TUESDAY TALES - PROMPT "CHAIN" - SKIP'S STORY RETURNS.

Welcome! The word prompt this week is "chain". We are returning to Skip Quincy's story. Scroll down to return to Tuesday Tales and read all the stories there. Thanks for stopping by! 

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Skip sat facing the door. His mind drifted back to his senior prom. Overhwhelmed with baseball and studies, he didn’t have much time for girls. He got laid after that prom --lost his virginity at the same time as his date. He chuckled remembering how ignorant he had been. She had been no help, either. The blind leading the blind. They’d been two kids fumbling around in the backseat of a car on a warm night in June. 

Glancing up, he spied Mimi, hesitating at the front of the restaurant. She wore a low-cut black dress. His gaze zeroed in on her chest. He marveled that such a petite woman could have such large breasts. He wondered if they looked bigger because she was so tiny. When he finally looked up at her face, he frowned. She looked lost. Skip raised his hand, catching her eye.

She smiled and headed for his table. He rose and pulled out her chair. She spread her skirt and sat down.

“No one’s done that for me in a long time.”

“Rowley didn’t pull out your chair?”

She shook her head.

“You were his wife.”

“So? Didn’t seem to make much difference.”

“Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but he must have been kinda stupid.”

“Thanks.” She shot him a warm smile.

The conversation was going exactly where he wanted. He needed to come off as a thousand times better than her dead husband, if he wanted to warm her bed. Soft, brown curly hair caressed her shoulders. He wanted to touch it, but suspected she was skittish and would freak out if he reached across the table to comb his fingers through her locks.

Rowley had smacked her around a couple of times and been suspended for it –and for steroid usage. In the end, steroids had killed him, the coroner had said.

“You must miss Rowley,” Skip said, signaling for the waiter. “What do you want to drink?”

“Just ginger ale.”

Skip raised his eyebrows. “I have a game, but you have no reason to avoid a drink.”

“I stopped drinking two years ago.”

“Why?”

“Alcohol made Rowley worse, more violent. I needed to be sober, keep my wits about me when he was drinking. It just became a habit.”

Switching to her choice, Skip ordered two ginger ales. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be chained to a guy like Banner.

“Makes sense. Are you hungry? All the food here is good. Trust me. I’ve eaten everything on the menu.”

“All at once?” She asked, a twinkle in her eye.

He laughed. 

 “What are you going to have?” She asked.

“This close to a playoff game, I usually have steak. The biggest, juiciest one I can find.”

“Steak? I’m more of a seafood person.”

“Lobster? Order whatever you want.”

She smiled up at him.

His adoptive father had drilled into him to be careful with his money. As a consequence, Skip had plenty of money put away. One thing, though, he never skimped on food.

 “The lobster’s too much. Just a few scallops. And, maybe, a salad?”

The waiter arrived with their beverages and took their orders.

“Why is it women always eat like birds?” Skip asked, taking a sip.

“Always watching our weight.”

“And if you put on a few pounds, just more to love.”

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