Page 44 of Ghost

She crossed her arms and exhaled through her teeth. “I’m not going to do this with you, George. I’m thirty years old. You are well aware of how many men have tried to take me on a date in the last six years. Of those, how many have I gone out with?”

He stared.

“How many?” she demanded.

“None,” he said. “That I know of.”

“That’s right,” she huffed. “None.”

He glanced at me and then at her. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“After six years, I’ve found someone that likes me because of me. And, it just so happens that he’s honest, genuine, funny, and has a big heart.” She said, her voice laced with attitude. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to get us a few menus, I’d like to eat. I’m so hungry I feel like I might pass out.”

“Up all-night talking made you hungry?” He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “While you were talking, did you wear protection?”

“Yes, Sir. I did,” I responded. “Always.”

His jaw tightened. His muscles tensed. I prepared to block the punch I was sure he would throw.

Instead, he gave a sharp nod. “Let me get a few menus.”

While he stomped to the back of the restaurant, I moved to the other side of the booth and let out a sigh. “That went better than expected.”

“Basically, I have two dads,” she replied.

I motioned toward the kitchen. “Does he always walk like that?”

“All the time.”

“So, he’s not mad?” I asked.

“Oh, I think he’s mad,” she said with a laugh. “But he always walks like that.”

“What’s he like?” I asked.

“He’s just like he is right now, all the time,” she replied.

“No,” I said. “What does he like. What does he do in his spare time?”

“Well, he likes to go up north and hunt. And he likes to fish. Oh, and he likes fast cars. Old-school fast cars, not the new stuff.”

The easiest way to win a man over was to have something in common with him. If there was one thing I liked almost as much as fucking, it was driving a fast car. The rumpity-rump of a carbureted engine with a racing cam in it was music to my ears. As he made his way back to the table, I grinned and cracked my knuckles.

“Watch this,” I said.

George handed Abby her menu, and then held mine in front of me. When I reached for it, he pulled it away.

“One hair. Just one,” he said through his teeth. “That’s all you’ll have to harm on her for me to hunt you down and put my thumbs through your eye sockets.”

“George!” Abby shouted.

“That’s all I’ve got to say,” he said. “I made my point.”

I reached toward the menu and paused. “What’s your recommendation?”

“Depends on what you like,” he snapped. “I can’t decide for you.”

“I was taught to eat what’s put in front of me,” I responded. “Just send me whatever you think your specialty is.”