It had all started a few weeks earlier at our
favorite restaurant. I returned from the bathroom to find the new waiter bent
over the booth, talking close to Kindra. I interrupted him by sitting down and
he gave me a cold, calculating glance. Then he aimed a seductive smirk at my
girlfriend before walking away. I raised my eyebrows at Kindra.

“I think he thinks you’re my gay best friend,”
 she whispered conspiratorially.   

That wasn’t an unusual assumption. As a waifish,
androgynous, and a slightly effeminate guy, people seldom assumed my girlfriend
and I were dating before I said so. Perhaps not even after. It didn’t really
bother me. I had dated boys and sometimes I liked to wear skirts. I had no
shame about such things.

Nothing about the rest of the dinner was
unusual. Maybe the waiter gathered from our affectionate manners that we were a
couple after all.

We went back a few days later. We didn’t get
that waiter, but I saw him bussing tables. He kept glancing over. “Someone has
a crush,” I said to Kindra, teasingly.

“Too bad,” she sighed, “He’s kind of cute.”

“Really, you’d go for a guy like that?” I was
surprised. He was so masculine. Broad shoulders, short hair. Young. Maybe 19 to
my 25.

“If we weren’t dating? I probably would have
given him my number, at least.”

“He asked for your number?!”

“You came back before I had to come up with an
excuse.”

Jealousy burned in my chest. There was no need,
I told myself. Kindra had just expressed that she wasn’t interested in him
since we were dating. Rationality didn’t douse the fiery sensation, though.

I went to the bathroom to wash my hands before
eating. I heard the door open behind me and then a voice was speaking, “Hey,
you’re with Kindra, right?”

I hated talking to people in the bathroom, let
alone this jerk.

“Yeah.”

“I figured. I can’t understand it, but I
figured. Are you two monogamous?”

“Afraid so.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“So there’s doubt?”

“…not really.”

“Tell you what, I’ll do you a favor. Let’s make
a bet.”

“Not interested.”

“I’ll try to hit on her.”

“Not much of a bet.”

“You give me thirty seconds. If I can get her to
laugh, you give me an additional minute. If I can get her to let me put my hand
on her shoulder – without pushing it off – you give me two minutes longer. If I
can get her number, well… I’m in. You can’t try to stop me. You have to look
the other way. Let me do what a man can.”

“…still not much of a bet. What’s in it for
me?”

“Now that’s obvious. If she doesn’t give me her
number, you get the satisfaction of knowing she’s true. A rare certainty. My
gift to you.”

Nothing about this seemed like a good idea. It
was rude to Kindra and put me at risk with no real benefit. Yet something about
the jealousy burning in my chest pushed me on. That and a feeling of
schoolyard, boyish pride I would have assumed long dead. I needed to
prove this asshole wrong.

At some point in the conversation, he had
started using the urinal. So when I turned, I unexpectedly saw him on display.
He was standing back from the urinal, farther than usual, as if daring me to
look at his manhood. My eyes darted down of their own accord. His penis was
thick and large, though flaccid, and his stream was strong. An involuntary
shudder of desire ran through me.

“You’re on,” I said, extending my hand.

He finished up and took my hand in his unwashed
one. His grip was firm – but not in that childishly painful vice-grip way I
would have expected. Just a confident, manly handshake. It was strangely
humiliating and thrilling.   

“Give me a head start. You can watch from behind
the potted plant without being seen. I wish you luck; you’ll need it.” He left,
without washing.

The was indeed a plant around the corner from
the bathrooms. I acted the voyeur, feeling foolish. He approached our table.
Kindra smiled brightly at him and they began chatting. This didn’t look good.
Then I realized I wasn’t timing them and scrambled to pull out my phone and
activate the stopwatch app.

Ten seconds later she was still maintaining eye
contact. Another fifteen seconds and she was smiling wider. I was about to walk
out and break it up, but just as I took my first step she was laughing. Not
just her polite laugh, either. It was genuine and full.

Fine. I looked down at my phone, noting the
time. What he was saying I couldn’t hear, but she kept laughing. The flames in
my chest were consuming me. Fifty seconds later he nonchalantly slipped his
hand down from the back of the booth to Kindra’s shoulder. It was smooth, I had
to admit. She tensed. Her eyes darted around. Looking for me, probably. But I
was apparently well hidden behind a screen of green leaves. Kindra’s shoulders
relaxed. She left his hand there.

My heart fluttered and I felt a stirring, lower
down. What the hell? I glanced at the stopwatch, nervously.  

They kept chatting, smiling, giggling. His hand
squeezed her shoulder. She seemed to like it. Blerg. At the minute and a half
mark he pulled out a pen and leaned in toward her, inquiringly. Fuck!
 What the hell had I been thinking?! This was crazy.

She took the pen and grabbed his free hand. The
first intimate gesture she had initiated… Kindra put the pen tip to his palm.
But then doubt crept across her face and she pushed his hand away. Giving the
pen back, she frowned and seemed to be apologizing.

Yes!

Confirming that the time had elapsed, I walked
over and sat down in the booth. I gave this busboy/waiter a smug smile. He
returned it, seemingly unperturbed, and walked off.

“He bothering you?” I asked Kindra, innocently
as I could.

“Nah. He’s sweet, actually. Kinda funny.”

“…if you say so.”

“Oh don’t be like that. Just because someone’s
not an obvious member of the queer, hipster elite you think they’re a Nazi.”

“Do not.”

“You totally do.”

“Fine, I’m sure the busboy is a gentle bunny.”

“Dax.”

“Hmm?”

“His name’s Dax.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the meal went without a hitch. I
felt weird, but Kindra seemed as bright and bubbly as ever. Maybe moreso. I
could see Dax lurking around; I tried to block him out.

Dax must have switched with our waiter because
he brought the bill. I usually paid since Kindra didn’t make very much. But
this time she grabbed up the paper with surprising speed. As she did so, I
could swear I saw a handwritten note at the bottom. She put her arm on the
table to write, blocking my view. I watched Kindra’s face instead. She bit her
lip and frowned before jotting down something extra. Then she quickly held her
credit card and the receipt paper aloft. That bastard came by immediately and
grabbed it. He gazed at the bill, smirked, and looked directly at me before
heading to the cash register. Did he just?

I glanced over, catching Dax on
his phone, typing away. Just then Kindra got a text. Reading the message, she
blushed.

That asshole! He’d
done it.

Kindra texted a little more. I confirmed
with my peripheral vision that there was correlation. Not much room for doubt.
He’d gotten her number. He’d won. I felt humiliation. But
also…arousal?

He came back with her card
and processed receipt. She tried to hide with her arm again, but I still saw
her fill in a substantial tip and draw a quick doodle of a winking kissy face
before turning the paper over. Really?! Right under my nose?

“You ready?” Kindra asked me, standing. My legs
were wobbly and nearly didn’t support me. But I managed. As we left, he waved
and said goodbye in the friendliest, most professional way possible. Yet Kindra
blushed even deeper in response. As I walked by, trailing behind my girlfriend,
he leaned in and whispered to me, “Remember, you have to look the other way. Loser.”

I burned.