Don’t Fear the Reaper
“I didn’t think you’d show.”
She slid her curves into the booth, propped her umbrella against the table. “Why not? You intrigue me. No one’s asked me out for a Happy Meal before.”
“Well, if it makes you feel special, no one’s accepted my generous offer before, either.”
She slipped off her blue raincoat, revealing a taut black tee, its pink cursive letters reading ‘Off Duty Mermaid’.
“Nice tits—I mean shirt.”
She smirked. “How sweet of you to notice both.”
“Kinda hard not to. And honesty is the cornerstone of any relationship, me thinks.” I fished inside my trench coat, tugged out a silver flask, and proffered her a straw.
Her tits jiggled as she giggled and pushed the straw aside. My lolling tongue twitched with envy as the flask kissed her lips, those fiery brown eyes flashing in warm appreciation.
“Original Firewater. How sweet. You must’ve read my Facebook page.”
“If you’d posted your profile picture there I would’ve likely only drooled.”
She suddenly produced a napkin and deftly brushed my lips. “Dear boy you’re drooling now.”
“I guess that’s cuz I’m starving—in more ways than one.”
“Then why don’t you place our order?”
“Well, I was hoping to use the drive-thru so I could feel you up.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“That’s me all right. I’m a serious kinda guy. Mr. Sensitivity.”
“Well, I do admire a man who’s not afraid to express his feelings. But before we go much further, there’s some things you ought to know.”
She slid a sleek black card silkily across the tabletop: Tanya Grim—Sleep Specialist. The sharp sweeping blade of a long-handled scythe curved below her name.
I blinked. “You didn’t put that on your Facebook page. Probably explains why you write dark poetry though. So are Rigor and Mortis like your brothers or something?”
“Third cousins actually. Couple of freaks. Lucky for me I do my thing first, and try my damnedest to leave before they arrive at the scene. Got any other questions?”
“I get the sense you might be addicted to ‘bad boys’…Are you?”
“Well, I used to be. I dated Famine when I was in high school. But that whole starving-artist routine got old pretty quick. Who needs the drama, right?”
“So why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Thousands of women on Facebook. Plenty of them flashing their boobs. I don’t have a single photo on my page. So why did you invite me out for a Happy Meal?”
“Because I could tell you were different. Different intrigues me.”
“So how am I different?”
“Well, for starters you’re not flashing your boobs all over Facebook. And although your poetry can be dark… I could sense anger and sadness flowing underneath. I thought offering to buy you a Happy Meal just might make you smile.”
“That is so… sweet.”
“So you ready to hit the drive-thru?”
“Only if we take my hearse. It’s roomier than your truck.”
“How did you know I drive—never mind. Let’s blow this booth.”
When we arrived at the closest exit, I held the door primly for Ms. Grim.
“Wow, you can be a gentleman when you want to.”
Gentleman? I don’t think so. I just wanted to admire her ass.