Oh COME ON

That title is for you, Ellen. A Gob Bluth reference.

I went to a lovely dinner party tonight. Great girls, great food, all around good times. I stopped by Honey's on my way home, and as I walked in my door about 45 minutes later I found myself thinking, "Oh, COME ON!"

Here's the sitch: I went to the bar to have a drink, then head on home. I sat down next to a random dude I've seen in there before, and trust me when I say that I did not look outlandishly gorgeous (especially relative to some of the girls that come in on the average Friday night). Now, after 1 drink and 2 cigarettes, and some light conversation, this dude sits back down and says to me, "so, I'll finish this drink up and then we'll head back to your place?"
As you all know (and by "all," I mean the 1 or 2 of you that read this), I'm not exactly antisocial. I'll keep up my end of a conversation, and I've been known to flirt with someone on occasion. However. I do believe in a certain level of courtship, or at least more than half an hour of conversation before I'd bring someone home with me. My reason for this post is that I want to know why this person would get such an impression. I've gone over and over this conversation in my head (the topics were basically engineering, electricians, Ben Franklin/his syphillis, and nothing more in depth than that), and I'm still trying to figure out where this invitation may have inadvertently crept in. I even made a point of not letting him pay for my second drink. I mean, COME ON. Men cannot be at the point where getting spoken to equals getting laid, right?
For the record, as soon as he said it, I couldn't help but throw in, "Well, I am. You're not." Too mean? Nah, I didn't think so either.