Dating Disaster: The Bartender's Ex-Girlfriend Wants A Threesome

"Never date a bartender," everybody told me. They're friendly and fun, but so popular that they're completely spoiled. But I was on vacation. So, after the bar closed, I went home with the bartender, Rick. He lived in a quaint complex of tiny cottages overlooking the beach. Two loveseats and a coffee table almost filled his living room. I sat on a loveseat with my back to the window.

He got wine and sat close beside me. We lifted our glasses, and suddenly a screechy fingernails-on-the-blackboard sound came from outside. "What's that?" I said. 

"It's nothing, ignore it." He lifted his glass again and looked into my eyes. Dating Disaster: He Wasn't Gay And Thought It Was A Double Date

The startling noise came again, right behind me. Fingernails on glass. "Ricky. Ricky honey," A whiny voice came out of the night.

"Who's that?" I said, naturally.
"Just some girl. Forget about it. Drink your wine."
"It's two in the morning. What's she doing here?"
"Don't worry, she'll go away. She lives in the neighborhood." 

She started rattling the doorknob. "Ricky, pleeease," eminated from outside. It was scary. How strong was that door?

"Your girlfriend?" I asked.
"No. Well, we broke up."
"Oh. She lived here?"
"For a while. She's had some trouble, you know. She takes medication."

I peeked out the window; I couldn't help it. She was blond and boyishly cute. Her ankle had a pink tattoo, maybe a cartoon snake. "Ricky, open this door!" She sounded angry now. Wonderful. Is she armed? I wondered how to sneak away. Ricky stood by the window, yelling at her. She banged on the door, yelling back.

"I'll get rid of her," he said. "Then we'll be alone."

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He went out the front door, and I went to look in the back. The bedroom window would do; I moved an upholstered chair to reach it and forced it open. I'd walk two blocks and call a cab. I hurried back to the living room for my things. She was sitting on the other loveseat smiling at me. "Sorry," she said. Her bare feet were on the coffee table, and her tattoo was a mermaid with rippling blue hair. Rick had poured her some wine.

"Oh. That's all right. I have to go. It's late."
"Sit here," Rick said. I sat, facing Cindy. He handed me my untouched glass.
"So, ah, I see you're interested in my Ricky."
"Oh no, I…"
"No, that's okay, I'm willing to share."
"Oh. You give him the day off?"
She giggled. "No, I mean we can share him now."
Suddenly I understood what she meant. "Ah, no, you're not my type. I mean, I'm not your type. Oh, sorry, it's late, I've got to go."

"I'll drive you to your car," Rick said, taking control. "Wait here, Cindy." We walked through the complex.
"She always does this," he said.
"Scares your guests?"
"She always offers to party. Nobody has accepted yet."
"So she does it to drive away the competition."
"I guess, although I'm always hoping that someday…"

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