“I’m trying to decide if I want to kill you tonight.”
“Oh yeah?” John asked, sipping his Merlot, licking his lips to keep them from staining purple. “How would you do it?”
“Maybe a blow to the head–”
“This isn’t the movies, Paula. You’d need something more than that.”
Her blue eyes froze on him, juices pooling under her rare steak. “You didn’t let me finish. That would be to disorient you. Then I’d strangle you.”
“With your hands…?”
“Your belt.”
If that wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was. “I’ll get the check then,” he finally declared.
bohemian.on.rye 