ANY-way, the point was, he was allowed to be jumpy. Slightly. But he was getting it under control, and had actually managed to pick up his water glass and take a sip without spilling it on his suit or dropping the glass or anything else that would imply extreme nervousness. Which he wasn't. Extremely nervous, that was. Although, maybe he was a little more nervous than he'd originally thought, because the very friendly server that was assigned to his table kept coming by and hovering with a towel at the ready, just in case his fingers slipped or something. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He got that way when he was edgy. He blamed it all on Orlando. Not that anyone who knew Orlando would blame him, since Karl was pretty certain that Orlando was responsible for just about every major catastrophe over the last 20 years (and was also possibly responsible for all of the natural disasters, as well.) Orlando was absolutely the best friend a man could have he was loyal and fun and bluntly honest, which made him sound a little like a dog, which was a little apt in certain respects (especially when Orlando turned those puppy dog eyes on people to get what he wanted) but he sometimes got the odd idea in his head. And when he did, there pretty much wasn't any stopping him, no matter how many illnesses Karl feigned or what Karl said to try to discourage him. He got this stubborn glint in his eyes (Karl had learned early on to be extremely wary of that look), and the next thing Karl knew, he was up to his eyeballs in some crazy scheme or another and trying to keep himself and Orlando (mostly Orlando) out of jail or the morgue or off the front page of the papers. So, when Orlando had bluntly announced during one of their weekly pub crawls that it was high time Karl started dating again (just because his last relationship ended, well, a Very Long Time Ago, was no reason to upset the order of things, but upsetting the order of things was pretty much Orlando's raison d'κtre, as it were), Karl knew well enough to take Orlando seriously, and that pretending he was urgently needed in a far-off country like Tunisia wasn't going to work. And he knew well enough to get his hair cut and buy a nice suit, just in case. He wished he had some idea of who, exactly, it was he was supposed to be meeting. All he'd been able to get out of Orlando, and reluctantly at that, was her name and that Orlando thought they'd get on, considering they were both hopeless (which Karl emphatically denied, by the way. He wasn't hopeless, just a little...particular. Which wasn't the same thing at all.) Anyway, Monica sounded like a pleasant enough name. A little innocuous and steadfast. Hopefully they could manage some sort of conversation over dinner. And hopefully Karl wouldn't knock over a wine glass or dribble marinara sauce on his shirt or get spinach stuck between his teeth or something equally horrifying. Not that he'd spent the last 10 minutes thinking about any of those potential disasters or anything like that. (Monica his date wasn't late, by the way, in case anyone was wondering. Karl wasn't in the process of getting stood up, because that would just be pathetic, Karl was just early he'd mistakenly thought the extra time alone would calm his nerves) ...and Jesus pogoing Christ, there was an honest to fuck Goddess with a capital G walking towards him. Okay, strike that. A woman who looked like that wasn't capable of doing anything as mundane as merely walking. No, no, she was strutting towards him. In a sultry, slo-mo sort of way that looked like something right out of a 1940s noir movie. In impossibly thin strappy heels that showcased incredible legs and an exquisitely fitted Little Black Dress that showed off every single generous curve to its full potential (and there was a lot of va-va-voom potential there, just sayin'.) Her hair was just as black as the dress and flowing down her back in these lush curls that were too perfect to be anything but natural. And her face, with sultry eyes and high cheekbones, was like something out of a wet dream. Which sort of sounded a little gross, but Karl never claimed to be the poetic type. The point was, this woman was Grade A Hot with a side order of Goddamn, and she was stopping right at his table and holy fuck, she was "Hello, I'm Monica. You must be Karl." Karl looked straight from her perfect face to her perfect hand, stretched out towards him in greeting, and every single synapse in his brain completely overloaded or misfired or shut down, take your pick. He had to be dreaming. There was no way on this planet or any other that Orlando, of all people, would have set him up with The Most Perfect Woman Ever instead of trying to pull her for himself. (And, y'know, dog comparisons aside, Orlando was a pretty good-looking and charming sort of guy, and wasn't actually afraid to date. Not that Karl was afraid. Much.) Anyway, the point was, no way Orlando would be handing a woman like this over to him. Unless, of course, there was something seriously wrong with her. Like she was a serial killer who liked to prey on slightly nervous men who babbled to themselves. Or a robot incapable of feeling, sort of like Data, but not as fully functional. Either way, Karl didn't care. He rather thought dying at the hands of someone that hot would be alright, really, which was just a horrible thing to think, and what the hell was wrong with him, he wasn't a thirteen year-old girl, and Monica was still standing there with a small, mysterious, very female smile on her face and still holding out her hand, like she was waiting for something. Honestly, it was a wonder he'd made it past childhood without someone taking him out. He hurriedly got to his feet, thankful that he didn't knock over the chair in his haste, and clasped her hand in his. And promptly sucked in a gasp in an attempt to ignore the fissure of sensation that rocketed up his arm. "I'm, uh, it's nice to need you. Um, I mean, it's nice to do you, I mean, meet you, Jesus. Forgive me. It's not every day that I meet a goddess." He could just feel his entire future slipping away, one foot in his mouth at a time. Her smile transformed from mysterious to open, and somehow, it made her even more beautiful. "Very nice recovery," she said, and patted his hand before (sadly) letting it go. He wondered if it was too soon to start naming their future children. "I'm pretty proud of myself for remembering the power of speech right now." He hoped he got points for honesty before she ran screaming in the opposite direction as fast as possible. "It's just that I'm so beautiful and you're so nervous, I mean, um, fuck." Karl wished for a black hole to come rushing in and swallow him whole. Or for someone to come and duct tape his mouth shut (Orlando had threatened to more than once), since he clearly needed to shut the fuck up before he embarrassed himself further. "I meant that the other way around. I, um, have this thing, see, where when I'm nervous I, uh, transpose words?" "Orlando did mention it when he was talking about you." "He did? Wait, he did??" Karl was absolutely killing Orlando at the very first opportunity. Just as soon as he figured out a way to kill himself in a very painful manner, because honestly, his life just wasn't worth living knowing that he'd failed with Monica before he'd even got out of the gate. "Of course." Monica shrugged like it was no big deal. Like people told her potentially cringe-worthy things about their friends all the time. Then again, when a woman looked like a goddess, it probably wasn't surprising that people couldn't keep their mouths shut around her, and told her all sorts of secrets. "And you still wanted to meet me?" Karl asked, wanting to make absolutely certain that she knew what she was getting herself into. "Knowing that I'm a social disaster?" "Disaster is perhaps too harsh a term," she answered. "You're honest about what you're feeling. I find it refreshing." "I got it right the first time," Karl breathed, certain he really was dreaming or that she was a product of his very over-active imagination. "You really are a goddess." Her laughter was full-throated, and the sexiest sound Karl had ever heard. She made a production of looking around the restaurant, then leaned in, showing her spectacular cleavage to even more spectacular effect. Karl thought he deserved a medal for not looking below her eye line (more than once.) "Did you want to get out of here and go someplace a little less stuffy?" she asked, keeping her voice low like they were sharing a secret. "I know a great pub up the street that has the best meat pies you've ever had in your life, and they show AB games. Orlando mentioned you were a fan, said we'd have something in common to talk about." "The Lion and Hound?" Karl asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice. She couldn't be real. There was no way. Beautiful and liked rugby and his favorite pub? "You know it," she replied, with a wink. Karl immediately fell completely and irrevocably in love. Was five minutes too long to ask her to marry him or should he wait until the end of the night? "I don't care if you are a figment of my imagination, I'm just going to roll with it." Monica simply held out her hand like she'd expected exactly that answer, and waited for him to take it. "Smart lad," she said, and he wasn't sure about that at all, but he wasn't entirely stupid. And he owed Orlando big-time. He thought naming one of those children after him would be a nice gift.
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