Finish Me by EB Jones Page B

of?”
     
    “Dinner,” she said. “And bring your friend.” She looked toward Matt. Her hand reached into her purse and she pulled out a business card and a pen. She wrote her address on the card.
     
    “Seven o'clock. My place. Will you boys be off then?”
     
    “Yes, our shift ends at five,” said Dave.
     
    “Wonderful, I'll you see both then,” she said.
     
    Matt and Dave watched the woman walk away, her hips moving with a suggestion of what was to come as she rounded the corner where the tulips were displayed and walked out of the store.
     
    “Dave, what the fuck did you just sign us up for?” said Matt.
     
    “You heard the lady. Dinner.”
     
    “You're an idiot,” said Matt. “A total fucking flirt and an idiot. Do you have any idea how fucking old she was?”
     
    “You, my friend, are a foul-mouthed skeptic and a well-meaning friend. Remember, the sweetness of nature's fruit is greater in the Fall than the Spring.”
     
    “You're telling me you want to fuck someone's grandmother,” said Matt.
     
    “Oh no, not want. I will. Now come on, let's have some fun,” said Dave.
     
    “I don't know why I hang out with you sometimes. You're a fuckhead and a perv.”
     
    “Hey, to each his own.”
     
    They finished their shift, continuing their bickering, which you could only call good-natured if you realized that it characterized every interaction between them, and rode to the woman's house in Dave's old beige Cadillac.
     
    They pulled up to the curb in front of her house, a ranch-style affair in Palo Alto, built in the late 50's and a little worse for wear, and Dave parked the car in the street.
     
    “This is it,” said Dave. “Just you wait.”
     
    “You drive a pimp-mobile. You do realize that, right?”
     
    Dave flashed a toothy smile to Matt. “Hell yeah,” he said.
     
    They walked up a tiled path, the tiles spider cracked and worn from the years. Her grass was overgrown by at least two weeks.
     
    Dave stepped up to the door and knocked. He and Matt waited, then they heard footsteps and a voice.
     
    “Be right there,” she said.
     
    A moment later the door opened and Matt thought that, perhaps, Dave had been right about beauty being everywhere. The woman was wearing a black cocktail dress. To say that she had a timeless beauty would be too easy. Perhaps a better description of her appearance and demeanor would be elegance. She wore a white pearl necklace around her neck, and her lips were painted red.
     
    “Please, come in boys,” said the woman.
     
    Matt noticed that she was holding a drink in one hand, some clear liquid. She took a sip of it.
     
    “May I offer you anything to drink?” she said, looking at both of them.
     
    “Whatever you've got,” said Matt. “I'm not too particular.”
     
    “If you have any beer...” said Dave.
     
    “Certainly,” said the woman. She turned and Matt again saw the muscles of her ass, this time accentuated by the fabric of her dress. She looked firm. She walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out two brown bottles and returning to Matt and Dave.
     
    “They're twist-off,” she said.
     
    “Thank you,” said Dave. “And I'm sorry, I never introduced myself.”
     
    “That's fine Dave, I know who you are. And Matt,” she said.
     
    Matt looked toward Dave, puzzled.
     
    “Name-tags,” she said. “You were both wearing name-tags earlier today. And I always remember who my dinner guests are. I'm Veronica. But you can call me Aunt Veronica.”
     
    “That seems a little kinky,” said Matt. “Even if there is no relation.”
     
    “Oh, I'd say we haven't even started with kinky,” she said,winking. “Please, have a seat, the couch is over there. I'm going to start the meat. How do you like your steaks?”
     
    Matt and Dave both walked to the couch and sat down.
     
    “Medium rare is my preference,” said Dave.
     
    “I'll take the same,” said Matt.
     
    “Very well, then,” she said. She paused