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“Not there.” Kitt pulled him away from the table he’d chosen towards one near the dance floor within full view of everyone.
“How are we going to make out here?” he asked, squeezing her sweet ass before it reached the chair. “Of course, if you don’t care who’s watching…” Edging a hand under her, he took a handful again.
“Ro-ob,” she said, as if in protest, but smiling, she squeezed his leg as he pulled his chair closer.
He didn’t know if she was happy because she’d gotten her way or in anticipation of what they’d do later. Just thinking about that made his cock hard. He’d take her to his place and turn off the phone so Suzette couldn’t call.
A waitress in black satin shorts and blouse with sparkling rhinestone buttons wiggled her way across the room to take their order. Her hair was an unnatural shade of red and her pouty lips were painted black. Dana. He remembered her name. He hoped she didn’t remember his.
Rob watched Kitt to see if her radar went on. Dana wasn’t bad looking, just hard in appearance. “Beer?” he asked Kitt.
Their server answered instead. “I know you’re a whisky man. Wild Turkey, isn’t it?”
Damn. That’s why he’d tried to get out of coming here. He looked her straight in the eye. “I’d like a Bud.”
She blinked and he thought she got it. She looked at Kitt. “He really tied one on the other night. Let me guess. I’ll bet you two had a fight. Am I right?”
“Beforehand or afterward?” Kitt answered, nudging him. “I’ll have a Sex on the Beach with a cherry and an orange slice.”
“I meant before, but either one.” She shrugged. “I’m Dana and Sex is my favourite drink too.”
“That’s different,” Rob said as Dana departed. “The waitress is playing up to you.”
Kitt smiled tightly. “Now, who’s jealous? You can’t always hog the spotlight.” She sat back and looked around.
“I told you I had to work up the nerve to come see you.”
“The place is more upscale than you said.”
Shrugging, he followed her gaze. Black wooden booths with high backs and red leather upholstery offered privacy while tables and chairs in the same combination allowed a good view of the bar…and the painting. Hanging above the rows of liquor bottles that marched across mirrored shelves was a huge rendition of a scantily clad black-haired siren in a scarlet sarong straddling a silver spoon. “See, I told you,” he said, nodding towards it.
“It’s the picture of that woman that cheapens it,” Kitt said.
“Here you go.” Dana arrived with a tray and set two drinks in front of each of them. “Happy Hour with two-for-one drinks lasts until six o’clock. Just so you know.” She tapped her watch. “You’ll have time for another round or more if you aren’t too slow.”
“That’s quite a painting,” Kitt said, gesturing.
“Life-size.” Dana grimaced. “She’s full of herself, don’t you think?”
“Who is she?” Kitt asked.
“The owner of The Silver Spoon. Her name is Lana. Or so she claims. The story I’ve heard is that her mother named her Atlanta when she was born there, but when she married rich Mr. Turner who owned this place, she changed it to be the same as that of the glamorous movie star in old films.”
“Lana Turner,” Kitt said, nodding. “Clever.”
“Conceited if you ask me. She commissioned someone to paint her portrait and had it hung. Her husband was so much older, I’ll bet she got off on that spoon.” Dana laughed. “Or maybe she got it on with the artist.
“I’m surprised that after Mr. Turner died, she didn’t rename the restaurant Lana’s Silver Spoon. I think the only reason she didn’t is that another man swept her off her feet. From what I heard, she’d been seeing this guy for some time before her hubby croaked.”
“Was it the painter?” Kitt asked.
Dana shook her head. “She picked this one up at a car show.”
“You’re a fountof info, aren’t you, Dana?” Rob asked, wishing she’d go away. Who cared?
She blushed and Kitt nudged him. “Be nice, Rob. I find this all very interesting.”
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