The Chosen by Sharon Sala

find the gumption to quit. She was looking around the room, obviously planning to meet someone for dinner, and all he could do was envy the lucky bastard who’d gotten to her before he had.
    He was staring and couldn’t seem to stop, but when she turned unexpectedly and caught him watching, he inhaled sharply. To his disgust, the half-chewed bite of steak he’d been eating was sucked right down his throat, where it lodged. At that point his knife slipped just enough that he buttered his thumb instead of the bread, then dropped the knife and knocked over his glass of Coca-Cola as he was reaching for his napkin so he could try to cough up the steak that was stuck.
    He didn’t see her look of shock as his face turned a dark, ruddy hue, nor did he see her racing toward him, because he was busy trying not to choke to death.
    Suddenly January was at his table. He would have said hello, but he couldn’t draw enough air to speak. Before he knew what was happening, she grabbed him from behind, yanked him up from the chair and began performing the Heimlich maneuver. To his complete humiliation, the chunk of steak popped out of his mouth and onto the table. He groaned, then inhaled deeply, grateful for the air that began filling his lungs.
    People from surrounding tables who’d witnessed January’s lifesaving technique soon recognized her and began to clap. The manager appeared, panicked that one of their customers had nearly perished at the table, swept the offending piece of meat up into a napkin and gave it to a passing waiter, had the spilled cola cleaned up and put a fresh tablecloth down before returning Ben’s food to the proper place. During the cleanup, he offered January a complimentary meal for being the heroine of the hour.
    â€œOh…that’s not necessary,” she said, batting absurdly long eyelashes at both the manager and Ben. “I’m meeting someone here for dinner, but thank you anyway.”
    The manager thanked her one last time and left her alone with Ben. Before he could say anything, a couple from a nearby table came rushing over and asked January for her autograph. That started a small rush of diners who followed suit. January looked at him, smiled an apology for interrupting his meal, and proceeded to sign her name to everything from dinner napkins to a waiter’s tie.
    Ben was nodding and smiling and wishing her to perdition. If she hadn’t come into the restaurant looking like a million-dollar hooker, he wouldn’t have choked. And if he hadn’t choked, there would have been no need for her to play the heroine. He wanted to tell everyone that he hadn’t been in any danger and that she was a royal show-off, but that would have made him appear an unappreciative asshole. And the last thing he wanted was to draw any more attention and end up the lead story on the late-night news.
    â€œCan this be over now?” he muttered, as January signed a final autograph.
    She glanced at Ben, realized he was fairly pissed, and quickly brought an end to the show.
    â€œOf course,” she said, and waved as the last of the people moved away. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.
    He eyed the plunging neckline, measured it against his thundering heartbeat, and wasn’t sure what to say without getting his face slapped.
    â€œUh…yeah. And thanks.”
    â€œNo problem,” she said, then glanced at her watch before giving the room another quick scan.
    â€œSo…who’s the lucky man?” Ben asked, then wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
    Referring to her date as lucky meant he envied the man, and letting January DeLena see him weak and wanting couldn’t be good.
    â€œHe’s late,” she said. “Do you mind if I sit with you until he shows?”
    â€œUh…yes. I mean, no, I don’t mind.”
    She slid into the empty chair at his table and then pointed at his food.
    â€œThat looks