Danni sat like a grumpy baked potato in the uncomfortable booth with their arms crossed. "I can't believe he asked to meet you here. This is a fuckin' Long John Silvers."
"I love hush puppies and malt vinegar." Sloan smiled and adjusted the denim jacket she wore over her dress. "And besides, its public, its within a few blocks from his house. If I don't dig him, I can bolt and he's not out for a fancy meal."
"That is very generous of you but what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Danni was her work friend and the only person Sloan trusted enough to be her backup if things got weird. They (Dani was always a 'They'} had a grey spikey high and tight haircut and taught P.E. in a country school until they grew tired of being the "mannish bull dyke of Downs, Kansas" and moved to the more progressive city and took over as Dr. Elliott's office manager.
"You can go to the Bennigans and drink those gross martinis you love so much. I don't know, just..." she motioned as if shoo'ing away a stray cat, "...just scram, Danni." She paused and remembered her manners. "And thank you for doing this for me. I owe you one."
"Yeah, kid. When I go out 'dogging' you can sit in a car and wait." Danni made an obscene gesture and winked.
Danni almost walked over Trevor as he walked into the lobby of the oily smelling fast food restaurant and he scanned the room for her. Sloan saw him and waved just as her mind kicked into high gear.
His pictures had not been too terribly embellished, though he appeared a little heavier. A tweed jacket that fit nicely broadened his shoulders. His face was boyish (that's what caught her eye along with his ability to write in full sentences) and his hair was groomed without looking like he'd toiled over it. His jeans were black and tapered without being youthfully skinny or over adorned. His shoes were oxfords with socks that matched the checkered pattern of his shirt. He stopped at her table. "Ms. Sloan?"
"Doctor, but who's counting degrees?" she smiled and she offered her hand to shake while scooting over to stand.
Her whirring mind continued to assess the situation at a frantic pace. His shoes were clean as was his shirt. His grip was gentle but not limp. He looked healthy, not chemically altered, and smelled of cologne applied with some discretion...but not enough discretion. She saw no signs of weapons, recording devices or any reason to run away yet.