Jameson and Paul sat in relative silence meditating on their astronomical bar tab. They kept staring at it as if doing so would somehow make it go away. Like monks who had taken a vow of silence, the two chose not to talk about what had just happened. Instead, they tried to figure out how to divvy up the bill.

“Did we really drink that many margaritas?” Paul asked, his stomach lurching.

“We didn’t,” Jameson replied. “You and Becca did. The way I figure it. I’m on hook for three margaritas and the fajitas. I’ll get the chips and salsa.”

“You’re a regular saint,” Paul chided. “You’ll get the chips. My portion of the tab is over a hundred dollars, but rest assured you’ve got the chips!”

“A little high-strung, are we?” Jameson asked. “This isn’t by chance about… “

“Don’t even say it,” Paul interjected.

“Being rejected, is it?” Jameson finished his thought.

“Did you see that coming?” Paul asked, setting his bruised ego aside for a moment.

“I could’ve seen it coming from a million miles away.”