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"Volleyball," Taub deadpanned. "Beach volleyball." He blinked in the harsh sunlight. "Women's beach volleyball." He glanced at House. "This is what you choose for our man date?"

House shrugged. "Nothing homoerotic about that."

"No, I suppose not."

House was annoyed because Taub was not annoyed. Taub was supposed to be annoyed at the lack of date-like quality to their non-date, which definitely was not a date, and didn't even look or sound like a date and crap House was on a date.

House led him to the bleachers and eyed them with a critical gaze. He needed a place he could stretch out his leg while at the same time seeing all that women's volleyball was cracked up to be. You know, allof it.

"How about over there?"

House glared at Taub, who was very over dressed for the occasion. He had on a neatly pressed dress shirt and khaki pants. How dare he dress nicely for their non-date? Then House glanced at where Taub was pointing. His glare intensified. How dare he pick the perfect spot?

House limped over, his cane slipping and sliding in the sand. House, unlike Taub, was perfectly dressed for the occasion. Dark wash denim and a black tee-shirt with nonsensical words of Latin on it. Unfortunately, he had been nervous about the non-date (which was certainly not a date!) and had actually spent time picking out his clothing for the day. He never did that. Ever. Not even that one time.

He glanced at Taub. He hoped Taub didn't downgrade his cool factor by being so, well, not cool. Taub smiled back at him. How annoying.

He arrived at the stairs that led to the seats that Taub had indicated.

It was only six or seven steps up. But to a man with a cane, those six or seven steps seemed much bigger than need be. He placed his cane on the first step and made his way up. His anger simmered hotter, he could practically feel Taub want to help him up the stairs.

He didn't get the chance.

"Hey handsome, you need a hand?"

House turned, his eyes focusing on who he needed to kill as his mind worked over time on how he could not get caught doing it. "What?" he spat out.

The man accosting him was young, mid twenties, and buff. He smiled. "Well, your boy toy isn't doing anything, so I thought I'd offer my services." He simpered (simpered!) and moved closer to House. "You up for it?"

House felt as though his brain had just run away screaming. "What the hell?" There were so many things wrong with this scenario. He thought he heard Taub snickering in the background.

"Well?"

"What makes you think we're together?"

"Besides the obvious?" House wanted to throttle the man. There was nothing obvious about it, because there was not "it." The guy smiled. "Well, you two are pretty obvious."

House leaned in, hoping to portray pure unadulterated anger and not confusion. "I'm at a women's volleyball match. Why would I come here if I were gay?"

"I'm here with my boyfriend." The man indicated some far distant point over his shoulder. "So why can't you be?"

House was having a hard time processing it. "Whoa, back up. You said you're here with your boyfriend, yet you were clearly trying to pick me up not long ago—what the hell?"

"What can I say?" He simpered again. "I like older men."

"What's your boy friend say about his?" Taub finally joined in on the conversation, having laughed quietly long enough.

"We have a very open relationship."

"Not that open."

The man whipped around. "Honey!"

"Don't even look at me." The new addition to the conversation (simpering man's boyfriend?) turned and stalked off.

"Wait, I can explain!" The man paused before running after his wayward lover. He slipped a piece of paper in House's hand. "Call me." He winked. Then he ran off.

House was dumbstruck. Taub had taken up laughing hysterically again. He glanced down at the folded piece of paper in his hand and shook his head. "Let's just sit down."

Three more steps up they finally arrived at the perfect spot Taub had picked out earlier. They slid onto the cool metal bleachers, House extending his leg on the bleacher in front of him, Taub a little to close for comfort.

"I bet it's a 555 number."

"What?"

"The phone number he gave you." Taub indicated the paper still clutched in House's hand. "Take a look."

"I—oh, all right." He unfolded the paper and smirked. "555-1701." He kept reading. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"His name is Chad."

Taub burst out laughing and this time, House joined him.