10
HAWK
Okay,so I wasn't quite honest with Becca. 'Very nice' was the understatement of the millennia. If the owner of O'Rourke's heard me say that, I'd be banned for life. Not literally, but he'd give me the side eye for a while. Apparently he didn't mind admitting he didn't have a drop of Irish blood in him though. Neil was a former New Yorker with an obsession for three things: his wife who was twice his age, all things Irish, and seafood.
"Sole," Becca said.
"Hmmm?" I was listening to her, I swear, but I was more than a little distracted by how hot she looked in her short black dress. It swished when she walked and hugged her in all the right places. Places I wouldn't mind hugging, like her breasts.
"Sole," she said again. "That was the meaning of the shoe emoji. You know, you could have used the fish one."
"Isn't that just for fucc bois?" I asked, trying to pronounce the purposeful misspellings. At least I think people misspelled them on purpose. Who knew these days? One thing was sure, they wouldn't be tweaking Shakespeare to add it in.
Although, it might be funny if it was. After all, wasn’t Shakespeare really just the shitposter of the Elizabethan era? “Fool, I have done thy mother!”
Friends, Romans, fucc bois, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not kiss his ass.
"What?" Becca asked.
I realised I was grinning and closed my mouth to a less crazy-looking smile.
"Just thinking something silly," I admitted. "It happens once in a while."
She arched an eyebrow at me. "I'm sure. So, how did you get a booking here on such short notice?"
"Neil is a friend," I replied. "I introduced him to his wife." I was also his initial investor, and helped him get this place up and running. I didn't bother to mention that. Becca more than likely thought I was showing off already by bringing her here without my bragging about my investments.
"They must still be together," she said. "He's still talking to you."
I grinned. "Five years and still going strong." Okay, now I was bragging, just a little. Although I doubted he was home often enough to piss her off.
Becca looked unimpressed by my matchmaking skills. "I've heard this place is booked out for a year."
I shrugged as though I didn't know or didn't care. Sometimes I forgot how good I had it. It seemed she decided I needed a reminder.
"Neil keeps a table open for special occasions. I got lucky it wasn't taken tonight." I tried to sound humble.
"I see." The expression on her face clearly suggested it was the only way I'd get lucky tonight. Dammit, I was trying my best and still failing to win her over.
The smiling maitre'd led us to a table off to the side of the terrace, with a view of the city lights and the lake spread out below us. He hurried to pull Becca's chair out for her.
She shot him a frown, but sat graciously and smiled.
He bowed and backed away. All of the staff here were carefully trained to blend into the background.
"Don't bother the beautiful people," Neil would say. I'd heard him call staff out on it a time or two, but only out the back where the 'beautiful people' wouldn't hear. This was fifty percent about the food and fifty percent about the experience. A lot of the patrons would have saved up for a special night out here, to be treated like royalty for an evening.
I just came here for the calamari.
Becca frowned at the plates on the table beside ours.
"Is this one of those places which serves a mouthful of food for a small fortune?"
"No," I replied. "Not asmallfortune." Just a big one. Like, a mortgage payment big. She didn’t need to know that, though.
She grimaced. "I don't see the point, if we go away hungry."
With her looking like she did tonight, I'd go away hungry, no matter what. Not for food.
