He'd called Roger's performance 'great.' Roger was like an art student beaning over a mediocre bowl of fruit. He could feel the way his cheeks burned, his ego infalted.

"Thanks, really. But you'd better stop. I could talk about me all fucking night," Roger said, somewhat startled by how easy words were coming to him. Maybe it was just that Roger had literally no chance with him and therefore felt no crippling and deep-seeded desire to impress him until sex was an option.

"Helen! Man, she's a great woman." He gestured to one of the bar tenders for a drink and went about his conversation. "And Anatoly's a great guy. You keep some badass company."