"A penny for your thoughts," he said, as he used his teeth to pull the olive off the end of the cocktail pic. Reaching into his mouth with his thumb and forefinger, he sucked out the pimento and allowed it to lay on his tongue like a piece of delicate flesh, red and vibrant. Then he swallowed.

Curling his tongue into a makeshift piston, he probed the olive where the pimento had been, stabbing at its center. I looked down into my bowl of linguine and held my breath. Oh, the possibilities.

So this man would pay a penny for my thoughts.

My thoughts are worth far more than a Chef, working in a mediocre Italian restaurant, can afford. I wondered what he would think if I told him my only thought at the moment was to mount his face and yell, "Giddy Up."

I pushed my food around on my plate and gave him a bullshit answer.

"I'm thinking about my new book coming out in a few weeks."

"Oh," he said, with disappointment registering on his face.

You see, my name is ZeeZee Writer. I write books on lust and longing and other things relevant. My current series investigates the correlation between food and sex; thus bringing me to this table with Albert Briogil.

I'm normally not attracted to a man with hairy knuckles and a unibrow, but Albert's red sauce has been gaining a bit of notoriety. His secret recipe lay hidden just behind his horn rimmed glasses. I intended to take the long way around.

When I'd watched him prepare our meal, I paid special attention to his habit of licking his fingers as he worked his magic among pots of boiling water, simmering sauce, vats of olive oil, and delicate sprigs of parsley; a sure sign of an oral fixation.

He brought me back from my meanderings by tapping on the table with his fork. "You've not touched your food. I thought you liked my red sauce."

"Oh, my dear, I fear my appetite has turned towards other oral delights, but I do adore your red sauce, with it's exotic meaty taste. Is it veal?"

He smirked, " Big deal, I simmer a pork chop in every batch. Now, let's cut the crap. You're a cougar, I'm a stud. Let's blow out of here and do some serious blowing." He threw his napkin onto his plate and signaled the waitress to bring our check.

I need not waste small change on his thoughts.

I allowed him to pay. It was the least I could do for the man I would leave standing at the curb.