He’d never had dinner with a woman before.
Well, except his mom, and she didn’t count.
He’d also never had sushi. Or sake. Or used a pair of chopsticks.
Which is what he was struggling with when Jessica Michaellson walked into the restaurant. Complete with the same long legs, black skirt, and red lips she had worn in his office that afternoon.
Donald’s fists clenched, finally breaking the bamboo sticks, sending one rocketing across the room. Directly into the new diner’s left eye.
“Ow!” and “Shit!” and “Oops!” were exclaimed simultaneously by Jessica, McKinsey, and Donald. Respectively.
“Well, now you’ve done it. You just poked out the eye of the anti-Christ.” McKinsey was leaning across the table and whisper-yelling at our clumsy hero.
Then the little terrier at Jessica’s heels started to laugh. Actually laugh! Jack had rolled onto his back, kicked his little feet, and howled.
In a shadow across the street, a little blonde woman with a badge doubled over in the front seat of her patrol car. It’s not often she got to see an ugly fat man poke one of Satan’s children in its eye with a chopstick. And survive.
But that’s what happened. Donald survived. He didn’t even get to see the millisecond stream of hellfire that seared the sashimi on his plate.
He was relieved, however, not to have to eat raw tuna. Though he was surprised and confused to find grill marks on his fish.
He looked up to find McKinsey staring wide-eyed at his plate. “Double shit.” This time she was barely audible. And the expression on her face frightened Donald even more than going on a date with a girl.
And that’s when Jessica approached their table. “Donald Hefeweizen! Just the man I was hoping to see. I have a proposition for you.”
(c) copyright 2008 Jennifer J. Knighton