Strutting like a supermodel with a tray of drinks in her hand, the waitress ignored the pleas of desperate patrons requesting more bottled water or inquiring on the status of their calamari appetizers. One table was getting practically all of her attention, the table with the only gray head in the place. A silver-haired businessman was seated with what looked to be an up and coming protégé, giving him some words of wisdom or advice on how to rise in the company. Maybe ask for a blowjob after dessert if that was his thing.
The fact that the waitress lingered at this particular table could only spell trouble for Stan Smith. From where he sat, Stan couldn’t resist staring over his girlfriend’s left shoulder at the waitress’ perfectly round ass.
Stan’s girlfriend Gwen stared down at her Ahi tuna, poking it with a fork while planning a trip to Mexico or Spain so she could practice her Spanish with the locals. Spain was the last country on Stan’s mind as he watched the Chinese waitress bend over to deliver drinks, laughing at whatever that gray head was saying.
She was taller than other Asians Stan had dated, with creamy smooth legs that didn’t need calf definition to get him imagining what he’d find if he followed them all the way up her restaurant issued red leather skirt. That skirt made him understand why in China, the color red was lucky.
“I need another drink,” muttered Stan, draining the rest of his vodka tonic and using his empty glass to unsuccessfully signal the waitress as she turned around.
“Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” Gwen groaned.
Stan had been getting this question from Gwen a lot lately. Considering the answer in his head was usually no, combined with his growing fascination with other women’s body parts, Stan had no doubts this relationship, like all others, was doomed.
“Spain or Mexico?” he ventured, making no effort to come up with specifics.
Gwen smiled weakly.
“Absolutely right,” she replied. “If I had asked you five minutes ago.”
As the waitress neared their table, Stan extended his arm to block her way. After a moment of glaring at his arm as if she might tear it off, she reluctantly took his order.
Stan ordered another vodka tonic, inquiring about different brands of vodka in order to keep the waitress at their table longer. She didn’t have a clue which brands the bar stocked—maybe she was new.
The waitress didn’t show a glimmer of interest in Stan, not even the industry brand of flirting designed to rake in tips—a touch on the arm, a confidential smile. She was preoccupied with her big customer, the gray haired man in a suit sitting with his protégé. Stan wasn’t even sure if she’d remember his order.
“We’ve been dating a long time,” Gwen began, swirling her pink Cosmopolitan in a martini glass.
“Over a year, a record for me.”
“It’s been seven months.”
“Seven months? It seems longer.”
“I meant it in a good way,” Stan recovered awkwardly. “Like we’ve known each other longer than our actual time together would indicate.”
Gwen wasn’t sure if watching Stan attempt to dig his way out of yet another hole should give her any hope. Maybe it was his way of trying to make things work. There was only one way to tell and that was to put herself on the line, risking all they shared together.
Gwen took a deep breath, exhaling serenely like they’d taught her in yoga class.
“Stan, I feel a certain amount of trust and compatibility between the two of us. We share a common language, you and I. A language of the heart.”
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Isn't That Bigamy?Mystery / Thriller
After his girlfriend dumps him for being a shallow jerk, Stan has the misfortune of witnessing a ruthless Armenian crime boss murder an undercover federal agent. He’s placed in the witness protection program and accidentally sent to a polygamous tow...