The next day was another damn Monday.
After an exhausting workday, Martin finally finished everything at 10:30 PM and left the office, drained. Instead of heading home, he drove to Williamsburg Restaurant, which he hadn't visited in a while.
Surprisingly, the first to greet him was the tall, burly, but disheveled chef Oleg:
"Hey, buddy! I've got a steamy bed workout planned tonight. Want to join?"
Martin forced a smile: "Oleg, spare me. You don't want to see how cranky I am on Mondays!"
"No problem," Oleg leaned on the table, gesturing wildly. A pungent smell wafted from his armpits under the restaurant's heating: "How about Wednesday? Me and my buddy, you and Caroline—we could swap partners."
The last line revealed his true intentions.
Before Martin could respond, Caroline walked over, grimacing: "Oleg, I will *never! Ever!* share a room with you!"
Oleg shrugged: "Harsh. Need I remind you we were eye-fucking each other in the kitchen three minutes ago?"
"Ewwwwwww!" Caroline nearly lost it.
After Oleg left, Caroline turned to Martin: "Sorry, I can't sleep with you tonight. I won't let that creep invade my fantasies!"
"I get it," Martin waved away the lingering odor, "But you fantasize about other men with me?"
Caroline shrugged: "Why not? Leonardo isn't married yet."
Martin's eye twitched: "Pretty sure he attended your 21st birthday party."
Caroline kissed his cheek: "Trust me, sweetie, you don't wanna know what happened that night."
Martin waved dismissively: "Guess tonight's not the night. I don't need some slightly-handsomer guy in my fantasies either."
Caroline perked up: "Who? Nicole Kidman? Angelina Jolie?"
"Are we really doing this?" Martin sighed, surrendering: "Fine. This month's pick is Anne Hathaway."
"She's a bitch!" Caroline recoiled. "You'd fantasize about her? Disgusting!"
Martin shamelessly shrugged.
Just then, Max emerged from the kitchen, spotting Martin: "Hi! Long time no see. Been chatting up big-boobed, big-butted sad girls in Vegas?"
Martin feigned exasperation: "Max, we literally met last Wednesday when you delivered cakes."
Max smirked: "Ten minutes is enough for guys to 'snack.' Four days is plenty."
"Are you questioning my stamina?" Martin huffed.
As they bantered, a handsome, bespectacled man with a gym bag walked in: "Hi, Max!"
Max froze, awkwardly shuffling over to chat while avoiding eye contact.
Martin gaped: "What's happening?"
Caroline grinned: "That's The Chosen One!"
"Who is he?" Martin studied the man.
"Johnny," Caroline gossip-whispered. "He's a globetrotting graffiti artist and bartender. Pretty sure he's into Max."
"And Max is clearly smitten," Martin muttered. "First time I've seen her act so… weird!"
"Adorable," Caroline corrected.
After Johnny left with cupcakes, Max slumped back: "Go ahead—laugh at me! Why do I turn into a mess around him?"
Caroline twirled a finger dramatically: "Because~ he likes you, you like him, and you're drowning in pre-relationship tension!"
Martin shuddered at the cheesiness.
When Martin asked if Johnny had asked her out, Max blurted: "No! …Well, he invited me to see his graffiti later."
Caroline squealed: "That's *the sign*! He's asking you out!"
Martin doubted: "Sounds more like a friend hangout."
Caroline countered: "This isn't Manhattan, Martin! In Brooklyn's mix of Asian, African, Eastern European, and Latino neighborhoods, dates aren't dinner-and-movie clichés. Trust me—I'm the dating queen!" She hustled Max to the kitchen: "Let's find you a killer outfit!"
As Martin pondered Johnny, Oleg plopped down a plate with a finger-smeared ketchup dent: "Caroline and Max are 'warming up' in the freezer. In Ukraine, we rub bodies for heat in winter."
Martin's phone rang—a Blackberry's distinct tone. "Hello? … I'm on my way!"
*Note*
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