meeting him. 5) Rachael was a robot.
He had agonized over what to wear. He had no idea how long he would be spying for Boo, and he hated shopping even more than packing, so he hadn’t brought much more than a suitcase full of clothes. Rattled and wearing nothing but his Homer Simpson boxers, he called Gregory.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down. You . . . wait. You have a date?”
“Yeah.”
“You do.”
“Yeah.”
“But you haven’t even been out there a week.”
“Did I call you for a timeline? No, Gregory, I didn’t. And if I wanted someone to shatter my dating self-esteem I would have called Boo’s cell. So, nice restaurant. Seafood restaurant in downtown Minneapolis.”
“You’re calling me while you’re wearing your Simpsons underpants, aren’t you?”
“Dude, do you really want me to answer? Because I will. And nobody says underpants anymore. And if you don’t help me, I’ll take a picture of Homer and me and send it to your phone about fifty times. A day!”
It wasn’t easy to threaten or cow a vampire, but Edward thought it had gone nicely. He was wearing tan slacks, a light blue dress shirt, and his leather jacket. Loafers, with his lucky Yoda socks.
Thank God I splurged on the extra-strength deodorant.
He stepped out of the elevator, took a moment to get his bearings, and then spotted her chatting with the hostess by the entrance. “Oh thank God, thank God,” he murmured to himself.
Rachael turned, almost like she’d heard him (which she couldn’t; too much background noise), and smiled. She had a great smile. And a wonderful dentist; he’d never seen teeth so straight and white.
“Did you think I wasn’t going to come?” she asked as he galloped to her side. “Shame, shame.”
“Well, you did seem a little too good to be true,” he admitted.
“I’d never stand you up. I know what it’s like and I’d never do it. Not even to someone I didn’t want to get to know.”
He stared at her. “What colossal dumb shit bailed on a date with you? And did you suggest they get sterilized so they don’t muck up the gene pool any worse than it is? Because the thought of someone that dumb just roaming the earth at will is terrifying.”
“Eugenics never came up,” she said dryly. “Besides, it was never going to work. At times, I’ve got a terrible temper.”
“You?” Had she even raised her voice yet? “You seem pretty laid back.” No. That wasn’t quite right. Calm, maybe. And not easily spooked, or excited. “Hard to imagine you hulking out.”
“It does happen on occasion.” She tipped him a wink. “Why, I’ve been known to eat men who stand me up.”
He stared again. And again. The hostess was talking to him. Why was the hostess bugging him? Was she taking a restaurant survey? Why wouldn’t she leave them alone? Was she canvassing for UNICEF? Time and place, lady, time and place. Jesus!
“Do you have a reservation, sir?”
Sure. He was positive. Absolutely they had a reservation. Table for two. Yep. Now if he could only remember his last name . . .
Eureka! “Batley, table for two, please.”
“You’ve got to stop this,” Rachael mock-scolded. “You’re going to turn my head with all the lovely attention.”
He was very, very tempted to kiss her for that statement alone. It seemed amazing but true: Rachael-the-goddess found flop sweat, the shakes, major horniness, and anxiety endearing.
She’d turned and followed the hostess, and he in turn followed Rachael. He tried, tried—tried—to be a gentleman, but she was just too slammin’. Nope, slammin’ didn’t do her justice: she was slammin’ squared. No, cubed!
She was wearing one of those dresses that looked like a big long shirt, in greenish blue, no stockings. Her rich brown hair hung at shoulder length, with a kind of ripple through it, not quite a curl. Some kind of black shoes. What did women call shoes that weren’t high heels? Anyway, she was wearing black shoes that weren’t high heels.
Then they were being seated and examining the menu. “Hmmmm. This is not bad at all. What are you thinking?”
“That it’s so great to see you,” he replied fervently.
She smiled. “What are you thinking of ordering?”
“Oh.” He immediately felt like a horse’s ass, but Rachael didn’t seem to mind (again!). “Uh . . .” He was so keyed up, he figured everything would taste like wet napkins no matter what he ordered, so he just asked for a bowl of clam chowder.
“Cheap date,” she teased.
“Yeah, but it’s my date. I asked you out.” After a