Page 116 of Tobias

So I drag myself out of bed to take the quickest shower of my life. I’m re-buttoning my shirt for the third time, because I’m so groggy I keep buttoning it crooked, when my doorbell rings. I already know it’s the driver. I grab my phone, even though it’s still off, and head out.

“Hey, sorry about that, Allen. My phone is dead.”

“No problem, sir. I was a little worried. You’re usually on time.”

“Rough day,” I say with a tired smile.

I’m half asleep for the ride to the restaurant, and thankfully we don’t hit any traffic, which is a miracle for a Friday evening. Because I’m early, I’m able to pop into the bathroom to splashsome water on my face to wake the hell up. Maybe tonight I'll choose coffee over alcohol.

I wait up front for my date and pretend to look out the floor to ceiling windows. Cars and people pass, but it's all a blur. I'm afraid if I sit, I'll fall asleep.

When I see a man around my age walk in stiffly, his suit tailored to perfection, I know he’s the guy. He walks directly to the podium to speak with the host. She smiles and gestures toward me. The gentleman turns to look at me, taking me in. He’s a good looking guy with hard features but soft eyes.

“Thank you for being on time,” he says, offering me his hand. “Bradford Weir.”

“Tobias Grant.” I shake it with a smirk, then follow the host to a table.

This feels more like a business meeting than a date, but whatever he’s into is fine with me. I order a coffee and a whiskey, while he gets just a whiskey. I thought of not drinking at all, but if I ever needed alcohol, it's today.

Bradford is a handsome guy. If I had to guess, I'd say late forties, early fifties. His hair is greying around the temples and in his beard. It suits him well.

“So, how is the business of dating?” he asks.

“Lucrative,” I respond. It’s my go-to answer for the question. I don’t do this for the fun of it. It’s the money that keeps me coming back.

He smirks. “I can imagine so. The website is full of men to choose from, all with schedules that are nearly impossible to get into.”

“Foxy picks her men well.”

He grins, making a show of looking me over as the waiter brings our drinks.

“She sure does.”

This conversation is feeling a bit weird. Not bad, just not like a date. Maybe that’s why he’s doing it? Needs some practice? I’m not here to judge, I’m only here to be his date.

“What has you looking for a date?” I ask.

“Is there something better to do on a Friday night in Seattle?” he responds.

“I wouldn’t really know. Can’t remember the last time I didn’t work a Friday night.” I sip my coffee before reaching for my whiskey but pause before bringing it to my lips. “Are you new to the area?”

He huffs out a laugh. “God no. Who would move here willingly?”

“Plenty of people," I answer. "Why not leave if you don’t like it?”

“Business keeps me.”

“Fair.”

“Do you enjoy the area?”

I give a small shrug as I add cream to my coffee. “I don’t hate it. It’s home, and, like you, work is here.”

The waiter comes back a few moments later and we put in our orders. I don’t actually feel like eating anything, so I get a plate of pasta since that will be okay to reheat and eat later, if I don’t finish it. The food comes quickly, and I take a few bites. Normally, I’d be more talkative, but I’m in a foul mood and he seems content not constantly chatting. We’re halfway through our meals before we start talking again.

“My husband is ill,” he says out of nowhere, causing me to nearly drop my fork. I put it down and grab my napkin to wipe my mouth. I'm about to walk the fuck out of this restaurant. If one more person who has a significant other tries dating me, I may lose my mind. However, I don't know the circumstances so I keep my cool and respond.

“I’m so sorry.”

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