Page 71 of A Much Younger Man
“Was he at least a good fuck?”
“How should I know? He used the guest bedroom.”
“You’re shitting me.” He widened his eyes. “Beck said he was hot. Don’t tell me you turned down a perfectly good man?”
“I don’t just fuck everything that moves, Travis. He wasn’t my type.”
“Since when do you have a type? Besides temporary, I mean.”
I stopped in the act of washing my hands. “Do I really give that impression?”
“That’s the impression I get. You’re the guy everyone calls if they’ve got a friend in from out of town for a weekend. Haven’t you noticed no one ever tries to set you up with anybody local? I just figured you were the one-and-done type.”
“I am.”
“So what was wrong with the guy your mom sent?”
“You said it. My mother sent him. You know she’d never let it go if she thought there was any chance between us. Believe me, there wasn’t.”
I gave him dinner, such as it was, and a bed for the night. I handed him a stack of clean towels, bought him breakfast, and walked away. I couldn’t make oatmeal for him because then all I’d think about was feeding it to Beck.
“What’s wrong?” Travis asked. “You look like you forgot to turn the oven off.”
“It’s nothing. Just wondering how to tell my mother to quit her fucking matchmaking.”
“She loves you. Let her have her fun.”
“But her timing was perfectly awful. I have to call her now and disappoint her. If Beck comes back in at lunchtime, can you have him come into the office?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “Guitar lessons, huh?”
“I am so shit at it.”
“Well, he’s pretty patient. Maybe he’ll be able to teach your ancient ass a couple songs.”
I tossed a damp paper towel his way. “I’ll show you an ancient ass.”
“Whoa, not my type, Doc.” He lifted both hands. “Don’t know why I keep having to tell you that. Is this what they mean by harassment?”
“Oh God. I’m sorry.” I felt sick. “Did it sound like it?”
“No. I was totally kidding.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Doc. Go call your mom.”
I called Mom from my office while Travis got the exam room ready for the next patient. I was kind of glad he wasn’t my type either. We worked well together. The last thing I wanted to do was screw that up too.
* * *
The phone rang twicebefore my mother picked up.
“Sweetheart. So nice to hear from you. What’s new?”
“Mom. Couldn’t you have said Dylan was going to be waiting on my porch when I got home from work?”
“Well, how would I know such a thing?”
