Oh. My. God.
I can’t believe it.
I’ve got nothing to wear. Seriously. Nothing.
I’m not going to wear that! God, it’s a family restaurant! I’m not going there looking like a five nuyen hooker. Why did I ask Grace for advice? She thinks fashion is tits, visible thongs and easy access.
Maybe just a simple black dress? No, too sultry.
Sweater and skirt? Too grandma.
Jeans and jacket? Too casual? Well…ok, maybe.
But which jeans? Skinnies? Boot cut? Shredded?
Why are there so many kinds?
Why did I buy so many kinds?
Oh. My. God.
Maybe I’ll just buy something new…
Or maybe the armored jumpsuit with matching pistol?
Ok, looks good. Right? Maybe?… Crap, gotta go before dad gets home. Got everything?
Calm? Not so much…
Hey, this place isn’t half bad. The aquarium mesmerizing. Could do without the noisy brats though. Maybe just a quick, anonymous message that grandma is sick…
Oh, crap, here he comes. Wow! Nice suit. Little overdressed for this place, but yum! I think he’s lost weight too. Maybe it’s just good tailoring. Do guys like it when you ask if they’ve lost weight?
No visible gun, but those suits are tailored for it. Besides, he doesn’t need a gun to waste someone.
A hug and a peck on the cheek? What the hell am I supposed to do with that? If I wanted that, I’d go to dinner with Dad…
Ok, let’s move away from that line of thought before we get too disturbing…
Better with the conversation that I thought. Maybe he’s just business ‘out there’. That might explain the monosyllables. Nice voice, pretty strong for an elf. Love the eyes…
Nice to talk to someone who isn’t all cars and guns and other metaphors for their inadequacy. Small hands though.
Geez, where the hell did that come from? Gotta stop hanging around with Grace.
Seems pretty interested in me, instead of just talking about himself.
Or fishing for more info without giving up much about himself…
Drinks? Should I? Maybe I better stay clear. And what? Order off the kids menu? Shit. Ok, something light. White wine goes with fish, right? Or maybe a martini is more sophisticated? Crap.
What? Oh, ID? Sure dork, here you go… No, I don’t look that old, do I? Moron…
Oh-oh. Got that look. Should have ordered more than a salad. Should I call the waiter back and get something real? My stomach’s so tied up in knots I’d probably puke if I ate anything big. That’d be a real turn-on… Frag. Too late anyway. It’ll look lame if I change it now. But maybe if I get a real meal, he’ll share with me. No, probably watching what he eats too.
Ok. Well that explains why he isn’t talking much about himself. Now I want to know even more.
Wait. Getting too invested here. Find something else to talk about…
Whoops. Ok. Note to self: don’t ask about that. Way to go, genius. Jab that first question right into the raw nerve. Maybe a pee break? No, don’t give him time to stew about that topic.
Awkward silence… getting longer…
Thank God! Saved by the drinks. Mmmm… nice…
Ok, slow down and don’t gulp or he’ll be carrying you home.
Ok. Sharing his more fun. Maybe that’s why Grace always gets a salad.
At least I didn’t puke. The wine helped…feeling calmer.
Actually…kinda hungry now. Wonder how far can I push the ‘can I have a taste’ thing?
Maybe I’ll just have a big dessert. Or another glass of wine.
Less wine. More careful.
Mmmmm… so relaxed… Hmm? Oops, he was saying something there. Drifting off. Definitely too much wine.
Yeah, better get home soon. Before Dad starts having a fit.
Such amazing eyes…
Don’t trust him too much…
Ok. Goodbye time.
Now let’s see if he can do better than just a hug and peck on the cheek…