He was laying out a black button shirt, black pants and a red tie.

Now, I’m sitting at Locus, ordering a tequila sunrise.

“I’ll buy that drink,” a dashing, if somewhat overdressed man with a red tie tells the bartender.

“Thanks,” I say, then quickly turn my attention away from him.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks.

I shrug. “Just keep your hands to yourself,” I tell him.

“That might be a problem,” he says.

I turn and, mouth agape, ask, “What did you just say?”

“I said that won’t be a problem,” he rejoins, smiling. “So, where are you from? Are you a born New Yorker?”

“Not at all,” I tell him. “I’m from a dreary little town where the movie theater only shows movies that came out ten years ago.” It’s a lie, but tonight is about improvisation.

“Sounds terrible,” he says.

“Actually, I really miss it,” I tell him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I wondered if you could help me with something.”

It’s a bit forward, but I’ll allow it. “With what do you need my help?”

“Fancy,” he teases.

I roll my eyes.

At no point did I tell him my fantasy involved me making it easy for him.

“I’m a chef at l’Iris,” he says, “and I find myself with the night off and nobody to enjoy a nice dinner with me.”

“l’Iris,” I say. “That’s pretty impressive. I love their confit de canard.”

“You know, we actually just call it candied duck in the kitchen. The whole overuse of French thing is kind of played, don’t you think?”

He’s apparently not going to make this easy for me either.

Well played, sir.

“Losing my lady boner,” I tell him. “Yeah, I really can’t get away with saying that, can I?”

He laughs.

“Well, it’s about the last phrase I expected, but it put a smile on my face.”

“Okay,” I start again, “so you’re a chef at l’Iris with nobody to join you for dinner. Is there anything else, or were you just lamenting?”

“I was wondering if you might know anyone who’d be interested in a free, very high class dinner.”

“I might,” I elude, “but I hardly know you, and I haven’t even finished my drink yet.”

I may have forgotten to mention that torturing him a little was part of the game.

He takes it in stride, though.

“Well,” he says, “I can certainly understand that. These days, you can never be too careful. For all you know, I might be one of those corporate types who works for one of those evil investment firms.”

The statement probably wouldn’t have been near as amusing if I hadn’t just taken a sip of my drink. I cover my mouth and do my best to control my laughter long enough to swallow the liquid.

“Oh,” he says skeptically, “don’t tell me…”

“I’ve been an intern at a brokerage in town for a while now, and I just got hired on fulltime at Claypool and Lee in Jersey.”

“Oh god,” he says. “Not only do you work for those greed mongers, you’re actually moving to New Jersey? The humanity!”

“Sad to say we can’t all cook for a living,” I rejoin.

“I know, but can you imagine what a wonderful world that would be? Everyone makes a living making delicious food?”

“That would be insanely boring,” I tease.

I’m about to relent and agree to dinner, but he just keeps going.

“Oh well, I guess you all know what the pinch was like during the recession—oh wait, you’re the only people in the country that profited from it. Isn’t it weird how big businesses tell us that any kind of government aid is socialism, but those same companies are so quick to snatch any bailout money or tax breaks that come their way?”

“Yeah, we should probably stay away from politics,” I tell him.

His face goes a little red, and I can only hope it’s from the realization that he just equated what I do with organized crime. I might just end up going home alone tonight.

“I’m very sorry,” he says. “I was only joking.”

“Right,” I say and turn back toward the bartender. “Could I get another tequila sunrise?”

I turn back toward this handsome, if a bit precocious rogue, wondering if he’s going to pick up the tab for that one as well.

He doesn’t.

“You know,” he says, “I had a roommate once who loved tequila sunrises, too.”

Oh, watch your step.

“Yeah?” I ask. “She sounds utterly delightful.”

“Oh, she is,” he says. “I mean, she was.” He leans in close to me and says, “Do I go present or past-tense there?”

“I really don’t care,” I whisper back.

For a man so evidently skilled at picking up women, he’s really putting on a lackluster performance. And I was so hoping to find out exactly what it is that he said to those women to get them to go home with him so quickly.

Then again, I don’t really want to be just another pickup to him.

I may have unwittingly placed us both in a quagmire.

We sit awkwardly a moment.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m doing you a disservice here.”

“Are you, now?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I came over here trying to be Mr. Polite while trying to spare you some of my more potent charms.”

I can’t not laugh.

“Oh really?” I ask. “So, you’re telling me that if you were to really turn it on, I’d be sexual putty in your hands. Is that about right?”

“No about,” he says. “That’s exactly right.”

“Now this, I have to hear.”

“All right,” he says, “but it’s probably going to take another approach. If I just keep sitting here and turn it on, it’s going to make this whole conversation lopsided. Therefore—”

“Therefore, you want to start an entirely new conversation?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, getting up from his bar stool. “We’ll give it, say, five minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

Either he’s really this clumsy or this is just another part of his play. It doesn’t really matter to me; I’m finding this rather amusing.

Dane is barely out of my sight when I feel someone tapping me on the shoulder. I turn around, ready to ask how he made it so quickly to the other side of me, but it’s not him standing there.

“You’re Leila, right?”

“Yeah,” I say, using nearly all of my focus and willpower to prevent my eyes from rolling. “And you’re Wrigley.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I didn’t know if you’d remember me.”

“Well, seeing a person’s vag before seeing her face has a way of leaving an impression,” I answer.

She smiles.

“I just wanted to let you know that I know you and Dane are having a thing right now, but he really dropped the ball with me,” she says. “I’d really prefer to leave you out of it, but I’d keep my head down if I were you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Whatever happens, just stay out of my way: that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

“Listen, razor burn,” I start, “I don’t know who you think you are, but you don’t get to tell me anything about anything. I get that you and Dane used to be fuck buddies or whatever, but maybe it’s time to open your legs for someone else.”

I don’t usually talk that way, but I can’t help but feel a bit proud of myself.

Then it occurs to me that I’d probably lose and lose terribly in a fight with this chick.

Now, I’m not feeling so well.

It takes her that long before she reacts. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you for a virgin,” she says. “Anyway, I didn’t come over here to threaten you. I just wanted to let you know that, whatever happens to Dane, you might want to keep your distance for a while.”

“In what way is that not a threat?” I ask. “Just what exactly are you planning to do to him?”

“Nothing he doesn’t deserve,” she says. “I told him to find out whether his feelings for you meant anything or if he was just hard for the roommate experience. I didn’t tell him to fall in whatever and stop attending his responsibilities.”

“His responsibilities?” I ask. “And just what in the hell might those be?”

I’m starting to wonder where Dane is.

He’d better have a really solid excuse for leaving me to deal with this skank bag.