I looked forward to seeing it. “Hmm, yeah, that might be a problem. Ethiopian food tends to result in food babies. Twins, at least.”
I demonstrated how to use the injera to eat. She followed suit and ripped off a piece of injera, swiped it into the mound of shiro wot, then brought the tiny wrap to her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as she slowly chewed, savoring the flavor and letting out a small moan of pleasure. The shiro wot dripped down onto her fingers, and I wanted to take each one into my mouth and lick them clean.
“Oh my god,” she said, mouth still full. “That is so good. Holy shit.” One by one, she slowly sucked on her own fingers, each one slipping out of her mouth with a slick little pop.
Wow. If she was that erotic with Ethiopian food, what would she be like with sausages? Eclairs? In bed? I discreetly adjusted my pants under the table, then shook my head, frowning at myself. There was a sumptuous feast before me—I should focus on that.
We ate in silence for a little while, punctuated only by the occasional groan whenever Anna tried something new. It was more than sensual; it was nice. I’d forgotten how it felt to just sit and enjoy delicious food together with someone, especially someone as enthusiastic as she was. Experiencing every new flavor and mouthfeel with her, through her, somehow made it taste even better.
After a particularly long, throaty sigh (she’d finally tried the kitfo, the marinated raw beef), she asked, “So are there good Ethiopian places in New York?”
“Yeah, definitely. But I think the ones in the Bay Area are better.”
She licked her lips and hummed with pleasure after trying the atakilt wot, which consisted of stewed carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. “I wish I could cook like this. Or like, Indian food. All those spices...it must be so complicated.”
I picked up a slice of stewed potato and popped it into my mouth. “It’s actually not that hard.”
She stared. “You know how to make Indian food?”
I tried not to look too smug as I said, “I make it all the time. And Ethiopian. You just need to buy the ingredients at a good market. There are several in the Bay Area.”
She nodded slowly and gave me a Not Bad face. “So you cook a lot?”
“Yeah, I love cooking. It’s a nice creative outlet, and I find it really relaxing and satisfying to make my own food.” I hesitated, then said, “You know, you’re welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I love cooking for other people. The only people who really eat my food though are my parents, and they’re not exactly impartial critics.”
She smiled, lips and teeth stained red from the kitfo. “I’d love to.”
I chuckled. Did she consider that a date? I did.
◆◆◆
We came close to finishing all of the food, but in the end, there was just way too much of it. I offered to pay, but for some reason, Anna vehemently protested. So we ended up splitting the bill, which hadn’t been very much anyway. And from the satisfied look on her face, it was clear that she was going to be a lifelong fan. I was glad to have been the one to introduce it to her.
We got back to the hotel and went into our respective rooms. Luckily, we had a little over an hour for the food to settle and to get dressed. I breezed through and approved a few more merge requests, then put on my new bespoke cobalt suit, pale pink tie, and brown leather shoes. My mom had insisted that I buy a new suit when she’d splashed soy sauce (accidentally? Unclear.) onto my old light gray suit at my cousin Lianyang’s wedding, but I was glad for it—I looked good. I restyled my hair to give it a tad more volume, then spritzed myself with a tiny extra bit of cologne. Satisfied, I went downstairs and lined up with several other wedding guests who were waiting for the shuttle to the venue, which was about a 30 minute drive north.
From where I stood in line, I saw that there were a couple of Stumpstashers from the SF office standing near the front. That was no surprise, as Cassie seemed to be friends with everyone at work. I turned to look behind me at the rest of the line and—
Damn.
Anna was walking towards me, and she was absolutely stunning.
She wore a rose pink satin gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, with a long slit that stopped high up on her hip. A simple black belt emphasized her slim waist, no food babies in sight. The pale pink of the dress complemented her teal-colored hair, which she’d elegantly coiffed, with curled tendrils artfully slipping out and framing her face and neck. Her black stilettos accentuated her shapely ankles, the added height completely inverting her high ape index and making her legs look miles long.
Double damn.
After eyeing her up and down, I knew that I’d have more material for my fantasies that evening. That is, if I didn’t succeed in getting the real woman into my bed. I usually waited until at least the fifth date to seduce a woman, not the zeroth, but that dress...I shook my head.
She saw me and gave me a once-over of her own as she walked up. “Not bad. We even match.” She traced a finger down my pink tie, stopping at least a full foot above where I wished she’d touch me.
Before I could respond, someone said my name. Another group of Stumpstashers drew closer, ones from the New York office. We exchanged greetings and introductions, hey, this is so-and-so, how are you...though what I really wanted to say was, hey guys, go away, stop cockblocking me.
“So is this your date?” asked Emily, one of the product managers at Stumpstash. “She honestly seems too cool for you.”
“Thanks, Emily. No, she’s Cassie’s college roommate. We
