But I never expected the man standing before me now.
Finally, I spoke. "They let you off work early." Now I, too, stepped away from my van.
"Yeah, well, I told them it was an emergency," said Fang easily.
He moved away from his car and stepped over the crumbling concrete parking curb with its exposed, rusted re-bars.
"And this is an emergency?" I asked.
His face lit up. "Of the highest order, Moon Dance."
Now he was coming toward me, moving across the empty parking lot. On his chest, the two great shark teeth swung and bounced from the leather strap. Only I was beginning to think they weren't shark teeth.
Fang. His name is Fang for a reason.
More deep breaths. I was tempted to step away from my van, but I couldn't make my legs work. In fact, they suddenly felt gelatinous and heavy and not really my own.
I put my hand on the van's warm hood, stabilizing myself.
Fang was a tall man, and his long strides quickly ate up the asphalt between us. When he was just a few arms lengths away, he stopped, chest heaving.
"I don't know your name," I said, suddenly self-conscious. His eyes rapidly roamed over me, taking me in. But I was used to him looking at me, wasn't I? After all, I had often caught him looking at me.
"You never asked for my name," he said.
"Married women don't ask bartenders for their names," I said.
"You're not married now."