"Fifty latnum says you can't do it."

Clye Zorbek threw his comrade Neb a halfhearted dirty look before letting his gaze once again wander to the waitress' tight backside.

"Agreed," chortled Rezon, tipping his chair onto its back legs and admiring the waitress hungrily. "You don't have the freij."

Clye replied with a Cardassian curse.

"Then, by all means…" Neb goaded, gesturing towards her.

He glanced at her again and suddenly Clyde didn't feel so confident. She was gorgeous. But more importantly, she was Human. It hadn't been that long since their races were enemies. The peace between the Fedaration and Cardassia now was tentative. He could bet all he wanted with his shipmates, there was a real chance that she wouldn't even talk to him, let alone go to dinner with him. Too ambitious. That's what he was. Now he'd roped himself into talking to a beautiful woman who would want absolutely nothing to do with him. He glanced back at his companions.

"I'm waiting," Neb smirked.

"If you don't… I might…."

Clye scowled at them. He looked at her again, serving food to Bajorans with a dazzling smile. Suddenly, he felt sick.

"He can't do it. All talk. As usual."

"Prepare your latnum, Neb. You're about to lose it. As usual," Clye snarled, shoving away from their table in the corner.

He strode towards her with what he hoped was a confident swagger when he didn't feel anything of the sort. A thousand ways to start a conversation ran through his mind, each more miserable and uninspiring than the last. As he drew closer, he still had nothing. She set her black serving platter upon the bar and spoke to the Ferengi behind the counter. Something suave. Something alluring and mysterious. He was a Cardassian! His way of words was unparalleled. One line would suffice. One line to have her falling at his feet—

She turned, brushing her short auburn hair from her eyes and stopped. "Oh!"

Clye stopped too, forgetting what he was even doing so far from his table. She was more breathtaking up close, cheeks a bright, lovely hue with her light exertion, large brown eyes consuming him.

She smiled, rose-colored lips stretching into a small, sensual invitation meant only for him. "Hello, sir. How may I help you? See something you like? Looking for something to drink?"

Clye's pulse quickened. His mouth was dry. He tried to swallow, but he didn't seem able to manage even that.

"Orrr something to eat, maybe? I believe we have a few Cardassian dishes on the menu. Not many I'm afraid, but enough, I think." When his silence persisted, her expression turned more concerned.

He imagined could hear his friends' sniggers from across the room. He became acutely conscious of how long he'd been uselessly standing there. If she wasn't afraid of him before, no doubt she believed him to be a complete idiot by now, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Then, she offered him his salvation as if she always dealt with customers just like him, she laughed and her eyes glinted with a mischievousness that made his limbs tingle and ache to touch her. "I've never met a Cardassian who didn't know what to say," she teased lightly. He observed the way the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly and how the right side of her mouth curled up higher than the other and wondered what other quirks she concealed. He decided to devote himself to discovering them all.

With the assistance of her easy chime of laughter, Clye felt himself relax. He fixed her with an apologetic smile and tried to chuckle. Even though it sounded strangled in his ears, she pretended not to notice. "I've never met a Human who…" Was so beautiful. Handled herself so gracefully. Made him forget how to speak. Took his breath away. "…served drinks so efficiently."

He instantly wanted to kill himself.

But she laughed again. "Well, sir, if you ordered something from me, you could witness my prowess firsthand."

Clye didn't trust himself to speak anymore. In fact, he may never utter another word again in his life. He resigned himself to being a mute. He smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded politely.

She looked him up and down, just a glance, but it made him want to fidget desperately. A thousand questions about his own self-worth burst into his head. When she met his eyes again, he didn't dare hope there was really appreciation in them. "How about I surprise you. Sound like a deal?"

Clye nodded again.

"I'll be right to your table with something I know you'll like. Just wait until I blow you away with my overwhelming serving talent," she quipped with a wink, and was gone.

Clye trudged back, shaking, trying to ignore his friends' howls of laughter.

Neb drained the last of his liquor and cast Clye an amused glance. Rezon stretched and said, "You know him, Neb. He hasn't got a 'no', so he's not going to stop."

"He can't even speak to her. That's as good as!"

Rezon shook his head in exasperation, clicking his tongue.

"Give it up, Clye. Just give me my latnum!" Neb hissed at him.

"Let him get crushed, Neb," Rezon laughed. "It'll make your victory taste that much sweeter." Before he followed Neb out of the bar, he lowered his voice and murmured in Clye's ear, "Be sure to inform me of how she is…."

Clye ignored his friends, suppressed the urge to rip off Rezon's scales, and focused on the mission at hand. He had pondered the whole night on how to salvage his less than desirable introduction to the waitress whose name turned out to be Rachel. As the bar's occupants dwindled, he knew his moment was drawing close. His daunting task was clear: repair his atrocious first impression, get her interested, go to dinner. Seemed simple enough to him as he picked at the remnants of the dish she had brought them (which they had all liked, just as she had promised), but when he remembered their last one-on-one encounter he darkened with shame. That was inexcusable.

"You, Cardassian!" Clye turned toward the voice to find the Ferengi from behind the bar coming towards him. "Your tab," he said gruffly, laying down a small, flat tablet with a thumbscanner. "We're closing soon. I suggest you pay and get out."

Clye nodded distractedly, not even reacting to the man's tone. He was used to being treated in this manner by other races. It was the only pitfall he knew of the Bajoran occupation. The man must have had Bajoran friends. Clye knew it wasn't a personal dislike, just a hastened, all-encompassing hatred for his whole race. It didn't bother him in the least.

He sighed and tapped the tablet, trying not to think of the terrifying task before him.

Instead of a total, a message flashed across the screen in blue letters: "Please see server."

Irked, he wondered if the Ferengi intended on questioning him about a war in which he had taken no part. Deciding it was better to take it on sooner than later and secretly glad for the distraction, Clye sauntered to the bar.

As he approached the Ferengi, the waitress Rachel, nudged him out of the way with her hip, saying brightly, "I got this one, Quark."

Clye was sure his surprise was plain on his face.

"Lemmie see that, darling," she purred, holding out a long fingered hand.

"Of course," he replied, though a little tonelessly.

Her lovely face lit up. "So you can talk!"

"Unfortunately, half of what I say is moronic."

"And the other half is deceitful?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He leaned on the counter and looked up at her, praying he looked seductive. "Well... I am Cardassian, however, I invite you to decide for yourself."

"Is that a promise?" She leaned on the counter too, no more than a foot away.

He struggled to keep his cool composure. "It's an offer"

"What kind?" she quipped playfully, eyes quickly roving over his face.

He barked a short, uncomfortable laugh then looked away. This was almost too easy. She was eager for him. It had to be a trick. There was no other explanation. Could he really simply ask?

"Is it an offer I can't refuse?" she mused.

"Well, I suppose you could, if it pleased you," Clye said, caught off guard by her obvious question.

She looked disappointed. "Did you want me to?"

"To what?" he asked blankly.

"Refuse."

"Would you like to?"

"Why would you even ask me that?" she demanded heatedly. Clye straightened abruptly and she followed suit. "I…I thought you were interested in me."

"What? No," he responded without thinking, but when he saw her hurt expression, he quickly tried to backtrack. Spluttering incoherently, he realized this whole conversation was spiraling out of control. He had to fix it or cough up fifty latnum. His father wouldn't be happy.

"Oh, just shut up and give me the tablet," she snapped.

He obeyed wordlessly and tried to suppress a shiver. Her tone was affecting him, but he was unfamiliar with Humans. Her stiff body language however, was telling him that perhaps Humans didn't find fights as arousing as Cardassians.

She leaned over the counter haughtily and beckoned him in. "Tonight it's on me, but don't be expecting anything like that again."

"I understand." As she turned away, clearly upset, he made a snap decision. "If I may..." He swallowed hard and ventured, "I could return the favor by taking you to dinner. My treat. And perhaps it would also give me the chance to apologize for all—" he gestured at nothing in particular, "-this."

"You mean, all that," she said, pointing at him matter-of-factly

Clye laughed uncomfortably. "Yes. Didn't I warn you that half of what I say is moronic?"

"Yeah," she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. "But what happened to not being interested? Wanting me to refuse you?"

"I believe it was you who accused the other half of me of being deceitful."

She looked away quickly, shaking hair into her eyes, but he caught her poorly suppressed smile. It coaxed out a smirk of his own.

"Then you're—"

"I am very interested."

Rachel smiled a very sweet smile for him. One that told him she believed this all a clever Cardassian trick and she had played neatly into it. It made her radiant; him, relieved.

"I'll meet you at six, out on the promenade," she said, all coyness and blushing now.

He took it all in, the low lighting, her lovely face, her delicately flushed color, her head cocked barely to the side in some element of flirtation and was immensely glad for his finely honed photographic memory. Rachel would be keeping him company tonight in his mind's eye, his last thought before the anticipation for tomorrow would ever let him sleep. He imagined he wouldn't get much of it at all. "I wouldn't miss it," he finally murmured. As an afterthought, he held up his hand, palm towards her.

She looked at it in puzzlement at first, just long enough for him to second guess himself. Nervousness exploded in his gullet as he worried that perhaps, she had no idea what the gesture signified, let alone how to respond. Then, to his immense relief and overwhelming joy, she lifted her own hand and pressed her soft palm lightly to his.

"Until then, Rachel," Clye whispered.

Her returned smile made him weak. "Until then…"

"Clye," he offered. "My name is Clye…"

"Until then…Clye," she murmured, making him shiver again.

Clye unwillingly turned away from her, positively beaming, and quite possibly, with an unmistakable spring in his step.