chosen a Tex-Mex joint where he didn’t have to wear a tie. One night a year dressed up was more than enough for him, thank you very much, and he’d already used it up. She’d better not be late.
He’d gone out back three times to check the parking lot. After all, how many lemon-yellow VW bugs would be parking in his lot tonight? He’d specifically told her where to pull up so he could just dash out and jump in. Damn it, he should have insisted that he’d meet her at the restaurant. But she was as obstinate as a boulder about picking him up for their “date”.
Date. The very word made him shudder.
He stashed the cleaning cloth on its rack and ducked under the counter. Skirting the tiny dance floor, he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The chef pointedly ignored him, but the assistant eyed him warily as Soren made his way around the chopping table to the employee entrance.
There! His heart gave a hard thump. He looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Tell Trang to take over.
I’ve got some errands to run.”
And he was out of there as if the proverbial bats out of hell were chasing him. Just as he hit the asphalt, the VW stopped with its passenger door facing the entrance, as though it had been choreographed and rehearsed. He ducked his head, verified through the open window that it was indeed Crystal, and jumped in.
“Go.” He grabbed the seat belt and hooked it around himself.
“Which way?” To her credit, she kept the car in motion, heading toward the parking entrance, oblivious to the fact that he was pulling a disappearing act.
“Turn right. About a mile and turn right at the first light.”
When the lights from the Thor’s Hammer sign had faded from his side-view mirror, with no little amount of relief that they’d escaped with no one the wiser, he turned to Crystal. “Hi.”
She glanced over, gave him a tentative smile, and turned back to the road.
“I see you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”
Way to go, Thorvald.Could his conversation be any more scintillating?
“No, your directions were very good. Is this the turn?”
“Yes.”
She hung a right then followed his instructions until they were parked in front of Chica’s. “It’s a down-home place. I hope you like Tex-Mex.”
“I like it fine.”
He got out of the car and headed to the entrance. Then looked back when she didn’t follow suit.
“Oh.” He guessed she’d been waiting for him to open the car door. By the time his brain had shifted gears to go back to the VW, she was walking toward him.
He scratched his head, then opened the restaurant door and made himself stand there. “Sorry. I, uh, I’m rusty at this kind of stuff.”
“That’s okay.” The smile she gave him made his eyes cross. She preceded him inside into an area with a counter and booths, then walked to the rear, where a quieter dining room awaited.
The hostess ushered them to a corner table. “Someone will be right with you to take your drink orders.”
She set menus down on the checkered tablecloth and left.
“Uh, do you want me to take your…fur thing? Or is that part of your outfit?”
“Yes, please. It’s warm in here.” She turned her back to him, unsnapping the front and slipping it off into his waiting hands.
The fur slipped all the way to the floor as synapses misfired inside Soren’s head. His eyes took in what the fur had previously covered—six inches of creamy pale skin from her tiny waist down to…he gulped.
Cleavage. The delicate bones of her spine ended at the point where the swell of her ass cheeks began.
Dammit, he thought as he snatched the fur off the floor, he’d seen women in his pub dressed in low-slung pants and hadn’t blinked an eye. What was it about this one that made him all thumbs?
By the time his head cleared, she was seated, her chair pulled close enough to the table that the cloth hid whatever was bared in front, her belly button probably, and more smooth skin. He fumbled
He’d gone out back three times to check the parking lot. After all, how many lemon-yellow VW bugs would be parking in his lot tonight? He’d specifically told her where to pull up so he could just dash out and jump in. Damn it, he should have insisted that he’d meet her at the restaurant. But she was as obstinate as a boulder about picking him up for their “date”.
Date. The very word made him shudder.
He stashed the cleaning cloth on its rack and ducked under the counter. Skirting the tiny dance floor, he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The chef pointedly ignored him, but the assistant eyed him warily as Soren made his way around the chopping table to the employee entrance.
There! His heart gave a hard thump. He looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Tell Trang to take over.
I’ve got some errands to run.”
And he was out of there as if the proverbial bats out of hell were chasing him. Just as he hit the asphalt, the VW stopped with its passenger door facing the entrance, as though it had been choreographed and rehearsed. He ducked his head, verified through the open window that it was indeed Crystal, and jumped in.
“Go.” He grabbed the seat belt and hooked it around himself.
“Which way?” To her credit, she kept the car in motion, heading toward the parking entrance, oblivious to the fact that he was pulling a disappearing act.
“Turn right. About a mile and turn right at the first light.”
When the lights from the Thor’s Hammer sign had faded from his side-view mirror, with no little amount of relief that they’d escaped with no one the wiser, he turned to Crystal. “Hi.”
She glanced over, gave him a tentative smile, and turned back to the road.
“I see you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”
Way to go, Thorvald.Could his conversation be any more scintillating?
“No, your directions were very good. Is this the turn?”
“Yes.”
She hung a right then followed his instructions until they were parked in front of Chica’s. “It’s a down-home place. I hope you like Tex-Mex.”
“I like it fine.”
He got out of the car and headed to the entrance. Then looked back when she didn’t follow suit.
“Oh.” He guessed she’d been waiting for him to open the car door. By the time his brain had shifted gears to go back to the VW, she was walking toward him.
He scratched his head, then opened the restaurant door and made himself stand there. “Sorry. I, uh, I’m rusty at this kind of stuff.”
“That’s okay.” The smile she gave him made his eyes cross. She preceded him inside into an area with a counter and booths, then walked to the rear, where a quieter dining room awaited.
The hostess ushered them to a corner table. “Someone will be right with you to take your drink orders.”
She set menus down on the checkered tablecloth and left.
“Uh, do you want me to take your…fur thing? Or is that part of your outfit?”
“Yes, please. It’s warm in here.” She turned her back to him, unsnapping the front and slipping it off into his waiting hands.
The fur slipped all the way to the floor as synapses misfired inside Soren’s head. His eyes took in what the fur had previously covered—six inches of creamy pale skin from her tiny waist down to…he gulped.
Cleavage. The delicate bones of her spine ended at the point where the swell of her ass cheeks began.
Dammit, he thought as he snatched the fur off the floor, he’d seen women in his pub dressed in low-slung pants and hadn’t blinked an eye. What was it about this one that made him all thumbs?
By the time his head cleared, she was seated, her chair pulled close enough to the table that the cloth hid whatever was bared in front, her belly button probably, and more smooth skin. He fumbled
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