Girls' Night Out
Verna watched him leave with a little lip-bitten half-smile, and looked down again at the piece of paper he gave her. Such beautiful penmanship.

Perhaps eventually, she will understand such tells as perfect penmanship, unnatural stillness, and a predatory stance as things to be wary of, but for the time being, Verna remained blissfully unaware of what such things meant. He was obviously classy, and obviously interested in her. The way he looked at her -- like a lion appraising a gazelle -- this was desire.

She thought she knew what he desired. She did not.

Her friends over at the bar laughed among themselves, but she strode up to them like a conquering hero, prize in hand.

"Ver-na," Flor said, drawing out her name in lazy drunkenness. "Who was that guy?"

Verna waved the paper in the air. "Cipriano Santos-Augustine," she said, butchering the supposed-to-be trilled r like a good American. "Got his number."

"Ooh, Verna's got herself a Latin lover," Angela added, as Verna slipped up onto a barstool beside her.

"It's not like that. We just played pinball and talked," she said, in such a way that it implied the opposite.

"What about?" asked Flor, with a suggestive smirk.

"Physics," Verna said, nose up in the air, and yet amused. Yes, girls, she talked about physics with an actual cute guy and he actually wanted to listen. That hadn't happened since...

Angela giggled into her appletini. "Gettin' physical already, eh?"

Verna rolled her eyes, but blushed in spite of herself. "It's not like that, ugh!"


They were insufferable. But they had been right. She had needed this. And it had been a profitable waste of time too. The man had not asked her out on a date, no. He'd offered his help with her little 'problem'. The one thing that Cipriano Santos-Augustine wanted to do for her was to kill, and to teach her how.

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