Equal parts sexy and annoying, he tapped away on his phone well through the appetizers, the latest iGadget more intriguing than the tried and true (albeit liver-spotted) fingers caressing his forearm.
“Honey, you’ll want to save your battery.”
The rest of the table talked around them, occasionally chiding the lad to join the “non-virtual” conversation.
“You know I can’t stop,” he said, shrugging steroidal shoulders to prove he was powerless. “Besides, Paul was on his.”
Sugar Bear leaned over to me, swooning, “Richie’s ADD, one of his charms.”
Not wanting to shade the intersection of this unlikely Venn diagram, nor mention the benefits of Adderall, I pocketed my cell, assuring the rest of the group I’d merely been trying to confirm tomorrow’s consultation, while mouthing “Happy hunting,” to His Textness, having recognized a certain app’s logo, which I was sure I’d logged out of hours ago, on his not-so-SmartPhone.
Halfway through the entrees, he excused himself.
“Will we see him again?” asked one the diners.
As I squelched a “not likely,” Sugar Bear explained, “Sooooo sweet. He always calls his mama this time of night.”
My vibrating pocket reminded me of tomorrow’s patient.
“Hunt’s over, Doc. Come get your dessert.”