she shoots back. “I was tipsy. And even if I was drunk, Rey, that gave you no right to pull that father figure bullshit that you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m allowed to get drunk! Who the hell put you in charge of my life? I don’t need a daddy. I was looking for a date. And you pulled the same male chauvinist behavior you always do.”

My jaw drops and never closes. I don’t know whether to laugh or shriek.

“I’m waiting for my apology!” she says.

“ME?! Apologize to you?!”

“That’s right!”

“You’re the one who got drunk!”

“I was NOT drunk, Rey.”

“Yes, you were."

“Just because a woman finds you funny and flirts with you a little does not mean she’s drunk!”

“Well…well…”

“Yeah! Dipshit. Maybe from your perspective, you thought I was drunk. But I was just having fun.”

“So…when you came to the limo…”

“Yeah?” she says, followed by a full stop.

“And when you…I mean…you really weren’t drunk? You were just hitting on me?”

She laughs softly. “Well, that depends. Are you admitting that you thought about it?"

“Of course I thought about it,” I say, a little warm from the excitement of admitting how breathless I felt in that moment of temptation. “But I just assumed…”

“Of course you ass-umed. Because you’re an ass, Rey.”

“I don’t hit on drunk girls. It’s no challenge for me. It’s unfair to them. It’s cheating.”

“How noble. And if I really was drunk, I’d have appreciated your heroism. But I was not drunk. The first hint that a girl is drunk? When she tells you she’s drunk. Idiot.”

“But your breath wreaked of whiskey.”

She laughs scornfully. “What would you have preferred my breath smell like after drinking for an hour? Tuna?”

“Well…”

“Just admit it, Rey. You blew it last night. You were so determined to be this alpha male dickhead that you actually just rudely sent me home, without my consent. I’m not a fucking fifteen-year-old kid.”

“Well-!”

“And stop calling me kiddo. I hate that word. Let me tell you something else, Rey.”

“Please do. I mean you’re already on a roll.”

“I know the real reason you rejected me last night. And it wasn’t because you thought I was drunk.”

“Oh really? Then WHY?”

“Because of age discrimination.”

“What?”

“You resent my youth. Your ‘thing’ with milfs is actually a prejudice against women your own age and younger than you are. You resent us. That’s why you don’t chase. And why you make all sorts of weird rules about not taking advantage of a woman who likes to drink.”

“Rules? It’s not a rule.”

“Anyway, I have nothing more to say to you. I’m tired of wasting my time trying to explain dating behavior to misogynists and ageists like you.”

I laugh hard, partly in disbelief and partly because this sicko dynamic is actually working. I admit, I’m being played for a change…and I kind of like it.

“Lyndia!”

“What?”

“You’re right. Okay? And yes, for the record, all I thought about last night was taking you right in that limousine. You looked so…HOT. So…so…your pants were so tight…your lips were so…”

Silence.

“I…I’m very attracted to you. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I rejected you because…I’m not usually attracted to younger girls. But you…you’re in my mind all the time. And you make me a little crazy. No, a lot crazy! I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know how to react to you. But dammit, I crave conversation with you.”

“Well…” she says in a softer and almost faint voice. “Too bad you missed your chance.”

“Give me another chance,” I say boldly. Recklessly. Feeling inside the same way that my dick feels on the outside. Like just admitting my attraction to her feels so freeing. My whole body shudders thinking about kissing her. Taking advantage of her. Corrupting her just a little bit.

Maybe it’s because she’s something “new”. The exact opposite of every girl I usually date. A girl I don’t have a lot in common with, but who I really desire. Who I want to get to know intimately…I want to argue with her. I want to talk, I want to fuck. I just want HER.

“Another chance to what?”

“I want you,” I say, getting a rush from talking to her the same way I talk to most women. As in, screw the friendship. I want romance. I want this desire in me satiated.

“Well…that’s too bad,” she says with an evil little chuckle. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“What kind of a girl are you?”

“A good girl.”

“Then let me get to know you,” I say, a little desperately. The same way I feel, the same way I talk, right before I score with one of my usual groupies. But this time it’s different. This time she’s saying no…with a wink.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to do this, I want to…you know, date.”

“But you don’t date,” she says with a throaty voice, toying with me.

“I know. I hate dating.” I laugh at the thought. “But I’m willing to go on…you know, a respectable date with you. Because I like you, Lyn.”

“My name is Lyndia, not Lynn.”

“SOR-RY!” I spew out, pissed off. Attracted again. Still pissed off. Blood boiling. Damn, she's so good.

“I don’t know…”

“I want one date. That’s all. Then, I’ll leave you alone. No questions asked.”

“Hmmm…” she says thoughtfully. “If I say yes, Rey, I want a real date. A dinner. A movie. Something respectful. And I don’t want you being a crude jerk the whole night. This is not about sex.”

“I know.”

“Because I don’t plan on having sex with you. I’m not your type, remember?”

“Yeah…”

“But…I will agree to dinner.”

“Great. We’ll go to Ricardo’s. A great place, they serve Italian…”

“I don’t like Italian.”

“No trust me, it’s a great place.”

“Then have fun going to Ricardo’s by yourself!” she snaps. “Because I don’t like Italian.”

I crack up laughing again.

“Go on!” she teases. “Follow up suggestion?”

“Barney’s Grill? They serve drinks. Steak.”

“Now you’re talking. See you then, Rey.”

Her smile, her flirty voice, still torments me even after I hang up the phone. I don’t know if I did ANYTHING right in my courtship of Lyndia. But by God, something worked.