"Ah." For some reason the question caused a struggle on Drina's face. It looked as if she was trying not to smile or laugh. Managing to fight off the urge, she turned and picked up a pair of impossibly high-heeled shoes from the row they were walking down and held them up. "These are FM shoes."
Harper peered at the shoes, black, strappy, and with heels that had to be six inches high. They were sexy as hell and would probably go well with the black dress she'd picked up earlier. "And the FM stands for?"
Drina cleared her throat and tossed the shoe, along with its partner in the cart, then announced, "Fuck Me," and turned to walk over to Stephanie.
Harper stared after her, stunned. For one moment he thought she'd actually been making a request of him, and he found he wasn't averse to the idea. But then his reason kicked in. Pushing the cart quickly forward, he gasped, "Are you serious?"
Drina nodded.
"Why?" he asked with amazement.
Her eyebrows rose, and then she leaned in and picked up one shoe. "Well, look at it. It's sexy as hell, could turn a guy on at twenty paces." She shrugged.
"But women actually call them that?" he asked with disbelief.
"It's what they are," she said with amusement. Seeing his lack of comprehension, her expression turned pitying, and she said, "You don't think we wear them because they're comfortable, do you? Because I can guarantee you they aren't. We pick them purely to attract the male of the species. The same reason we pick bustiers and anything else terribly uncomfortable but appealing to the male eye."
"Huh." Harper gave himself a shake. It had been centuries since he'd bothered reading a mortal woman's mind. Well, really, it had been centuries since he'd bothered with mortal women at all. He simply hadn't been interested until Jenny, and he hadn't been able to read her mind. Still, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised at these revelations. Even back then, women had done all sorts of things to attract mates: lead makeup, corsets, etc. They hadn't openly admitted that was what it was about, though. It seemed women nowadays were much more frank on the subject if they actually called high heels Fuck Me shoes. It occurred to him that the world might be a much more interesting place now than it had been.
"I'm sorry," Drina said suddenly, and patted his shoulder as if he might need soothing. "I guess we need to try to remember that this is all alien to you. I'm afraid we just keep forgetting you're a guy and have been thinking of you as one of the girls."
"One of the girls," Harper muttered, as she moved off to join Stephanie again. The thought was rather dismaying. It wasn't that he was interested in Drina and wanted her to think of him in that way, but-
"Christ." He breathed with disgust. Being considered one of the girls was damned lowering.
"That guy over there likes you, Drina."
Harper raised his gaze from the menu he'd been reviewing and followed Stephanie's gesture to a table where three men in jeans and T-shirts sat. One of them, a rugged-looking fellow of twentysomething was looking their way, his eyes sliding over Drina with definite interest.
"He doesn't even know me," Drina said with amusement, not bothering to glance up from her menu.
"Okay, he thinks you're hot," Stephanie amended with exasperation, and then taunted, "You should hear what he's thinking."
"Oh?" she asked mildly, turning the page of her menu.
"Yeah. He really likes the boots. I told you they were hot."
Harper just managed not to bend to peer under the table and get another look at the thigh-high boots. Stephanie had talked Drina into getting them, assuring her they would keep her warm over her jeans and be "hot" too. Drina had replaced her running shoes with them in the car on the way here. She'd lain across the backseat and kicked her legs in the air as she'd pulled them on over her tight-legged jeans in the back while he drove. She'd also switched her light coat for the much warmer long coat she'd bought and tugged on her new red hat and gloves. She was now properly attired for a Canadian winter.
"Oh, man, that's just gross," Stephanie said suddenly, and Harper glanced to the girl to see her wrinkling her nose with distaste.
Frowning, he followed her gaze to the "interested" mortal and slipped into the fellow's mind. His eyes widened incredulously at the guy's imaginings. He certainly did like the thigh-high boots. In fact, the fellow was imagining Drina in the boots and nothing else and doing things to her that . . . well, he wouldn't say they were gross, but they were disturbingly hot images and made him withdraw quickly from the guy's mind and scowl at him irritably.
"What are you going to order?" Drina asked Stephanie, no doubt to change the subject.
"A club sandwich and fries with gravy on the side," Stephanie answered promptly.
"Hmm. I guess I'll get the same," Drina decided, closing her menu.
"You eat?" Harper asked with surprise.
"On occasion," Drina said with a shrug. "Besides, we can't make Stephanie eat alone."
"No," he agreed on a murmur, lowering his gaze to his menu again and looking to see what a club sandwich was before announcing, "I'll have the same."
"So," Stephanie said once their waitress had left with their orders, "if you guys are both so old and both from Europe, how come you've never met before?"
Drina appeared surprised by the question and chuckled. "Sweetie, Europe is a big place. I'm from Spain. Harper is from Germany." She shrugged. "It's like suggesting someone from Oklahoma should know someone from Illinois just because they're from the United States, or that someone from BC should know someone from Ontario because they're both in Canada."