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8
Deanie’s Seafood is a casual spot, offering a variety of items to savor. The hostess seats us at a small table up front where we can watch the city go by outside. Kara suggests we share a platter since they are monstrous in portion size and get a drink named Voodoo. The server brings our drinks, and we have a casual conversation.
“This has been a very interesting three days,” I say.
“That’s an odd take on your week,” she replies.
“How so?”
“Let’s see, you lost your designer on Wednesday, hired a virtual unknown by midday in order to not lose part of your pay for the job. Said virtual unknown manages to shave about one hundred fifty grand from the overall design budget, mind you. Not to mention you’ve had insane sex with your new designer. I’d say you’ve had one hell of a week. There’s nothing interesting about that.”
“Touché. How would you describe your week?”
She swallows a big portion of her drink before answering. “I put flowers on my parents’ grave Monday and promised them that something big was going to happen by the week’s end. Then I met you. But the best thing, I think my boss kinda likes me.” She takes a sip from her straw, looking at me with those big brown eyes.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“Well, after all the intense excitement of the day, he took me back to his room and fucked me till I crumbled like a cracker. Or in his words, ‘fucked me like I needed to be fucked’.”
“Sounds like you have a thing for your boss.”
“Maybe I do. I just don’t know what it is.”
“What do you like about him?”
“He’s tall, handsome, his voice is sexy. He’s not from around here, which is refreshing if you ask me. And he sees me. He sees my mind and not my body. Although he loves my body.”
She giggles at the last part, and I join her because I do love her body.
“I think he loves you,” I say. Did I just say that? “At least, he thinks he does. I’m sure he’s never felt what he feels with you before, and it’s not just the sex.”
The server brings our food, which relieves me. I can stop putting my foot in my mouth.
“Let’s eat,” I say before anything else embarrassing spills from my tongue. I also don’t want to point out the fact that she didn’t say anything to that slip about my feelings. I take my fork and knife and begin to cut into the food.
“Uh, what are you doing?” she asks with her eyebrows raised.
“I think this is called eating dinner,” I reply sarcastically.
“I thought you weren’t afraid to get dirty.” She pops one of those shrimps into her mouth, and the juice squirts out, running down her chin.
I can’t help but think of how my juice was running down her mouth earlier. “I’m not. That’s evident from Thursday afternoon in your basement.”
“Oh, you’re too good to eat with your hands.”
“This isn’t a burger or slice of pizza.”
“So?”
“You use utensils, don’t you?”
She throws her head back in laughter, and the table next to us turns and smiles.
“Listen, if you’re going to eat this platter, you need to use your hands. Look around you. That baaby over there isn’t using utensils. The lady behind you isn’t either. If we were eating gumbo or etouffee, then yes, use your utensils. Break open the crab and need to use the fork or the crab crackers, yes, use them. Other than that, use your hands.” She pops open one of the soft-shell crabs and sucks on it, pulling the meat out from its casing, dredging it in butter, and taking it into her mouth making low moans as she savors the delicious delicacy. “Here, try it.” She takes another piece and does the same thing as previous before popping it into my mouth.
I suck on her fingers a little, just as a treat for me.
“Mmm, that is good,” I admit.
