Valentine’s Day meant exactly 45 minutes at dinner. Shrimp cocktail, and then ribeye on Tristan's British tongue; wedge salad and sea bass on Vivian's. They talked about how pathetic their friends with kids were and how happy that they were beyond such wasteful ventures. Travel was a better investment than cultivating tiny clones. No dessert, they both had frames to maintain. Then they'd go home at exactly 9:30 PM to have sex. It was 20 minutes of foreplay, 13 and half minutes of intercourse, then discussion of work while they smoked a cigarette. Tristan and Vivian had it down to a science by now. Then, she'd throw on her party dress and go for a drink with her single friends, and Tristan would slide into his suit and he'd sit at the most inconspicuous gay bar he could find and nurse the most expensive whiskey he could find. And if the right wrong guy spotted him, he could just claim he thought it was a whiskey pub. And if the right, right guy spotted him, then the night could be potentially interesting....










