Into the Black Hole

Chapter 27: Dates and Distractions

When I lift a hand to knock on the ebony door, it swings open, revealing a Boss who isn't smirking or leering. He's surprised, as though he didn't expect me to show up. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," I return.

"You look..." His eyes rake down and up my figure, settling on my eyes. "Devastating."

"Devastating?" Interesting choice of adjective. "Is that a compliment?"

"Of the highest degree." And the smirk is back.

"You look..."—he's clad in a white button-down shirt, black suit, black slacks, and a tie matching the color of my dress. The blue brings out his eyes, and honestly, he's breathtaking to a fault. I can barely focus—"like you."

"Is that a compliment?" He smiles.

"You don't need compliments."

He studies me for a moment then sticks out his elbow. I loop my arm through his, and we begin walking together to what I assume is our restaurant. My skin tingles. "I apologize if I come across as hubristic and glib." He states, "I swear I don't mean to be. I think I've become used to getting everything I want. We got off on the wrong foot, and I sincerely regret that."

"I agree. Trying to kiss me after threatening to kill Timour crosses the line just a bit."

He frowns. "I'm not used to rejection."

I'm sure he isn't. "Doesn't make it okay."

He swallows, eyes softening. "I know. Which is why I want to start over. Introduce ourselves properly this time."

Eyes follow us as we pass multiple French doors and enter a sushi restaurant on the same floor. Is this the first time Cosmics are witnessing Boss on a date? Why do I feel underqualified?

The receptionist leads us to a private room in the back of the ornate restaurant, where real fish blink at us from the indigo and magenta aquarium against the far wall. Angelfish, guppies, lionhead cichlids, and my personal favorite—neon tetras. Neon tetras are small fish with a white underbelly, a red stripe through the middle, and above that, an iridescent blue stripe reflecting light.

A blue that eerily resembles Boss' eyes.

I change my mind. The Siamese fighting fish are my new favorite. Purple scales with flaming red fins twice the length of their bodies. There are several of them in the tank, and none of the fish are attacking each other thanks to genetic engineering. Saltwater fish now survive in freshwater and vice versa, but more crucially, designer fish are no longer aggressive. Humans have removed undesirable traits and inserted genes favorable to consumers, kind of like how we bred the wolf out of the puppy. Floppy ears for the win.

Boss and I sit on pillows opposite each other, our legs resting in a hole carved into the floor. The receptionist closes the shoji sliding doors, sectioning us off from the rest of the restaurant. We browse the menu, and the waiter arrives to take our order.

When the guy leaves, Boss furrows his brows. "You're vegetarian?" he asks.

"Yep," I answer, then sip some water.

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it would be important."

"Well," he laughs, "it is if I'm taking you to a sushi restaurant."

I shrug. "I love sushi."

"You like vegetables wrapped in rice," he states stoically.

"Yep. That's the definition of 'sushi.' Vinegared rice is the only required ingredient."