Thirteen

As we hit the streets, Belle confessed to feeling a bit done in.

“Jefferson, I’m not sure I can go another round.”

“Eyes bigger than your stomach?”

“Something.”

“Maybe if you eat a bite?” suggested Todd, who joined us for a stroll.

“That may help,” she agreed. “I hate to disappoint him . . . who is it, again?”

“Mark,” I said. “No worries. He’s cool. Let’s cancel.”

“Will he be disappointed?”

“One day, you will meet him, and then you will be disappointed we cancelled tonight. But seriously, don’t push yourself. He will be fine.”

I called Mark. “Looks like I will get beer with friends tonight,” he said. “No problem. Send my best—see you at the next party.”

We walked a bit further, until we were at the subway station. I was heading home;my work was done. Todd offered to escort Belle to meet Dacia.

“All done, Belle,” I kissed her. “Let’s talk when you get home. Thanks for the lovely weekend.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back for more!”

“We’ll keep it warm for you.”

When Belle returned to her hometown, she dumped the local talent who bitched about her blowjobs.

She also logged Lucky Number Thirteen, all on her own.

The sex, she tells me, is righteous.

And they play board games.

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