"I'm off to work. Bye," I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.
"What's his name?" Barney's voice from behind stopped me before I put my hand on the door knob.
"Who?" I turned around and blinked.
"You know, the guy you are seeing." He poked his fork into a piece of sausage and looked at it thoughtfully. "The guy you went out with and probably had sex with last night."
"How do you ...?" I blushed.
Despite being male, Barney has been my best friend since second grade. We were romantically involved for a short while in college, but it didn't work out. Shockingly, our friendship survived over the years. Barney is a genius and works for some ultra-secret government research institute. He was sleeping on my couch for this week only as his bathroom underwent the last phase of an extensive remodeling.
The second day in my apartment, he was already sticking his nose into my personal life. That was so typical.
"Ah, if you do not want me to sniff around, you should have been totally open and tell me every gory detail about this guy from the start," he picked up a forkful of the scrambled egg and shoveled it into his mouth, sitting at my desk that doubled for the dining table. As a single woman living alone, owning two tables just seemed a bit too frivolous.
I sat down on the couch and sighed, remembering all the gory details from the night before.
"Judging from the smile on your face, I'd say this was the first time you slept with him, wasn't it?" He peeked at me over the brim of the coffee cup.
"Hey, how do you know I ... eh ... slept with him last night?" I asked.
"You came home much later than usual. I heard, but didn't see, you come in, but I definitely did not hear you taking a shower then. Neither did you shower this morning. There is only one explanation: You showered at his place." He grinned.
"Hmpf," I grunted. "It's bad enough that I have a mad scientist in my apartment, but he's now Sherlock Holmes too?!"
"Nah, it's obvious," he shrugged. "Now tell me about him."
After a moment of hesitation, I took out a business card from my wallet and handed it to him.
"Robert Wood, M.D. Whoa, a psychiatrist! That's a new one for you," he commented. "He must be old."
"No, he is not." I sneered. "He's 33 and very cute."
"A cute psychiatrist? Must be rarer than a unicorn," he said. "When are you going to bring him home for my inspection?"
I waved the back of my right hand at him dismissively. "You never approved of any of my ex-boyfriends," I said. "Why should I expose him to your pranks? He is a nice guy and I don't want you to scare him off."
"Aw... I guess you really like him," he chuckled. "Don't worry. I'll handle him with kid gloves." He thought for a moment and shook his head, "I don't know. Psychiatrists are often crazy themselves. I have a bad feeling about this."
"Oh, shut your front door," I stood up and walked out of my own.
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