from the other end of the bar, not to mention the grimace on Pete’s face.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” said a voice.
Pete’s grimace disappeared. “Yes, she is.”
“They don’t make rubber like that anymore.” Pete and I looked up to see Rodney standing with his hands on his hips, grinning at the ceiling.
“Er, I guess not,” Pete said.
“Damn shame,” I said.
Rodney looked at me. “I can take it out if you want to touch it.”
“That’s okay.”
“Fine then. You hungry or what?” He looked disgruntled that we didn’t want to touch his rubber.
“I’ll have a triple tribble platter and a Coke,” said Pete.
“Worf burger, cheese fries, and a metamorphosis malt,” I said.
Rodney turned and waded through a large group of cops screaming with laughter about a guy named Cleason.
“I was starting to wonder what happened to you,” said Pete.
“Sorry. I got a little sidetracked,” I said.
“I thought that was my line.”
“You’ll have to share. How long do we have?”
“A half hour or so. Slow night. How are you doing?” he said.
“Okay, I guess. I still can’t believe he’s dead though.”
Pete picked up my hand and stroked it with his long fingers. “You’re sure it was murder?”
“That’s what the M.E. said. Plus, Dad had a feeling.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means something isn’t right,” I said.
“He could be wrong,” Pete said.
“Yeah, right. I’ve been waiting for that for twenty-five years and I bet there are some guys here that have waited a hell of a lot longer than that.”
“Who’s the M.E.?”
“Simon Grace,” I said.
“I know him,” Pete said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, I know who he is. He’s good. Makes me think about specializing in Pathology.”
“Ick.” I made a face.
“What, you don’t want to date a cutter?”
“Not just no, but hell no.”
“I thought you love me no matter what,” Pete said with a smile.
“I do, but let’s not get crazy,” I said.
“What about surgery? You’ll barely see me for the next five years. What then?” Pete asked with a look bordering on serious.
“At least I wouldn’t have to smell dead people in your hair,” I said.
“I’ll wash it.”
“There’s not enough shampoo in the world.” I wrinkled up my nose and made a hacking noise.
“You know you don’t always smell rosy.” He made a hacking noise of his own and pinched his nose.
“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
Aaron came with our platters and started jabbering about a flame-throwing goblin as I plowed my way through a mountain of cheese fries. I looked around the bar and caught the eye of a few friendly faces. They waved and, thankfully, stayed where they were. Then I heard Pete ask a question, a real question, not just a grunt or a vague agreement. I turned back to Pete and Aaron in time to see Pete arrange his face into a look of studied boredom. Rodney came out from behind the bar and yelled for Aaron. He kept on about aerial tactic until Rod threw a roll at his head. Nailed him, too. Right in the ear. Aaron left, dragging his feet.
“What was that all about?” I said.
“What?” Pete stared down at his plate and pushed his house-made tator tots into a line opposite a row of garlic green beans. The whole thing looked like a chessboard or dare I say a battle plan.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You were starting to actually sound interested.”
“I’m not interested. I’m polite. You should try it some time,” Pete said.
“Sorry. Point taken.” I wasn’t sure I was buying it, but sometimes it’s better to let things lie and hope they go away.
“Alright then. If we eat fast, we could go back to your place for a little while.” Pete cocked one of his eyebrows at me.
“How long is a little while?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
“Oh, yeah? Long enough for who?”
“You, me, mostly me, but maybe you too. I’ll throw in a foot rub.”
“Fifteen minutes isn’t long
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” said a voice.
Pete’s grimace disappeared. “Yes, she is.”
“They don’t make rubber like that anymore.” Pete and I looked up to see Rodney standing with his hands on his hips, grinning at the ceiling.
“Er, I guess not,” Pete said.
“Damn shame,” I said.
Rodney looked at me. “I can take it out if you want to touch it.”
“That’s okay.”
“Fine then. You hungry or what?” He looked disgruntled that we didn’t want to touch his rubber.
“I’ll have a triple tribble platter and a Coke,” said Pete.
“Worf burger, cheese fries, and a metamorphosis malt,” I said.
Rodney turned and waded through a large group of cops screaming with laughter about a guy named Cleason.
“I was starting to wonder what happened to you,” said Pete.
“Sorry. I got a little sidetracked,” I said.
“I thought that was my line.”
“You’ll have to share. How long do we have?”
“A half hour or so. Slow night. How are you doing?” he said.
“Okay, I guess. I still can’t believe he’s dead though.”
Pete picked up my hand and stroked it with his long fingers. “You’re sure it was murder?”
“That’s what the M.E. said. Plus, Dad had a feeling.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means something isn’t right,” I said.
“He could be wrong,” Pete said.
“Yeah, right. I’ve been waiting for that for twenty-five years and I bet there are some guys here that have waited a hell of a lot longer than that.”
“Who’s the M.E.?”
“Simon Grace,” I said.
“I know him,” Pete said.
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, I know who he is. He’s good. Makes me think about specializing in Pathology.”
“Ick.” I made a face.
“What, you don’t want to date a cutter?”
“Not just no, but hell no.”
“I thought you love me no matter what,” Pete said with a smile.
“I do, but let’s not get crazy,” I said.
“What about surgery? You’ll barely see me for the next five years. What then?” Pete asked with a look bordering on serious.
“At least I wouldn’t have to smell dead people in your hair,” I said.
“I’ll wash it.”
“There’s not enough shampoo in the world.” I wrinkled up my nose and made a hacking noise.
“You know you don’t always smell rosy.” He made a hacking noise of his own and pinched his nose.
“You really know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
Aaron came with our platters and started jabbering about a flame-throwing goblin as I plowed my way through a mountain of cheese fries. I looked around the bar and caught the eye of a few friendly faces. They waved and, thankfully, stayed where they were. Then I heard Pete ask a question, a real question, not just a grunt or a vague agreement. I turned back to Pete and Aaron in time to see Pete arrange his face into a look of studied boredom. Rodney came out from behind the bar and yelled for Aaron. He kept on about aerial tactic until Rod threw a roll at his head. Nailed him, too. Right in the ear. Aaron left, dragging his feet.
“What was that all about?” I said.
“What?” Pete stared down at his plate and pushed his house-made tator tots into a line opposite a row of garlic green beans. The whole thing looked like a chessboard or dare I say a battle plan.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You were starting to actually sound interested.”
“I’m not interested. I’m polite. You should try it some time,” Pete said.
“Sorry. Point taken.” I wasn’t sure I was buying it, but sometimes it’s better to let things lie and hope they go away.
“Alright then. If we eat fast, we could go back to your place for a little while.” Pete cocked one of his eyebrows at me.
“How long is a little while?” I asked.
“Long enough.”
“Oh, yeah? Long enough for who?”
“You, me, mostly me, but maybe you too. I’ll throw in a foot rub.”
“Fifteen minutes isn’t long
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