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Chapter 22

As we walk out of the building, I am pleased to see that most people have left. I assume they left after they thought the excitement was over with Rodriguez. They are going to be pissed that they missed the other big excitement, I think cynically.

Unfortunately, I see a news crew buzzing around their van. I have really been out of my normal zone today. I am usually the master of awareness of my surroundings, but I missed that we were being filmed inside the building. At least, I assume we were. I hope my face doesn't get plastered all over the news, but I know that's a faint hope. No doubt they got footage of Steph and me at some point. Perhaps Rodriguez' injury and the falling elevator will make the bigger story, though, and I hope the focus is on that, rather than on the random people trapped in the elevator.

The only way that's going to work, though, is if they don't start trying to interview us. Quickly, I turn us away and walk in the opposite direction. I know Steph is tired, and I am walking a bit too fast, but she doesn't complain. A glance down at her shows that she seems equally relieved to avoid the interrogation of the news crew. Good.

I remember a seedy-looking café/diner opposite the parking structure where I left my truck. I am currently leasing a black Ford Ranger truck. I will buy a car when I decide where and when I am going to settle in New Jersey. I want to buy a Porsche 911 but know that's impractical if I am going to be skip hunting, so I will probably buy another Ranger. I like the symmetry with my nickname, not that I would ever admit that out loud. We reach the corner and I turn us down the side street and lead Steph into the coffee shop. It is fairly deserted, only two other tables at this mid-afternoon point, so I lead us to a dimly lit back corner, sitting with my back to the wall, and putting Steph's back to the door. Anyone walking past should not pay any attention to us.

Once seated, we quickly order coffee, and Steph orders a sugar-laden dessert. When she starts loading sugar and fat into her coffee as well, I realise I am going to have an uphill battle breaking her of this sugar addiction. Now is not the time to start though, and her glare at my expression of incredulity is quite funny. She drinks the coffee quickly and perks up as the waitress arrives with her plate of sugar and fat and tops off her cup.

I am refusing a top-up of my own, disgusting, coffee, when I note that the waitress is standing too close to me. I have very good peripheral vision, so I observe her without making eye contact and it quickly becomes obvious she is trying to catch my attention to flirt with me. Other than the fact that I do not find her attractive, and I am not interested, I am also repulsed at the concept of flirting with someone who is clearly with another partner. I'm not averse to casual flirtation, but it is just tacky and cheap to try to do it while someone's attention is obviously on another person.

I decide to ignore it and, as I turn my focus back to Steph, I see a flash of jealousy on her face as she too understands what the waitress is doing. She masks it quickly and starts adding more sugar and creamer to her coffee cup. Although I could be amused, or even pleased, at that jealousy, I decide to ignore this too. It's really not worth even teasing Steph about, and after the day we've had, she could use a break.

Steph starts to eat the pile of calories in front of her, and I am instantly captivated by the pleasure and enjoyment she displays so openly. I wonder if I could cause that same expression on her face? Then she starts moaning. Moaning. After every mouthful. I could make her moan like that. The truly sexy part of it is that she clearly doesn't even know she is doing it. It's unconscious, and it's causing me to have to adjust my pants.

She looks up at me as she finishes off her dessert and is riveted in my eyes. I know my expression is showing that I want to throw her down across the table, and she seems to be unable to look away from me. Then she wonders out loud what is causing my expression.

I can't resist this opportunity to tease, it's just too good. I lean over and murmur to her, "Babe. You moan when you eat pie." Her face goes red, and I add, "Don't worry, Babe. So do I." Her now-scarlet cheeks and neck cause me to chuckle lowly, but I decide to ease up. If I don't, I'm going to have trouble walking out of here. So, I finish off what they are calling coffee here, and Steph sips at her own coffee, calming down.

I decide a change of topic is needed. "Babe, where are you parked? I'm parked across the street," I wave my hand to indicate the parking building.

Steph answers, "I parked in a parking lot about three blocks away. It's where I used to park when I worked at EE Martin. They have all-day parking cheap, and I was kinda hopeful at the beginning of the day that I might need to hang around after the job interview. You know, if they called me back in." She sighs, a little dispirited, "Not that that's ever going to happen." She pauses and adds with a grimace, "Not that I ever want to set foot in that building again."

I nod at that. I don't really want to ever set foot there again either.

"Babe, would you be willing to stay at my apartment tonight?" She looks up at me, taken aback and a little bewildered. "I just thought, it would be easier tomorrow. You wouldn't have to drive back up, and I'm worried that you're too exhausted to drive today." Her look changes to one of uncertainty and contemplation. I lean back toward her, and lower my voice, "Babe, Steph, nothing will happen you don't want. I have a pull-out sofa bed and you're very welcome to use it." I'd rather have her sleep in my bed, and use the pull-out myself, but I would cross that bridge if and when I came to it.

"But… I don't have anything with me… I mean clothes and toiletries and stuff. And my hamster, Rex, I need to feed him…"

I reach over to cover one of her hands with my own, "Babe, that's an easy fix. We can grab you a change of clothes and whatever you need. And you can call a friend or something to feed your pet."

She thinks for a moment and nods slowly. "I guess so. My dad has a key to my place, I'm sure he'd go over to feed Rex. But…" Her voice lowers and she looks uncomfortable, "I can't really afford to buy clothes right now. Maybe I could just use your washer or something?" She looks down at her wrinkled, dirty, and mussed clothes, and I see her grimace of distaste. Like me, she just wants to wash this day off her and throw these clothes away, never to touch them again.

I urge again, "Babe, please. I can buy you something, and you can pay me back later. Even when you get another job." Or never. "We can grab you some jeans and a t-shirt and a jacket or something. The money doesn't worry me, and I can wait until you can afford it."

She still looks uncertain. Slowly she says, "I… I find it hard to believe I met you just a few hours ago. We've been through so much today. I feel like I'm on a roller coaster that doesn't stop. I… I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I wonder if I shouldn't go home just to try and get some normal back. Just collapse into bed."

I think about this for a moment. Her feelings are understandable, but I just don't want to let her go. Not yet. I decide to use a little sneaky pressure. Nobody ever said I wasn't willing to use everything I have to get what I want. "Will your mother want you to come over tonight? I mean, she's likely going to see you on the news report and want to know you're ok, right." I feel a little guilty at her horrified and disbelieving expression, but only for a moment. All's fair, right?

"I didn't think of that," she whispered. "The last thing I want to deal with right now is my mother." Her shoulders slump, and she looks defeated. "Yeah, she'll insist I go right over. Nothing will stop it. If I don't, she'll blow up my phone with messages. Or show up on my doorstep." She looks nauseated at that idea. "Not to mention grandma and everyone else in the Burg pestering me for every detail. My poor answering machine."

I smirk at that. I play my trump card. "Well, you have your cell phone, right? You could call your parents, tell your mom you're ok, and ask your dad to feed your…" I have to pause to think for a moment, "hamster? And put off the inevitable for a little while with the valid excuse that you're still in Newark."

"But she's going to ask why I'm not coming home! I can't tell her I'm staying with a man I met today! She'll totally flip out."

I shrug, "Tell her the authorities asked you to stay close for tonight, in order to deal with all the officials and paperwork in the morning. You decided to stay with a friend." I hope she buys this.

She nods slowly, contemplatively. "Yeah, maybe. I could do that. I could imply it's a friend from EE Martin or something. But it is only putting off the inevitable, you know. Tomorrow night, I'm gonna have to face the music." She pauses, struck, "Oh no! Tomorrow night! We were going to go on our date!"

She looks heartbroken. I feel a pang of sympathy. Steph is clearly not looking forward to this confrontation with her mother. "Babe, maybe you could go over when you get home tomorrow, like in the afternoon? You could see your mom, explain everything that happened, then give her the excuse that you can't stay because you have to go get ready for our date?"

She looks thoughtful, and I press my advantage. "I will make the reservation for eight to give you time for everything. I'll come and pick you up at 6:30. That gives us heaps of time to get back to Newark for our reservation. If we're a little early, we can have a drink somewhere."

Finally, Steph looks semi-convinced. So, I sum up the plan, "So, I'll drive you to your car; we'll head to a store somewhere to pick up a few things; I'll take you to my place; call your folks; and we can have a quiet night with some take-out and glass of wine."

Steph finally smiles. "Sounds amazing, Carlos. Ok, you have me convinced. Just a warning, though. Even the phone call to my mom will probably be loud and long. She's a bit… opinionated."

I grin, "I can talk to her for you, if you like." Her stunned look and involuntary giggle at that are music to my soul. As I signal the waitress for our check, I hear her mutter, "That would be interesting to see." I hide my smirk.

As we leave the coffee shop to cross the road to the parking structure, I find myself reaching out to Steph to offer my hand. I am shocked at my own actions; holding hands seems so juvenile. Yet I can't take it back, and I can't deny the thrill as she reaches out to grasp my hand as automatically as I offered it.

At least we'll be juvenile together.