This was originally a one shot but, after many months, I suddenly decided that I wanted to continue with the story :)

This wasn't going well, Gene realised as he watched his dining companion sip at her wine. That had been his first mistake… ordering New Zealand wine in this place… he should have known better. Even the small talk had dried up within the first few minutes. His carefully prepared list of questions had been wasted because he already knew all the answers.

The restaurant had been her choice and just one look at the menu was enough to convince him that she was having a laugh at his expense. It was in French. All of it. And after searching in vain for something that came with pomme frittes he realised that he couldn't understand a bloody word. He'd had already sent the waiter away twice and now the snotty young man was standing by, pen poised and there was no putting off the evil moment. Gene knew that protocol dictated that he should order for both of them and she was looking at him expectantly… probably waiting for him to make an arse of himself.

Okay, so he knew she wanted fois gras to start. He could manage that; he'd just have to eat the same. Gene took a deep breath, opened his mouth and…

"Hope we're not interrupting anything?"

Gene looked up and straight into the smiling face of Jim Keats. There was a woman hanging on his arm and Gene recognised her too… Rhonda, from the speed dating farce. The woman who carried her knickers in her handbag.

"Professional meeting I take it?"

"That's right," Gene grunted. He couldn't force himself to admit that he had believed this to be a date. It was all clear now. A set up. Had to be. He'd been stitched up like the proverbial kipper. As he looked across at his dining companion, Gene sadly realised what a twat he'd been. She was too smart, too beautiful. At the best it was charity… at worst a cruel joke. And he had to admit at that moment his feelings were leaning towards the latter. He'd never thought she could be malicious but the evidence before his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.

"You won't mind if we join you then? I think you know Rhonda?"

The younger man said a few words to the waiter in flawless French, at least it sounded that way to Gene's untrained ear. The waiter clicked his fingers and in thirty seconds flat a second table had been set up adjacent to their own and Gene found himself once more within Rhoda's clutches.

"Hello babes," she whispered in his ear as she ran a finger up his thigh before digging her nails into the muscle at the top of his leg.

Gene moved away so fast he almost fell off his chair.

"So do you come here often?" Keats was talking again but not to Gene or Rhoda. The bastard didn't know when to shut up.

"No… this is my first time."

"You should try the escargot they're exquisite. I'll order for all of us shall I?"

"DCI Hunt was just going to…"

"It's no problem."

Again with the French, this time making a joke with the waiter that put a smile on the young man's face. Gene just wanted to punch the stupid git. But that was the one thing he couldn't do. He had to sit there, impotent. Gene sank back in his chair and wondered if he shouldn't just let Rhonda have her wicked way with him. Her hand had returned to his thigh but his body wasn't responding. He had as much chance of getting a hard on as Boy George at a wet T-shirt competition. Gene stared morosely into his beer, trying to think of something to say but it was difficult to get a word in edgewise with Jimbo wittering on.

The snails were the final straw and Gene decided that his participation in this farce was about to come to an abrupt end. Perhaps he was just being a coward, but he couldn't sit there and watch the woman he wanted more than life itself go into orgasmic raptures over something that should have been crawling around the garden.

Excusing himself, Gene headed towards the toilets however he quickly realised that Rhonda was following. He darted into the gents but she wasn't going to be so easily diverted. Before he knew what was happening, she had him backed into a stall and her hands were busy trying to undo his trousers.

"What the bloody hell…!"

"Shhh… just enjoy. They won't even notice we're gone."

The sad thing was that she was probably right but Gene was dammed if he was going to let himself be lured into a quickie in the bogs.

"No!"

He grabbed hold of her wrists and forced her hands away.

"I wouldn't shag you if you were the last woman on this planet," he hissed.

"I'm the only chance you've got tonight, babes. That girl out there is too good for the likes of you."

And Rhonda left him standing alone in a cloud of cheap perfume and a pool of what he hoped wasn't urine. The terrible thing was that she was right and Gene knew it. He was only good for slags and tarts. One night stands. Get into their knickers and straight out again. But not with Rhonda. He still had some pride and he wasn't going to chase after her on the promise of a pity fuck. Even so, he left the gents somewhat cautiously half expecting her to be waiting to ambush him in the corridor. It was empty of people but his eye fell on the pay phone situated opposite. Suddenly Gene had an idea.