Six
Sterling
This was no banana cheesecake standing in front of me. If it was, it was one that had been left in the oven too long. I didn't like redheads. Period. And I especially took offense to being forced to go out tonight of all nights. It was the evening of the Anonotheories podcast, and it was supposed to be a good one. Tonight was the first podcast after a six month break while the founders went exploring through a remote area overseas looking for the wreckage of a UFO. There was nothing overtly weird about that, considering every conspiracy theorist has, at one time, been convinced they could find alien wreckage, but this one was supposedly shot down by a medieval ballista during a Renaissance Festival.
It was so outrageous that it could be real, thus my desire to sit at home in my pajamas listening to it instead of going on this stupid date. This was one of two, and I wasn't sure this woman was the vapid one or if she was the "real" one I was supposed to take seriously. I had news for both Portia and this woman... Maron was her name. First of all, weird ass name. Second, the sooner I got out of this date, the sooner I could get home and listen to Anonotheory.
A plan began brewing in my head, and I knew it was a bad idea as soon as it coalesced, but I couldn't help myself. I'd been waiting six months for this.
Maron was growing impatient. I could see it in the set of her jaw and the way her small foot kept tapping against the floor. If I just turned around right now and walked out the door, she would never know I was here.
I sighed. I could do that, but I would lose manly points. No, I could do something even better. I could make this date so terrible, Maron would never want to see me again.
Just from looking at the way her lips were pursing in impatience, I could tell she wasn't the vapid one, so I knew I wouldn’t see her again anyway. I let out an annoyed huff of breath and crossed the restaurant to introduce myself. When she saw me, one light auburn eyebrow went up in annoyance.
Not exactly the kind of look I was used to getting from the opposite sex. I slapped on my most disarming grin and stuck out my hand. "Sterling," I said. "Sterling Luna."
"Like Bond?" she asked, straightfaced. "James Bond?"
I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, so I didn't say anything.
She let out a soft laugh and took my hand in hers. "Maron," she said. "Maron Archer."
I suspected she was making fun of me, but I couldn't tell how. Her hand was small and warm and surprisingly didn't feel bad in my own.
But that hair.
I kept looking at it.
She gave me a curious look but shook her head after a moment and walked over to the hostess stand. "I apologize for my lateness," she said to the woman standing behind a pedestal. "Unfortunately, I was waiting on someone who is not as time conscious as I am."
My jaw snapped shut in annoyance. The hostess gave me a cursory glance filled with barely concealed annoyance. "No problem, Miss Archer, I totally understand." The smile she gave to my date was completely genuine. The one she gave to me was stiff.
Why was I suddenly on uneven ground? Feeling off, I followed behind the two aggravated women until we came to our seat. I saw Maron wait in front of her chair patiently, as if she were waiting on a servant to come and drag it out for her.
I knew my manners, but remember Anonotheories? Yeah. There wasn't going to be anything chivalrous happening for ol' Maron tonight.
Her bright green eyes flashed when I took my own seat. An awkward pause ensued as she waited for me to notice my mistake and fix it.
I noticed alright, but I didn't bother to get up. I needed to eat, burp, and run.
I had a podcast to listen to.
An annoyed growl escaped the red headed she-devil, and I couldn't help the small smile threatening to form itself on my face. I squashed it down and kept my face neutral as I picked up the menu to study it. The hostess settled Maron's napkin on her lap but she ignored me like I had the plague. When she took our drink order, Maron ordered red wine, but when she took mine, everything I wanted they had suddenly run out of stock.
"White wine?"
"Which one?" the hostess drawled.
I pointed to one on the menu. "Oh sorry," she said, not sounding even a little bit sorry. "We just ran out."
This happened four damned times before I snapped the wine list shut and growled at her to just give me water and if she was out of that we were calling the health inspector. She gave me a blank smile though her eyes flashed with smugness. "Of course, sir." She removed the wine list and left our table.
Maron was studying me intently and it was making me nervous.
"See something you like?" I said and leveled another grin at her.
A thunderous expression flitted onto her face immediately. "No," she said shortly.
