Page 2 of On the Menu

Now, he could only imagine her surprise turning to pleasure, and the way she would coat his tongue, like a forbidden raspberry ice memory of spring and sex mixed together.

“M-me? With him? Do I kn-know you?” The woman answered, voice shaking with the effort of keeping her tears in check, trying to dry her hand on her skin-tight black suit.

“You’re about to,” Stray grinned his most charming smile. He took her drink and used the hem of his shirt to dry her hand, smelling that tingly, sweet, surprised scent again. With his voice low and tantalizing, he murmured, “You can’t be with him. Because that,” he gestured with the drink, “that is a big fat bastard that’s all over another girl, and you’re here alone, staring at him with your heart in your eyes. If he were deserving of you, he’d be over here, staring at you, telling me to fuck off.”

“I... We’ve gone out a few times. He asked me to come with him and... I got a new outfit, and I... I’m sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

“Then I’m gonna go with you.” Stray followed her as she turned suddenly.

“I have mace!” she squeaked.

“Smart thing to have. You won’t need it. I’ll just make sure you get to your car okay. I’m a... gentleman is the wrong word. And I’m not a nice guy, either. I suppose I’m a safe guy, and I’m a guy who’d rather you look at me than cry over that louse. Can I buy you...” What did humans eat in places like this? He always stuck to drinks, but drinks were also meant to intoxicate and disable, and this woman was too guarded for that. The bitter, acrid smell of sadness was starting to come back and ruin his mood—and his meal. “Burger! Can I buy you some burgers?”

The woman looked down at her skintight suit, and her lower lip quivered. “Do I look so skinny? That I need fattening up?”

“No? God, you look perfect!” Stray smiled, and he had to admit that to him—she did.

Long and leggy, and somewhat pale. Warm brown hair and vibrant blue-green eyes, and a softness about her face that spread to her body without making it voluptuous.

“Bruce says I’m too thin.”

“Bruce is a butthole,” he said confidently, hoping that was actually the term he thought it was, and the woman laughed.

Oh, heaven and all the gates, it was like pure sugar in his mouth, and then something sweet and salty and rich... Jam. Jam and cream and pie, and savory crust. Her laughter was the best treat, and the sudden notes of happiness? It made raspberry ice a pauper’s dream.

“I wanted to buy you two burgers,” he said with only a little less than his usual smoothness, “because I hoped I could eat one of them with you. Or, if you’re hungry, then you’ll eat both, but I’ll get to talk to you for twice as long. Hm? How about it?” He arched one eyebrow and smiled, wondering if she’d notice the fangs, and if she did, would she assume they were simply part of his Halloween disguise?

“Okay, then. I’m Cara.” She stuck out her hand and smiled.

“Stray. It’s uh—It’s short for a family name. Strathvyn.”

“That’s beautiful. German?”

“Gaelic. A long, long time ago,” he whispered, and led her to the tables that ran along the walls of the bar proper.

“Bruce hasn’t even noticed I’m gone,” Cara mourned, casting one last look toward the basement and the uncouth bearded human left behind.

“Damn.” Stray sniffed and walked towards the bar to get them drinks, wondering why he suddenly cared what this single little soul tasted like. Food was food.

But Liam’s words tickled his brain, and Cara’s scent tickled his memory.

Maybe... Maybe he’d try it Liam’s way. And if he was trying it Liam’s way, he’d want it to be worth the effort. Cara had to be the happiest she could be before he ever took a sip.

“You’re miserable, aren’t you?” Stray said, setting two glasses on the table, along with two sticky menus covered in a film of stains.

“Don’t pretend to care. I know how this goes. I’m thirty-six, out alone on a night dedicated to sex and scaring the pants off people. I just got passed over in favor of Bavarian Barbie downstairs, and you think you can swoop in and get me when I’m vulnerable. Nope.” Cara tossed back half her drink in one gulp.

Stray wanted to say that if she kept knocking them back like that, he probably could manage it pretty easily. “I was stating a fact, not caring.” This wasn’t going well.

“Since when do facts have questions on them?”

“Since I was raised in Glasgow. Ever talk to anyone from my part of the world? We have two settings—blunt and kick you in your teeth, or statements with questions as a bonus.”

“You don’t have an accent,” she said, eyeing him dubiously.

“I haven’t lived there in a long, long time,” Stray admitted, and it was his turn to look at his glass and be miserable.

“You know... There are a bunch of people in this town who lived in Ireland or Scotland. Or England. I just had all-new cabinets hung in my house, and the handyman was from Newcastle, I think it was. He didn’t talk much at all.”