Ch 11 Filet Mignon
I'm ashamed to say I ogled him mercilessly. Four months in a grief-filled haze, seeing only Sam (and no offense to Sam, he's a fine specimen of man, but he's in the friend zone) in the male category, and suddenly I was presented with this glorious male. Even had I not been so male-sheltered, he would still have been gorgeous. Tall, oh-so-tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, thick blond hair that just brushed his collar, deep blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and full lips. I was beginning to think there was a reason Bill had never mentioned his boss much - given my much ballyhooed thing for blonds. Bill had always teased me that if I ever left him, it would be for a blond. I even had an "out" - the celebrity that, if they showed up in real life, you could leave your spouse for with no recriminations. Ralph Fiennes, who in his younger days was much more blond, but was darkening as he got older, like a lot of natural blonds did. Bill had an "out" too - Beyonce. We laughed over our "outs" all the time. But this Eric Northman was making me rethink poor Ralph. For one thing, he was taller. For another, he was here. And I hadn't had sex in months. I was starving and he was filet mignon.