Josie Date Night 1, Part 2: Dinner and Diddling

Francis

Francis hears the shower start up as he finishes pulling ingredients out of the fridge. 2 lovely sushi-grade salmon fillets, a bunch of thin-stalked asparagus, butter, seasoning. He trims the asparagus as he melts some butter in a cast-iron skillet. Butter melted, he tosses the asparagus into it with some seasoning; he then lets it sit to pan-roast for a few minutes.

He turns to the salmon and seasons the fillets, both sides. Francis will admit that he will happily eat any meat cooked medium rare (even meat that he knows he shouldn’t), especially when he knows the meat is fresh. When the asparagus is about half-way done, he starts melting more butter to pan-sear the fish. A few minutes of cooking on each side and the fish is done in his eyes. He sticks the smaller fillet into the oven for a few minutes just in case Josie wants her fish cooked all the way through while he plates everything else. He preps a couple of workout recovery shakes to drink and a lime, given a quick bruising and then cut in half, for garnish.

By the time he is done bringing the meals to the dining area table (avoiding placing food in front of the obnoxious throne), Josie has cleaned herself up and changed into surprisingly modest sleepwear, only really exposing her midsection. Those abs...

“Wow, old man, surprised you can cook.” the raven haired girl snarks, returning Francis to his senses.

“I’ve been cooking for myself for longer than you’ve been alive, whipper-snapper,” he snarks back, adding a stereotypical old prospector voice to the mix for flavor.

She digs in and smiles, “Best meal I’ve had here.”

“Good to hear. Are we going to talk now?”

She looks almost as uncomfortable as he feels. They eat in silence. This is awkward. We are both too stubborn to address this head on. Do I go first?

Before he gets the nerve built up to breach the elephant in the room, she starts, “On a scale of 10 to 20, how bad of a first date is this?”

“You really think I’d go above a 10? Ouch.”

“Well, duh. Obviously this is a bad date. I mean, I made you train me, made you cook me dinner. I’m the one who is supposed to be impressing you.”

“I’m impressed you haven’t run out of here yet.”

“Door’s locked.”

“Ok, then, I’m impressed you haven’t clawed your own eyes out yet.”

“You have that low of an opinion about me, old man?”

“I have that low of an opinion about myself, Josie,” Francis spits back. There, I said it.

That opened the floodgates. Josie accusing herself of being a slut too fickle to find something more real than having sex with near strangers in a gym shower or a nightclub bathroom. Francis accusing himself of being too old, too anti-social, too fat and bald to ever have someone actually love him. Each trying to outdo the other in self-loathing. Twenty minutes later, they are both emotionally worn out. Francis asks again, “Are we finally ready to talk about it?”

“Yeah. But I’m going to need some ice cream. Real stuff, not that gym bro ‘healthy’ nonsense. I wanna feel it stick to my thighs.”

Indigo

The lack of doors is amazing. Indigo lays on the bed with a large vibe wand taped to her leg. She already has several sex toys strewn about the room, semi-buried in the pile of snack wrappers and energy drink cans, each used to dead batteries recently. She’s still fucking horny, listening to Scarlet and Tina go at it like rabbits. Heh. That’s a good pun.

She loses focus as she squeezes her thighs together to bring herself to another orgasm.

I’m sure it’ll all work out. I’m adorable. Everyone will just forgive me.

Francis

Francis hands Josie a pint of remarkably fancy looking mint chocolate chip gelato he found in the freezer. Her eyes light up at the sight and she almost lunges at him when it’s within her reach. She winces as he sets it down beside her, balancing a spoon on the lid. He has a pint of said gym bro ‘healthy’ frozen yogurt that tastes almost exactly like one of those Li’l Debra Oatmeal Cream Pies.

She stares at him, “Are you sure you don’t want to live a little? This stuff is soooooo worth the extra carbs.”

“Don’t like mint chocolate chip.”

“Le gasp! That is impossible,” Josie feigns shock. Even now, she is trying to derail this.

“Enough distractions. I’m sorry about picking you for last place.”

Josie stares down at her gelato, “What’s done is done. You can’t change what’s happened in this game. If we are going to have a hard talk, can it not be about the nuances of our inter-dimensional kidnappings? I’d much rather make sure I haven’t lost my friend.”

“I’m not sure how to apologize for that. I’m sorry for falling in love with you?” Francis snorts, “Even I think that apologizing for that is dumb, and I want to apologize for everything.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one that befriended you under false pretenses. I’m the one that led you on, no matter how unintentionally I did it. I should have seen the signs sooner, before those feelings festered in you. Or at least actually asked your sister out before she got so fat.”

After that, the conversation quieted. They both felt a little bit more at ease. And they talked about worries, fears. Josie is actually afraid about what her job is going to look like in a couple of years; pharmaceutical companies tend to hire sales women to low-key seduce doctors and age them out when looks start to fade. She hopes she can get enough good commissions to get one of the few supervisory sales positions at her company before she is left to flounder. Francis feels that pressure to perform for awful people well enough to keep going every school semester. By the time the ice cream is mostly done, he feels like she has forgiven him.

“You sure you don’t want this? Last bite?” Josie holds the spoonful of gelato up in the air. He leans in and takes the bite. He notices she starts to wince, but stops and looks relieved. Weird.

Josie: +2 VP (Friendship Restored)

He notices her phone buzz with a notification, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he offers her his hand as they walk to his goofy giant clam bed.

“We have plenty of space here. This doesn’t have to be any more awkward than we make it.”

“So, in other words, we are screwed, old man.”

Francis slips onto the bed, really wishing for sheets right now. He reaches over to pat the far side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Josie.”