“Excuse me,” I heard the bartender say to the couple standing around the seat next to me, “I have a solo diner, who’d like to have dinner.  ”Would you mind letting him take that seat until two spots open up for you?”

God bless him.  I was already trying to cover my left ear so I wouldn’t have to listen their inane conversation.  And they were crowding me into the wall.  If one of them would have just sat in the vacant seat next to me, instead of flanking it for their discomfort with each other, we would have all had more space.

To my pleasure, Tommy the bartender waved over the most gorgeous man I’d seen in quite some time.  He was so good looking, after a quick glance, I dove back into this fascinating and perhaps vaguely offensive article I was reading about Edith Wharton, her beauty (or lack of it), her disdain for other women, her work, and her camaraderie with men.  Men who look like that expect women to throw themselves at them and frankly with him being so far out of my league, it would’ve appeared desperate.

But, he was looking to get laid and I guess I was best in show and good enough.

“Good article?” he flashed a perfect smile at me.

“It is actually,” I replied and went back to reading it.  At that point, I couldn’t tell if he was just being courteous or if he was genuinely interested.  He ordered a drink.  He ordered well.  It was a whisky based cocktail.  Though he fumbled charmingly with the words and then smiled with complete confidence at me for forgiveness.

I felt shy and went back to reading.

“And a drink for her?” he indicated me, ‘What’s it about?”

“Edith Wharton.”

“The writer?”

Point two for him. Whiskey, and he’d at least heard of Edith Wharton.

I leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Actually, I’m so glad you sat down.  It was killing me trying not to listen to those two people talk.”

He bit, “Oh, those people there?” he whispered back, “has he stopped talking about himself yet?”

We started chatting and it was easy and we talked California, upbringing, politics.  We laughed about being shallow and he told me about his miserable marriage.

At no point, was it not completely clear that he was full on coming on to me.  He enjoyed being around beautiful women, he said.  He enjoyed being desired.  I gave him shit and teased him about his confidence and needing to feel like a man.  I felt sad for him and his young daughter that his wife and marriage wasn’t what he thought it was going to be.  I felt sad that his wife probably was not happy.  She was probably so lonely.

I was enjoying being around a smart, beautiful man (my age!) and being desired.  He bought my dinner and offered to make me a drink at his place.  I declined, but he insisted on walking me home.  He freely admitted that should I indulge him, I would not be the first and that he would never leave his wife.

This is an absolute no-brainer.

I would never fuck with someone’s family.  And listen, I’m not necessarily black and white on fidelity.  And never say never, but I wouldn’t do that to a mother and child.  You want out.  You do it. On your own.  Or with someone else, but I don’t want any part of that.

We said an overlong goodbye and I wonder how long before he gets what he wants and gets his wife to leave him.  She already took the kid to her mother’s for the weekend, which would be the only time they’d have together as a family, since he works all the time. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy.  He loves his daughter.  He’s a coward.  He’s also sort of trapped.

I also wonder who he’ll get to fuck his fine ass this weekend.

I said something to him early in the night, “I prefer my own company to bad company.”