Tainted by Brooke Morgan Page B

pipes.”
    â€œThe one who shakes hands with his left hand because it’s closer to the heart?”
    â€œGood memory.” She smiled and he opened the restaurant door for her, waving his hand in a signal for her to go in first.
    The Lobster Pot was like a large shack, harshly lit, with long wooden tables and a few booths. Soft rock music played loudly, nets and lobster pots hung on the walls, people wearing shorts and flip-flops drank beer from plastic cups. Another reason Holly had picked it: there was no way Jack would think she was expecting a romantic evening. The food was delicious, but the atmosphere was only a few steps up from McDonald’s.
    â€œWow—great place. Puts Figs to shame, but promise you won’t tell anyone I said that.”
    â€œI’m calling Charlie Thurlow tomorrow.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t do that, would you?”
    Flirt, you idiot. At least try to flirt.
    â€œOf course not.”
    OK, don’t flirt. But at least try to relax.
    â€œLook, there’s a table free.” She led him to a fortuitously empty booth in the middle of the room and they sat down across from each other.
    â€œOK—this is how it works. Over there, in the back on your left, is where you order lobsters and steamed clams if you want them—see where they have all those Lobster Pot T-shirts hanging up? Over the tank full of live lobsters? Right behind the tank, there’s a counter.”
    â€œI see.” He pointed to a counter at the other end of the room. “But people are queuing up at that counter too—why?”
    â€œThat’s for other types of food like scallops, haddock, fried clams, coleslaw and stuff. If you want wine or beer, you get it in the back room with the lobsters. Soft drinks are at the scallop and other stuff counter.”
    â€œVery complicated; I’m not sure I could work here.”
    A voice on a microphone said, “Number 128, your order is ready,” and a large woman in pink polyester pants with a “Wild Women Are Necessary” T-shirt rose from the neighboring table, made her way to the counter and collected a red plastic tray heaped with food.
    â€œIf you want a lobster, they can take it out of the shell for you. They call it a Lazy Man’s lobster—no work. Otherwise you have to crack it open yourself.”
    â€œI don’t want to be typecast as a Lazy Man straight off the bat here.” He put his elbow on the table, his chin on his hand, and narrowed his eyes. “So I’ll go the Alpha Male route and get a lobster and crack it open myself. How about you?”
    â€œI’ll do the same. They drown the Lazy Man lobster with so much butter it’s hard to walk to the car afterward.”
    â€œRight, then.” He stood up, took off the blue windbreaker he was wearing and placed it on the tabletop. “This will save our place. Let’s go foodwards.”
    They ordered two boiled lobsters and two glasses of white wine. When he said what he wanted, the young girl behind the counter couldn’t take her eyes off him to write it down.
    â€œJeez. Are you English or something?” she asked.
    â€œNo. I just pretend to be.”
    â€œYou sure sound English.”
    â€œThank you. It’s taken years of practice.”
    She stared for another thirty seconds then managed to put pen to pad. When she then handed over the bill, Holly opened her bag.
    â€œNo—this is on me,” he said. “No arguments.”
    After picking up their numbered ticket and their glasses of wine, they headed back to their table. Jack stopped at the tank with the lobsters in it and peered in.
    â€œYou have to wonder when they know,” he said.
    â€œKnow what? That they’re about to be taken out of the tank to be eaten?”
    â€œNo. I mean before. When they’re in the sea. How long before they know the bait they’ve just headed for has trapped them?”
    â€œSomehow I