A week later, I put the receipts from my wallet into my receipt box. I noticed a phone number on the back of something. It was in small curly writing. It was an information card from the clinic where I'd gotten my blood drawn. My fluids drawn. It was probably just an information number or something. I called it immediately.
"I was wondering when you'd call," she said softly, excitedly. It sounded like she was at work.
"Oh my God this is a dream come true," I said, practically hyperventilating.
She chuckled, almost a giggle. "Didn't you see I'd slipped you my number? I gave you that card right after we kissed. Then at the end, you asked if you could call. I thought you were making fun of me for giving you my number so easily. Well, Holy Christ. I need to draw great wide lines on this runway, don't I! Flashing lights for you! You almost made me call you. I almost called you just to be sure. You broke my will."
"I am abject," I said. "Can I take you to dinner tonight?"
"What about your wife?" she asked.
"You want to have my wife for dinner?" I asked.
"Ha ha, you're a sick man," she said. "You know what I mean."
"She never goes out," I said.
"Well..." she said, "okay then."
"When and where?" I asked.
"The clinic closes at nine," she said. "Meet me there. I'm not ready to give you my home address."
"I don't think we should go back to my place," I said.
"Who says we're going back anywhere?" she said defiantly.
"Do you really want to squeeze me into the back seat of my Prius?" I asked.
"Ha ha, sounds like a good Instagram post," she said.
"Please, no," I giggled. Then my wife came into the room. "Okay, nine it is," I said soberly.
My clinic sweetheart probably thought it was a work thing. It was the middle of the day. "See you at nine," she said.
I hung up. I said to my wife, "I'm going out around eight thirty. I'll text you if I'm going to be late."
"Whatever," she said.
-----
At 9 PM exactly, I texted my clinic sweetheart, "I'm out in the parking lot."
She texted back, "I'll be right down." It bothered me that I still didn't know her name.
My attention wanders. I was startled when she knocked on my window. I unlocked the car. She climbed in on the passenger side. "Do you have A.D.D. or something?" She wasn't teasing. It was concern or curiosity, more like it.
"I was thinking deep thoughts," I said half-jokingly. I had actually been thinking about a computing problem, so it wasn't entirely a joke.
"Yeah... right. About what?" Now she was mocking me.
"About the way you looked at me when we both started thinking something should happen. About the feel of your mouth. About the feel of you... mmmm... in my hands." In truth, I had been completely distracted by thoughts of her since our conversation that afternoon. I hadn't gotten much work done. Luckily my tasks these days were job-based, so I had about 15 minutes to daydream about her between results, all afternoon.
"About the feel of my mouth where?" she chortled, crouching down in the seat, climbing over towards my lap. I tried to remember if a woman had ever tried to give me a driver-side blowjob. I didn't think so.
"If you're really doing this, I am not killing us both by taking my car out of park," I said.
She halted her progress. "Well in that case, I'd rather not have my coworkers say, 'Look, isn't that Dina blowing some guy?' when they walk to their car," she said.
"Good idea, Dina," I said. "Good i-Dina."
"Well, now you're for sure not getting a blowjob," Dina said. "That's like a joke my... from a different generation."
"I know, dad humor," I said. "I have three kids. Two of them are older than you. I'm not uncomfortable about that if you aren't. I'm ecstatic. You're what, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-eight," corrected Dina.
"A twenty-eight year old in my car looking to blow me-"
"Not any more."
"...Be that as it may, and teasing me for being old. I feel so fucking young right now."