The restaurant was upscale, because that's where someone like John Alan Erickson CGMA would want to experience a date that was the product of an auction. By the way, CGMA stands for Chartered Global Management Accountant, which is as dull as it sounds. Not that I would tell poor John that, since he didn't let me get a word in edgewise, nor did he seem to care that I smelled like Billy. I had a feeling that this entire fucking ordeal was simply because he ran out of people who he could trap and monologue to on a daily basis. I doubted, at the end of the evening, he wouldn't be able to recall what I was wearing, what I looked like in general, or if I even spoke at all. I could have taken a nap, but I had a feeling that he'd notice his audience wasn't paying attention, or pretending to since I occasionally nodded.

I powered through, getting the SMALLEST and simplest meal I could find. Turning down appetizers, salads, soups, and every other addition that would force the date to drag on. I knew that if I begged off with a headache, my mother would find some fucking loophole to make me do the entire fucking thing over from scratch. While the thought of Billy Butcher preparing me for another night out with this dull as dishwasher substitute could be considered well worth the fucking effort, I had to think getting it fucking over with would make things more relaxed between us. Right? He couldn't hold on to this ONE fucking evening that HE fucking pushed me into with his lack of willingness to fucking shoot me so I could miss the auction forever, right?

If the way my 'date' was staring at me as I attacked my food with a gusto that would make an ARMY grunt proud, I was powering through with gusto. Meh, did I care? This wasn't a love match. I wasn't planning on keeping him or doing it again. If he called my parents up before he unleashed the knowledge on the club crowd and told them that their daughter behaved like a starving letch, then perhaps I would never have to fucking go on the auction block again either. I'm calling that a win-win.

Once my plate was completely cleared, like the good girl I was, I looked up and saw that he was only about half through his own fucking meal. Shit. Luckily, he couldn't lecture AND eat, so we fell into 'small talk'. Which for those in my family's circle means we played a 'rousing' game of 'who do you know that I know?' By the way, this is a stupid game, since the country club set is more incestuous in their social lives than most small towns. We knew the same damn people, and we both knew that we knew them. Again, John appeared to love the sound of his own voice, even if he was slothlike in eating his fucking meal and kept tossing out names like a really fucked up version of BINGO.

"Do you know William Butcher?" I asked, feeling like I had to take my mind off of the monotony before I started drooling. His eyes squinted, I could see and smell his mental gears working overtime to find and place the name. "I work with him, and he gained a bit of infamy not long ago."

John shook his head, chewing carefully on his tiny bite of whatever he was grazing on. "I can't say I do." Of course not, I thought, since the dirty world at large only mattered if it was a monetary issue.

"He was a suspected terrorist. Domestic, of course," I offered, taking a measured sip from my water glass. John looked aghast. "He was cleared, after Stormfront was outed as the supe that killed all those innocent people."

"Why would I know this person?" He looked like I'd insulted him and that nailed this date in the bud. "Honestly, it isn't like he's a member of-"

"The club," I offered with a sigh. "Yeah, I know." Picking up my clutch, I opened it and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table. "My share," he started to speak, but I cut him off. "Date's over, clearly." And without another word, I turned and walked toward the door, pulling my phone out to tell Billy I was finished.

He was waiting as the host held open the door for me, a valet holding open the passenger door. "Thank you," I offered to the kid, and slipped in carefully so no one got an eyeful of me. The door clicked shut behind me and I turned to see Billy smirking. "What?"

"That must have been a record," I rolled my eyes, but stayed facing him. "Seat belt, Ronnie."

"But, Billy," I offered, shifting a bit so I was leaning over as he pulled onto the street. "I thought I got dessert after?" My hand dropped to his pants and I had to bite back a laugh when I felt a slight lurch in the car's trajectory. "Careful, Mr. Butcher," my voice quiet as my fingers worked to unfasten his pants. "While the French use the term 'la petite mort' to describe what I'm about to give you, I'd rather not make it permanent." And then, pulling him free, I lowered my head to his lap and worked on getting my treat.

By some miracle, or the mere fact that William Butcher was a man who could become uber focused on a goal, we didn't die on the way back to my house. I was surprised that he hadn't detoured to his place or a hotel, but I managed to keep busy during the ride.

Did you know that Billy has tells when he's about to go off like a firework? Man doesn't have a single subtle bone in his entire body, especially when someone is working him to a frenzy and then, just as he's about to crest, backing off so they can work on the climb again and again. He was practically crawling out of his own clothing by the time the car finally stopped in my driveway.

Smiling around my newest favorite snack, I decided to reward him for his good behavior, since I'd been in the car at least. Doing all the tricks I'd noted drove him to distraction on the drive home, I finally, when feeling his body tense up, didn't stop. His fingers slid through my hair, and I was given my own prize.

"Fuck," he sighed, as I made sure not to spill a drop. "That was," he sounded hoarse and he hadn't even spoken the entire time. "Veronica." I looked up at him as I put his pants to rights. "If a date with a wanker like John causes this-" I laughed and moved to get out of the car, but his hand on my wrist stopped me. "Am I coming inside?" Why was he always so sure I wasn't willing? Nodding to affirm that was the point, I thought, he released me so I could get out as he joined me.

I tossed him my house keys and he unlocked the door. We'd barely gotten inside when I realized a light we hadn't left on was lit. The way he stopped, pulling me behind his body, told me he noted it too. When the voice called out, we both relaxed, marginally. Why here? Why now?

Walking into the living room, I sighed. Shit.