Anita Blake 22.6 - Shutdown by Laurell K. Hamilton

 
    Have you ever had to have lunch with your lover’s fiancé? It was a first for me, too. There were four of us at lunch, but only one of us was new to half the table. Dr. Ellen Radborne was about my height, 5' 3" with thick shoulder length brunette hair that I might have thought was black, but my hair was black, so I knew hers was really just dark brown. Her eyes were brown, like mine, though again mine were a little darker. She had a pale summer tan, to my nearly white skin, but then my skin never tanned, it just burned, and then went back to being pale. She was curvy, maybe not as curvy through the chest as me, but no man who liked breasts would complain that she lacked. She was in shape, though not as fit as I, but then I doubt she needed to hit the weights and cardio as hard for her job as I did for mine.
    We’d chatted through ordering food, eating food, and finally ordered coffee and tea, and still they hadn’t brought up anything serious, or anything to do with the reason for this meeting. I hadn't had to endure this much small talk in years. We’d learned a lot about each other, but unless we were looking to date, I didn’t see the point.
    She taught college level biology, and continued to do research field work in the summers. She reminded me of the last two serious girlfriends he’s had. He certainly had a type, as if only the names changed for his short, dark haired women. He’d sleep with a variety, but for serious dating it was always women like us. She liked camping, bird watching, hiking, caving, climbing, and all sorts of outdoor stuff. I had, at one time, enjoyed all of that, but my job as a U. S. Marshal for the preternatural branch didn’t leave me much room for hobbies.
    My gym time was more serious, because my life could depend on how fast I could run, how hard I could hit, and just how tough I could be. Dr. Radborne probably didn’t have to worry about any of that. It meant I could have out arm wrestled her, but she probably had a more reasonable work schedule.
    We sat across from each other smiling, but her eyes were a little uncertain, and I was trying very hard not to make my eyes look empty. Most women took eyes that were too neutral as unfriendly. Men understood that sometimes you didn’t want to smile, but you weren’t mad either, while women expect other women to be pleasant, and if you’re not they think you don’t like them. There are so many reasons that most of my friends are men.
    The only saving grace to this Saturday lunch fiasco was that we weren’t alone, though in some ways that also made it more awkward. I was still happy to have a hand to hold on my side of the table while she hung on the arm of her fiancé across the table from us.
    The us was Micah Callahan, who was the same height as the good doctor and me. He was the only man I’d ever dated who matched my height. Micah was wearing a forest green t-shirt that was actually made of silk, which always seemed wrong for a t-shirt, but since it also made it petably soft and looked fabulous on him I didn’t complain. It made the rim of green around his irises more vibrant, and the circle of yellow on the outside of them more gold, so that his eyes were even more beautiful set in the delicate triangle of his dark skinned face. He still had his summer tan that he got every year from jogging in nothing but shorts, so he was dark and his eyes were jewel-like in the almost feminine beauty of his face. The shirt also fit every curve of his upper body, showing just how much muscle was under there. He had broad shoulders for his size, and a nice chest that went down to a waist so slender we could share some of our jeans, but in too many clothes he just looked delicate, because he fought for every ounce of muscle he got in the gym, or on the track, which was not true for the man sitting beside Dr. Ellen Radborne.
    Richard Zeeman was 6' 1" and had always muscled easily, and it showed in his broad shoulders, impressive chest, and