Aldonza smiled as she pressed her frozen body to the prison bars that restrained her.
"C'mon Robby.... You see me at least once every two months. It's fate that I'm here so much- C'mon gimme out of this shithole and maybe it'll be worth it for your tired body. I could fix that for a little bit Robby... Please lemme out" Al pouted, rubbing her body against the bars for effect.

"Robby..." she whispered, kissing one of the bars. Her eyes were dark and seductive, and slightly hungry. However, inside her mind was planning, plotting. Get him to open the damn door, run out, kick him in the balls for being a bastard, and then get back to Benny. Benny'll cover my tracks if I get back.

Aldonza shivered. It was freezing outside tonight! And what was she wearing? Tight jeans and a very thing halter. Her hair was down and messy from running form the cops in her black pumps. Running in heels- She could do it, but she had hit a dead end. If that hadn't have happened- She'd have outran the drug busters. Now, Aldonza didn't do drugs- but her friends did. But they didn't get any of her girls thank God and Al had passed the damn drug test. So why the hell was she still here? It was unjust- had ta be.

But justice didn't apply to prostitutes. The lovely little lady of the night wasn't a citizen at all.

Finally, Robbert Graves succumbed to the will of the tempting woman. Aldonza was a little surprised that she was the only one in this area of the prison. Well, they hadn't picked up the drunks yet. It was only ten o clock.

Jailbreak.

As soon as the metal door swung open, Al kneed poor Robby in the balls as he tried to grab her ass.
"Pervert- I wouldn't do you for a hundred grand" she spat at him as he fell into lost consciousness. Nighty night- she thought inwardly.

Aldonza laughed silently as she started to make her way down the hallways stealthily. She hugged the wall and listened hard for anyone else who might be coming. She barely breathed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure," Lynch muttered under his breath as the officer, a bored looking one with exceptionally bad hair, assured him that the Demaitre Police Department would do everything possible to recover his stolen property. What Officer Toupee had left unsaid was the snotty "You know, when we get done solving real crimes," that Lynch read in his eyes.

He jammed his hands in his pockets, still muttering to himself, "It's only my damn car. Generous term for it, I know, but still. It drives, usually, and I need it to get to work. And my insurance premium's gonna go up. Fuck." Lynch wasn't in a particularly good mood as he walked, head down, hrough the hallway he'd come in. Or was it? Looking up, he was suddenly struck with the suspicion that he'd taken a wrong turn somewhere.

Wonder-fucking-full.

Lynch scowled and debated between going straight or turning left. The scowl didn't do much for his looks. Lynch wasn't ugly by any but the most unkind of means, but he wasn't handsome by any but the most generous either. He was slightly better looking than average, or was usually. At the moment however, sporting a reasonably tame beard and with his clothes hanging on him from the ten-odd pounds he'd lost, he looked a little worse for the wear. He was about average in height (right around six feet) and normally had a strong build, but the weight loss made him look a little hollow-cheeked and pale.

After some debate, Lynch turned left, rubbing his slightly crooked nose. He felt a headache approaching.

Aldonza pressed her body to the wall as she found a corner. She had to turn here to get out. Yeah- she knew this prison pretty well. She smiled inside and froze for a minute, listening for movement that was not hers.

Her dark brown eyes were intense with a concentration that most people didn't have. She had a will to live- to see the sun one more time. She lived every day for the next and she believed that- even with all the setbacks- it was the most fullfilling way to live. It was a rush.
Her tousled chocolate brown hair fell over her left eye as her slender body moved quietly.

She looked around the corner.
A breath? A noise.
Al hurriedly returned to pressing her body against the wall before she even noted that she hadn't seen anyone in the hallway, which meant- they were coming from the other end! She turned wildy and blinked. Damn. She was caught.

But the cop didn't have his uniform on. Maybe he was off duty now. Maybe he wasn't that strong- maybe he wasn't that fast? Should she make a break for it?
Wait- his eyes didn't say cop. And-- his hand never went for a gun. There was something else- he looked.... lost?

This man couldn't be a cop. No.. no he wasn't.
Aldonza pressed a finger to her lips before sliping off her heels and making her way towards him quietly, the hand not holding her shoes still pressed against her lips.
"Shhh..." she breathed, coming closer to him. Well, he looked worse for the wear tonight. Maybe he had a car? Maybe he could get her out of here... but of course she'd have to pay- and she was so tired...
But you have to do who you have to do-

"I'm Aldonza and I'm under arrest- you look lost hun?" she whispered as she finally arrived in front of him. She wondered if the fact that she was a prostitute was written across her face. She always wondered that. Well, her outfit might hint at her profession. It certainly was tight enough- and heels in this weather could only mean one thing, but perhaps he wasn't very perceptive and he wouldn't flip out or try to buy her out. She really did hate men some days.

"I'm Aldonza and I'm under arrest..."

As far as opening lines went, Lynch figured that was the most unique one he'd ever heard. His mouth opened to speak, but shut again in response to her hand over her lips, the universal 'shhh' sign. And as far as the night went, hre really didn't want to be dealing with Aldonza who was under arrest.

C'mon, seriously?

"I," unconsciously, Lynch dropped his voice so he wasn't speaking much above a whisper either, "um, yeah." He studied her. Lynch didn't make much use of hookers, but he wasn't naive enough to not know one when he saw one.

And clothes tight enoug to be painted on, plus nosebleedingly high heels in this kind of weather screamed hooker. He rubbed his nose. What was he supposed to do? Yell for some of the oh-so-helpful cops to come and take the hooker away to jail? He didn't want to deal with the cops again. He didn't want to deal with Aldonza who was under arrest. He wanted to go home and drink beer until he fell asleep. Didn't seem like so much to ask, really.

"I... uh?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow. "Really- you've got to do better than that." Al shook her head. Figures. She supposed he was the type to think she was a low life- not enough worthy enough to hear his name. Yeah... she could tell he caught onto her profession but he knew nothing about her- and he never would. She frowned at him as he stumbled over his words.

"What? Am I so shocking or horrible to look at? What's the matter? Can't talk?" she inquired, her voice hushed but light and humored. "Am I that sinful? God..." she rollled her eyes.
"You look lost- I know my way around. You come with me and keep your trap shut- and I get you out of here... and- you got a car? I need a ride if you're willing but if you're not- I can call someone to pick me up a few blocks from here." she told him.

Her eyes were friendly, but not overly so. She wasn't bitter about her occupation, but she wasn't proud- but she was... as optimistic as one could be in her current situation. Her tender jokes and lighthearted attitude made it possible for her to hold onto her sanity for all these years she's been with Benny and his gals.

She froze as she thought she heard footsteps. She was getting paranoid.
"Well? Yes or no- we don't have much time- well, I don't..."

"Um, what?" Lynch said, bewildered by her hostile words, if not tone. "Horrible? No. I mean... um, no. Why?" He felt warmth creeping under his beard and was suddenly grateful for the straight rug of black. "I can talk. Usualy. Just not now. But not because, um, you're horrible to look at. I mean. You're not ugly," he stuttered, his apathetic air burned off by pur confusion.

Women were the most frustrating thing and they always had the most embarrassing effect on him. Unless they were, like, grandmotherly. Lynch did well with the matronly type. The younger, attractive type? Yeah, not so much.

"Sinful? Who said--I am lost," Lynch added, suddenly feeling defensive and not entirely sure why. "My car was stolen. But I borrowed a bucket of rust from a friend and it can kind of be called a car." He frowned again as she said she could get him out of there. Would that be aiding and abetting or had he been watching too many Law and Order reruns?

Ah, hell, he didn't care. "Um. Sure. Or, yes."

Al shook her head, smiling gently as the poor man tried to rectify himself. She looked up at him and smiled. "Listen- there's no need to get defensive- I like ya..."
Aldonza flashed him a sexy smile. She had always loved pushing her limits for some reason. But- it wasn't as if she could turn off acting sexy- it was just... engrained into her. The way she walked, the way she spoke, the way she smiled- everything was suggestive. She couldn't help it even if she wanted to. 'Twas her nature.

"See? Told ya you were lost." she smiled gracefully, looking over her shoulder once. "Well, if the bucket of rust moves- we can totally use it- an you can tell me about your car and I'll look into getting it back for you." she paused and started walking towards the other end of the hall. "You see- I've got friends in some pretty low places..." she joked, motioning for him to follow her.

She supposed she made herself look all the more dirty, all the more horrible- with her jokes- but they were the only things that kept her optimistic and cheery about the whole sex slave thing. Well.... if he was dumb enough to judge her on her occupation--- then... well, what did she care what he thought? She didn't. And with that final affirmation- Aldonza's mind turned towards getting out of the police station.

"C'mon.... hey, I told you my name.." she paused and looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a sweet smile. "But I haven't heard yours? Gotta call my getaway man something." she smiled. "If you're willing to be my getaway man- really I'm no killer. I think you know what I'm here for..." she added, turning and continuing her walk, trying to stay close to the outer walls so she wouldn't be detected from around other corners.

Lynch had never been particularly comfortable with the better half of the species. Hell, he probably never would have gotten the courage to ask out the woman who would become his wifre if she hadn't struck up conversation with him first. And even then he'd been primed with a steadying shot of whiskey.

He suddenly wished for the taste of that sour mash as the woman, Aldonza who was underarrest, shot him a smile. But not just any smile. It was the kind of smile woman in movies gave the leading men. The kind of smile that people flashed just before the lights went out. The kind of smile that was designed to make a man start thinking with his glands and not his brain.

In short the kind of smile nobody ever ,ever sent one Timothy Lynch, retired school counselor.

Even knowing that it was most likely fake and had nothing to do with him, Lynch felt his treacherous cheeks burn again. Holy God in Heaven, he hoped his forehead, the part of his face not covered by his beard, wasn't glowing like a stoplight. "I..." he paused to clear his throat, "I'm Lynch. Nice to, ah... meet you."

"So... I've never actually helped anyone break out of jail before. I mean, I bailed a buddy out when he'd had a few too many, but, um..." Lynch figured he sounded like an idiot. Which wasn't surprising or anything because he felt like an idiot.

Aldonza's smile widened and her eyes showed pleasure at the flush in his face. She was vain- she'd admit it- she loved making men blush.
"Lynch... That's a name I don't hear every day- I like it." Aldonza nodded with approval and added. "It is nice to meet you."

Al smirked and placed a hand on her hip as she looked around the corner of the hallway and, seeing no one there, turned down the next corridor- motioning for Lynch to follow.
"Well- technically you're not breaking me out. I'm not in a cell am I? I did that part on my own- getting out of the cell- you're just going to help drive me to a nice safe place. That's not assisting a criminal. That's simple hospitality." She turned back to look at him and her eyes sparkled when she laughed at her reasoning.

It was astonishing that she even had her vivacious sparkle anymore- being a prostitute. It was amazing how Al had stayed herself generally- after these years. It was.... miraculous.
It was a miracle- that she hadn't died, commited suicide, been murdered, or caught a disease. I could be a miracle. Or it could just be dumb luck.

"We're almost out- so... what do you do for a living hmm?" she inquired, curious. She had always taken an interest in other people. Perhaps, if she wasn't where she was now, she could have been a psychologist. But people always thought whores never wanted to be anything but whores. Being a lady of the night didn't bug Aldonza- it was the stereotype that she was thrown into that did bug her. It bugged her like hell.

If she liked it when men blushed over her, Aldonza had to be walking on air at the moment. Lynch self-consciously scratched at his beard, hoping - praying - that the rug was covering up his all-too-red cheeks. He was an easily flustered man and, even having guessed what the much younger woman did for a living, her manner made him even more goofy than usual.

Some might find it kinda charming. Lynch found it patently embarrassing.

"Eh... you too. Thanks," he replied, clearing his throat. "It's just a... surname. My first name is Timothy. Eh, Tim," Lynch added, realizing he was talking too much but unable to stop. He gave a slight laugh at her reasoning aboutthe whole 'breakout' thing. "Well, when you put it like that..." The police probably wouldn't see it that way. But, hey, maybe there wouldn't be any police. Maybe they would keep their eniterely unhelpful selves away.

Mm-hmm.

He felt ridiculous. For one thing, there was the whole 'a woman is talking to you, quick, make an idiot of yourself' bit, plus the somewhat crazy sensation that came from skulking aroun d a police station with someone who had admitted they were under arrest. Very surreal.

Lynch realized she was talking again. "I'm a - I work in construction," he replied unevenly, catching himself before he said he was a psychologist. Odd that he still had that urge. He hadn't been one of those in years. He didn't really look like a construction worker, though. Lynch had a fit enough build, especially for a thirty-six year old, but he still had more of a clean-cut bookish air than anything else.

"There's the door," he said, nodding in its direction.

Aldonza smiled and laughed as Timothy Lynch blushed even redder, if that was possible. She smirked.
"Timothy Lynch... sounds even better. Eh Tim? Alright Eh Tim... of course when I put it that way you're off the hook." Al confidently walked now, sure they were almost out.

"Anyways.. I can pay you gas money for driving me outta here... and if you want I'll leave my number too." She smiled sweetly, but something not so sweet danced behind her eyes. She was such a wildcat- and he was... such a bore. He could use some livening up in his life- and if anyone knew how to make a man happy- it was Al. Besides- she'd do anyone (without diseases) for money.

"Construction? That's opretty manly...." He paused for a moment... as if he was gonna say something else. That was weird, but he kinda looked like a construction worker she supposed. He had a beard. He was muscled- and the word hairy would describe him well.... but he had a bookish air about him as well. How could she ever have mistaken him for a cop?

"There's the door." She repeated, almost jumping with a little burst of ego as she screwed the cops over again. She was getting good at this whole getting out thing.
She opened the heavy door and was relieved no cops were around. They were most likely all out looking for DUIs.
"Alrighty then.... where's the car Tim?" she asked, moving towards him as they stepped into the night air just outside the police station.

"Gas money, I'll take," Lynch said, wishing like hell he could come up with something witty or smooth to say to her next comment. But he never had been very witty or smooth so he had to settler for a weak, "Ehhh..." He was about ninety percent sure she was proositiong him with that lest part.

And, he had to say, it would be real tempting to take her up on it. But, for one thing, he probably didn't have the money for it and for another, well, he just wan't the kind that went for that anyway. He visited a strip lcub now and then, but that was mostly at the proding of the guys he worked with.

Funny thing about that. Fryc ooks and construction workers had the same tastes in after-hours entertainment.

Lynch's idea of a big night, however, was staying in and watching tv. Mabe cooking something now that he didn't do it for a living. But it was depressing to cook a nice meal for one. Maybe he should get a dog. A dog could eat with him. Of course, he'd have to leok for an apartment building that allowed pets, but moving out of his rat hole could only be a good thing.

Pensively, he followed Al out of the sttaion, giving the area a cursory glance to check for any police. Thankfully, there were none. Lynch might be lonely, but he didn't want some tattooed biker named Zero for company. "Over there," he said ,pointing and leading the way towards the poor rust-bucket masquerading as a car.

Al couldn't help but giggle at Timothy's feeble "Ehhh..." She smiled and led him out of the station, her hips swaying unintentionally to an inner music. As they got outside, Lynch pointed to the.... well, Al could tell it was metal and that was about it.

"Wow..." Al said, staring unpolitely, caught up in the moment. "You weren't lying when you called it a rust bucket." She couldn't help herself, the words spit out before she knew what she was saying.

"So...." she said, moving over to the car and getting in with him, putting on her seatbelt and crossing her delicious legs, not intentionally of course!
"I need to get to Three- forty five Water Street. Okay? How far is that from here? I'm usually put in the towanship station just outside the city when I get arrested," she shrugged.

Lynch scratched his head ,embarrassed, as she commented on the state of the car. "Yeah... well, it's a... loaner," he explained, taking the keys out of his pocket and wishing, nto for the first time, that his car hadn't been stolen. It wasn't like he drove a freaking Ferrari or anything, but his old Ford was better than this rustheap.

"Three forty-five?" Lnch echoed. "That's not too far from... I mean. Hmm." He stopped mumbling while he attempted to threaten the sad little car into starting, which it finally did with an ill-tempered snarl and a worrisome blast of exhaust from the tailpipe.

He put it in reverse to pull out of the parking space and conecntrated on not staring at Aldonza's legs, which was hard to do considering they went all the way up to her chin, apparently.

"Are you hungry?" Lynch blurted out as they lurched down the street, then immediately cringed. Was he so pathetic he was going to invite someone he just helped flee the cops over for dinner? Why? So he could babble and stammer and otherwise just make a complete idiot out of hismelf?

Tim Lynch, dipstick extrordinaire.

"Don't be embarrassed Tim" she told him, flashing him a cute smile that said she understood. "We all have to loan sometimes and beggars can't be choosers." Aldonza looked out the window, watching the streets of Demaitre crawl by as they drove away from the jail. Lovely.... Aldonza escapes again.

"Hungry?" she asked over the rum-rum-rum of the car's insulting engine. "I'm starving. Really, you ought to tell your friend to put this girl down. My diagnosis.... definitely terminal." Euthanasia was definitely called for. This car was a roaring piece of shit.

She flashed a smile and uncrossed her legs to lean forward slightly as the car gave a jerk. "Why you wanna know? You want to drive me to get some food?" she asked. Why would anyone offer her food? Hell, why would anyone volunteer to offer her company? Unless he was merely dropping her off and leaving. Or maybe he'd turn into a customer tonight- just another fuck. Well, she'd get some green if that happened. And green was her favorite color.

She watched him for a moment and then looked away to stare out the window again, legs crossing again. She rested her slender hands on her top knee and concentrated on the window. She could read him like an open book. He was shy.... oh so shy, and they didn't always get hooked. Sometimes it just took awhile for them to realize what they wanted and sometimes they just didn't bite.

Lynch smiled faintly at her words. "Beggars can't be choosers, indeed... Did you know that in the early 1900s it was accepted science that people did indeed choose to be beggars? Social Darwinism." He scratched his cheek, then smoothed his rug out again. Maybe he'd shave one of these days, if he remembered to. "Which had nothing to do with actual Darwinism, of course." Lynch thought about that for a moment. He certainly hadn't chosen to be a goddamn beggar. "But people like to think there's a reason why others are poor..."

Lynch fell silent again, this time staring at his knuckles. What would she care? What did anyone care about his stupid little factoids from the History Channel? He glanced up when she spoke, poked resentfully at the cracked dash. "Looks like I'll be stuck with this cranky bitch for a while. At least it runs. Sometimes."

At her question, he glaned out the window instead of looking at her, feeling altogether like a fool. "I... cook," Lynch replied at length, adding, "I'm not a four-star chef or anything, but I can cook."

He didn't add that there was nothing so depressing as making a meal, a full meal, setting it out on the table, and eating it alone. The time, the enjoyment, the care that went into all that food... it was meant to be shared. "If you want something hot and - and homemade...?" Lynch drifted off.

Al merely laughed under her hand as he finished his explanation of Darwinism. She couldn't help but wonder how a construction worker could possibly care about that.
"Pretty smart for a construction worker," she chimed in, speaking her mind. He didn't seem the dangerous type- she was free to speak her opinions. Yeah, he wouldn't do anything- and it wasn't an insult- more like a compliment really....

She nodded. "As long as it moves it's worth something." she agreed, smiling as she turned to look at him. His next words made her arch a slender eyebrow. "Really? You cook? Well, that's interesting. I suppose I don't really meet many men that cook. And if they do- they never offer.... hot and homemade? Yeah I want some!" she told him, a little surprised by the small drone in his voice- as if he was unsure if she'd want to eat with him.

Free food- hot food... Hell yeah. She was so there. Um hum. Al had a little weakness for food. Probably because when she was at the penthouse, Benny never kept real food in the house. Just those goddamn Triscuts. That's all she fucking ate. She hated Triscuts.

"Pretty smart for a construction worker."

Lynch smiled faintly as evidenecd by the twitch of his beard. "Thanks," he said, deciding to take it as a compliment. Why not? It sounded like one. And, dammit, why did he have t o overthink every thing? Why couldn't he just take "pretty smart for a construction worker" at face-value instead of trying to decipher a sentence that probably didn't need any deciphering at all?

If he hadn't been driving, and worried that the steering wheel might fall off, Lynch mmight have bashed his head against it in a bout of self-frustration.

"I suppose I don't really meet many men that cook."

Lynch smiled again. "Well, uh, don't expect too mugh," he warned her. "I'm not, er... Emeril or anything." He paused, as if thinking about that for a moment. "But I do make good gumbo," Lynch added after a moment.

Looked as if he would get to use those chicken breasts he'd tossed into the fridge to marinate with some vague and desperate hope that he'd have someone to share them with. Of coures, he hadn't expected that someone to be somebody he helped flee the clink, but oh well.

-----------

"Home, sweet home," Lynch announced facetiously as he pulled into his usual parking space in fromt of his apartment building. It was n't much, but it could have been worse. Just a plain, slightly shabby brick building with barred windows and the like. Lynch didn't live in an especially good part of town, though again, it could have been worse.

He got out of the car, viging it an ill-tempered boot by matter of habit, and went around to Aldonza's side to open the door. What a gentlman.

Inside the building was pretty much the same as the outsied. Moderatly maintained, a flickering lightbulb in the stairwell, a worrisome grinding noise in the elevator. And Lynch's apartment was, you guessed it, pretty muc h the same too. It was fairly clean for a bachelor, but there were a few pules of newspaper laying around and the tops of some stuff could stand a good dusting. It was pretty small too.

The kitchen looked the cleanest and the most lived in. There were some dirty breakfast dishes in the sink, but other than that it was almost spotless. The range was ancient and rusty in spots, but the oven looked practically new. Lynch led the way there, then awkwardly headed towards the fridge, unsure about having somebody actually in his apartment and wondering what she might think.

"You, ah, want something to drink?" Please, God, let me have beverages in the fridge... Lynch had milk. Fabu-freaking-lous. And some beer. And some Pepsi. Great. Cow juice, beer, or cola.

Aldonza's eyes almost popped out of her head as he opened the door for her. For her? She shook her head and gave him a slow smile.
"Tim, you don't have to hold the door for me- I'm a for-sure if you decide you want me." she told him, "But thanks...."

Aldonza stepped out, one eternally long leg after the other. As they walked through the building she couldn't help but think- not that bad. Could be worse. She'd been in worse places- Benny loved sending her to his friends in the shit holes of the city. And this was MUCH better than those places.... so much better.

The elevator, she admitted, made her a little dizzy, but she hid it well. The spinning light just circled a little too much for her liking, but before she knew it she was entered a rather well-kept apartment. true, some places could use a woman's touch, but Al was quite sure Tim had no woman- or at least not one that came around here. She could be wrong- but she was usually right. This one was shy, a loner, but there was always something underneath the facade of modesty. There was always something deeper- everyone had something under their habitual masks. Even she- did.

She looked up at him as he asked her if she wanted something to drink, taking her eyes off the kitchen to meet his eyes. She smiled.
"Water's fine." She said, smiling. She had gotten a glance at what lay inside the fridge as he opened it: beer, milk, and Pepsi. Well, Pepsi had too much air, she didn't feel like drinking milk without cookies, and beer was a definite no. Beer belly was soooo not where Aldonza was going to go with her life.

"You have a nice place," she commented, leaning back against the counter, her gold bracelets jingling softly as she moved, her left knee bending as she let her body relax against the countertop.
"So, what's for dinner?" she asked him, watching him with interest. What was his motive? He didn't seem like a lecherous pig, a cheating husband, or a desperate virgin.

Lynch blushed, his pale face going florid benaeth his beard. "It's just, um... manners," He downplayed, thinking to himself that he got plenty in return for the marginal task. Couldn't get a better view of those mile-long legs with a telescope, Lynch decided, speculating that her thighs must get awfully cold - what with traveling up to the North Pole and all.

There was something about her that simply screamed sex. Her looks, the big dark bedroom eyes. That unnamable scent of her like wild things in the dark. Christ, a man had only to look at her to feel the solid punch of lust in his gut. Timothy Lynch was practically knocked on his ass.

Maybe that was why he'd invited her for dinner. So he could look at her and think and suffer. Company, sure it was there, but God he hadn't slept with a woman in a depressingly long time.

And the idea that he could have her kept dancing around the edges of his mind. How could it not? Lynch wasn't a eunuch. Hell, even a eunuch would bropably be tempted.

His thoughts carried him up to the apartment. Lynch glanced into the fridge and remembered what he was doing. Pulling out a beer for himslef and the chicken, he went over to the cupboard for a glass and filled it with water for her.

In response to her question, he held up the bag of chicken. "Stir fry," Lynch said, sticking his head under the stove to pull out a pot. He poured rice into it and some water, then covered it. Going back to the refrigerator, he pulled out vegetables and began to wash them. For the first time, he didn't look uncofmortable or awkward, but finally in his element.

But he wondered if he should be talking.

"Stir fry...." she repeated, smiling before licking her lips.”Sounds good..." Well, anything hot sounded good- and the simple fact that it was made by a human and not packaged in a plastic container made the thought all the more mouth-watering. Of course she wasn't starved, but she did lack the luxury of having people cook for her. She bought all her food. It was a good thing she didn't have a car or had to pay for gas. If that were the case, she'd be broke.

Aldonza lifted herself easily onto the counter so that she could sit her cute little ass on top of it.
"You don't mind do you?" she asked him as she hopped up to her perch.

He brought the glass of water over to her and she took a sip, her eyes glancing up at him as she sipped from the glass. She smiled as she set the glass down, watching him. Timothy Lynch was a different man when cooking. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't the awkward and nervous man of the moment before, but someone who was confident in what they were doing.

He didn't speak as he worked. There was nothing to say. Aldonza's legs swung slightly as they hung over the table. She watched him, her brown eyes curious. Her mouth opened for a moment, as if she were going to say something. But she decided better of it and sipped her water like a good girl before hopping off the counter, slipping her heels off and walking over to him.
"No heels, that's better...." she wanted to see what he was doing, but didn't get to close- She didn't want to make him jerk or anything and get himself burned. She stood back- staring.

"I don't know how you do it--" her smiled reappeared. "I can barely cook toast."

Lynch glanced back as she boosted herself onto his counter. "Nope, no problem." He swallowed. A dozen images, all ripped off of some cheap porn movie, no doubt, suddenly ran through his mind as he saw himself going over and... Shit! He nearly chopped a finger off, which served him right for letting his mind take a trip to Sexville.

He shook his head and took a swallow of beer, resuming his chopipng. Lynch moved with the skill and speed of a line chef, turning carrots into thin sticks and bunches of broccoli into small trees effortlesssly. He pulled a pan out and drizzled oil into it, then set it on a burner. With his tempermental stove, it would take a few minutes to heat up.

Lynch glanced down when she spoke again, deciding that yes, she was entirely too sexy. How could bare feet be alluring? Quickly, he forced his attention back to what he was doing, lest he really lose a finger. He minced garlic and onions, tossing them into the smoking oil where they began to sizzle and smell delicious.

He smiled, both at the scent and her question. "Lots and lots of practice." Lynch impulsively held the knife out to her, handle first. "It's really not so hard. Just more impressive when you can do it fast. Here, let me show you."

“No Tim…. You really don’t want me to- I’m no good at cooking-“ Aldonza shook her head and pushed the handle of the knife away from her. She smiled reproachfully. “I burn toast Tim! I can’t possibly cook…. Really- I’ll burn your house down.” On top of being unable to cook, Al was also deathly afraid of being burned. She hated the feeling, especially that one time when she was curling her hair and the iron pressed against her forehead with a searing red kiss.

“I’m afraid of burns too so I’m really- shouldn’t learn. Practice truly couldn’t help me- only get me maimed-“ she explained, walking over to the sink beside him to lean, watching him do what she couldn’t.

She could read Shakespeare, speak two languages fluently, escape jail, talk her way out of getting arrested, look hot all the time, and keep her sanity--- and she couldn’t cook! God, she was pathetic.

Lynch sighed. "Deathly fear of the stove," he commented, finishing up the last few handfuls of vegetables and giving the garlic and onions a quick stir before reaching for the chikcen. "You're just like my--" Lynch paused abruptly, his hands even stilling for a moment beore resuming his slicing. Too homey, he thought to himself, too homey with the scents and the speaking.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You probably have, uh, other talents," Lynch mumbled, once again wondering if he was indeed crazy. Inviting people over for dinner was one thing when you knew them. But he didn't know this person, except that she was used to being in and busting out of prison, and was likely a hooker. Which he wasn't really against. Exactly. People needed money. It was sort of important.

Wow, off topic.

"So... hwere are you from?" Lynch asked, mostly to change the subject in his mind and to break the silence.

Aldonza laughed, her lips parting in a sweetened smile. "Yep, deathly afraid...." She arched an eyebrow as he stopped abruptly.
"Remind you of your-? Oh, well...." she added quickly, deciding to leave it alone. He probably didn't want to talk about it. Otherwise, he would have told her.

Al watched him finish cutting the chicken and the vegetables- his hand finally setting the knife down. He spoke, his voice an unconfident murmur of sound, but she caught it.... and she couldn't help but let a sexy grin slip over her red lips.

"Other talents?" she inquired, her voice just above a whisper. "Tim, you have no idea...." she teased, her voice layered with seduction.
"But you could.... get an idea-" She leaned back against the sink and let her hands run along the counter before giving a cute, slightly apologetic smile, but it was still sexy- still appealing- still just as tempting as when she was being disgustingly forward.

She stepped towards him, her voice soft as she looked up at him, dark strands of hair falling back over her shoulders.
"I'm actually from here- born and raised in Demaitre. My father was from Vittorio Spain though--- And you? Where you from Tim?" she asked, her smile still suggestive as she spoke about nothing that had to do with sex. But her eyes still bled persuasion. He'd give in. She'd get her bill tonight. She was quite sure she had him. He was almost hooked.

It was a little sad she had to seduce such a nice guy though. Pity really.

Didn't want to talk about it was right. Lynch hadn't spoke nto, of, or about his wife since she'd divorced him. It wasn't even the fact that she'd divorced him that was so depressing. He could take her leaving because she didn't love him anymore or because their life goals didn't mesh or whatever the hell. But she'd divorced him because she, like all those other people he'd called 'friend', had believed he had dallied with a thirteen year-old girl.

When your own wife believed you were capable of putting it to a child young enough to be your child... Damn, great thanks for bringing that back up.

Lynch was so busy depressing himself and concentrating on the food, he missed Aldonza's inital come-on. Shocking, really, but it showed just how deeply the man could engross himself in self-pity.

But he wasn't ignorant for long. How could he be? She pumped off sex like a radiator pumped heat an d a man would have to be dead a weak to not notice. Lynch tensed like a cat being eyed by a very large dog. Ge tried to tell himself he was imagining things again (he was, perhaps, rather prone to hallucinations around sexy women) and concentrated firecly on his stir-fry.

"Ohio. I-Ohio. That's where I'm from," Lynch stuttered, his voice a little strained.

Aldonza watched him curiously as he fell into his unknown reverie of self-pity. Amazing how he could just zonk out like that.

"Ohio. I-Ohio. That's where I'm from," he tried, his voice not so confident and his body tense. She was sure he picking up now, so why resist? Well, he did have to cook.

She took a step towards him, pushing herself lightly off the counter before going to stand beside him, looking down in the pan.
"How much longer?" she asked, dangerously close to him. Thank God all he had in his hands was a spatula and not a knife. No, knives and sexy women definitely didn't sound like a good combination for Tim--- or Aldonza for that matter. She was half tempted to touch his arm but was afraid he'd jump. He was- it seemed- afraid of her. Why the hell would you be afraid of a prostitute though?

And why would he invite her for dinner if he was going to be so awkward? She understood- she really did- that he was just the awkward type around women- but.... Really- most men who had a prostitute come over for 'dinner' or something else usually took no time in taking her clothes off. She liked to think of herself as a fucking Barbie doll sometimes- Her inward humor distracted her for a minute and she leaned on the counter, watching him cook at close range. She was hungry. How much longer?

Grrrrrawrrrrr....
Her stomach growled audibly.

Lynch felt asif his throat was constricting a little as she moved a little closer, sure that it was the scent of her that created such a reaction. Why did she have to smell so damn good? Swallowing a little, Lynch gave the mix of vegetables and chicken a quick stir, then lifted the pot lid on the rice to stir it as well.

He tried to relax a little, you know, getting back into the groove and what have you. But she was still entirely too close for him to relax any more than marginally.

"Just a couple of minutes," Lynch replie, poking a strip of chicken to check its coloring. He gesutred vaguely at the cabintens. "You wanna get plates? And there's some soy sauce if you think you'll want it."

There was a loud grumbling soudn. Lynch glanced at Aldonza and, for the first tiem that night, looked like he was on the verge of laughter. "I can hurry, I guess."

But stirfry was a quick thing and it cooked in only a few minutes. Really, it was all the chopping ans slizing of the vegetables and meat that took so long. Taking a plate, Lynch plopped a dollop of steaming rice on first, making a sort of hollow in the middle, then scooped a spoonful of the stir-fry on top. "Viola."

Aldonza couldn't help but smile as he tensed, his shoulders tightening noticeably as he suggested that she get the plates. That she could do. Aldonza went to where he had gestured and pulled out two, before setting them at the table. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"You want soy sauce? I'm not so big on it myself..." She set it on the table anyways- not waiting for his answer. Why the hell would he have soy sauce in his house if he didn't like it?

He looked as if he were going to laugh at her as her stomach roared like a lion. And she wished he would. He was just- so.... rigid. He definitely needed to relax.
"You okay Tim? You look like you got premature rigor-mortis setting in... Very stiff-"

Viola? Did he really just say that? Aldonza grinned, biting her lip to keep from laughing- but she could hide the humor in her eyes. It was like watching Emeril- but better. Rigor mortis plus magician vocabulary. It was definitely better than staying overnight at the jail. Much better.

Oh, and the food looked so good- smelled good too....

"You okay Tim? You look like you got premature rigor-mortis setting in... Very stiff-"

As she spoke, Lynch worked on finishing the plating of the second helping of food and mumbled, "You have no idea." Then he kind of blushed. He was like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. Excpet he had a brain, even if you couldn't tell it all the time. With Lynch it was, if only I had a sense of humor.

Sigh.

Lynch set the paltes back down on the table. "Not so bad for a toss-tooether, if I do say so myself," he commented. In food, presentation was half the battle and was typically his weak point because the way he figured it, if it tasted good who cared if it was a little lopsided? But one had to admit this was actuaally rather pretty, what with the sticky lump of white rice steaming away and the crisp, bright vegetables with their teriyaki sauce.

Aldonza flashed him a smile
"No idea? Then give me one.... why are you so stiff? You got a phobia of prostitutes or something? Cuz' I'm human too..." She couldn't guess at anything else.

Because he was straight. he wasn't gay- she could smell it. And he just- well, most men weren't this ridiculously awkward with her.
"I mean, we're not even doing anything and you tense around me.... I smell or something?" she tried. Maybe asking these questions would prod him- get him to open up and relax- and get her a check maybe.... or cash. She'd take either.

"It looks great..." she commented, sitting down to eat, crossing her legs before realizing there was no silverware. She laughed and went back to where she had gotten the plates and grabbed silverware and set it on the table before returning to her seat and digging in- it did look pretty, but she was too dam hungry to notice.

The growls ceased.

Lynch dug into his food after she grabbed them some forks, wondering howo n earth he was supposed to answer her question. "No. Uh, I mean, no. You definetly don't smell - bad." He shook a few drops of soy sauce on his rice. Lynch ate another forkfukl of rice. "Would you believe I act this way around - um - pretty much anyone who isn't a, uh, guy? Sad but true." He jabbed a strip of chicken. "I mean, if all guys were like me, the human race would freaking cease to exist because there wouldn't be any - " he seemed to lose steam and finished lamely, "procreatrion."

Ah yes, Tim Lynch the nice guy with a raging case of Can't-talk-to-women Syndrome.

"Actually, I do believe it... Do you get this way around grannies? Or five year olds? Or is it just twenty one to forty kind of range?" she inquired, leaning forward slightly, her elbows on the table ungracefully. She put more fod in her mouth, chewed, swallowed, smiled.

"What's with the anxiety huh Tim? We're just eating though.... I just don't see why it would make you awkward- I mean- I'd understand if we were doing something in your bedroom-" her eyes looked up to meet his. "But we're not- so can you relax? You're making me itchy with how stiff you look." She smiled, her eyes understanding. She really did just get that he was awkward. Wow- that word sure kept coming up. Awkward.

Well, he'd just have to get over it.

Lynch, if you can believe, actually laughed. It was a moment. "Grannies and five yearolds? No, actually, I'm quite cahrming to grainnes and five yrea olds. They eat me up." He blinked a little at the last part and wondered if that sounded at all wrong or if he was just sort of hypersensitve to that sort of thing. Proably the latter. "So the twenty-one to forty thing is probably more correct. And even above. I mean, there are some foxy fifty year olds out there." And actually, thinking about it now, Lynch would probably be as terrified of a fifty-something hitting on him as he was of Aldonza - just for different reasons.

Taking another forkful of stir-fry, Lynch tried a smile and it didn't look entirely strange. "I can try to relax. God knows it might not take, especially if you bring up the bedroom again, but I can try." He tipped his chair back to grab the beer he'd left on the counter. What with her elbows on the table and his leaning, they would shock the sensibilities of any Miss Manners out there. Digging for something to say, he waved a broccoli tree at her. "Don't you ever get nervous around people?"

God knows Lynch wasn't relaxed yet, but he was, as he'd promised, trying.

Aldonza laughed at him, her dark eyes flicking up to meet his with a genuine interest. He was- interesting- didn't seem to be e pervert or any other sort of monster. He had offered her a meal. He was a nice guy. It really was a pity- she was sure he got stepped on a lot....

.....pushed around, trampled, and kicked- She could never be that nice. She just- couldn't. There was a constant need to prove herself- to fight for something more--- and what was that more? Well, she didn't know. She was eternally searching for something greater than what she had- but what was that something greater? Every day she got closer.... every day she could almost taste the prey- taste what she wanted- but it easily fluttered and flitted away- uncatchable even by the fastest hooker.

Aldonza pouted for a moment, pressing her bottom lip out before breaking into a smile. "Fine- if you don't want me to mention the bedroom again- I won't mention it," Was he like- dysfunctional down there? He certainly seemed adamant about staying as far away from her as possible.

"Nervous?" she asked, looking up before putting her last forkful of stir fry into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. Despite her elbows on the table, she wasn't that impolite- or that disgusting to speak with food in her mouth.
"No, never nervous--- I guess I'm just a people person." She looked down at her plate before looking back up at him.
"I guess I just don't care what other's think of me.... Well, I’d love for everyone to adore me- but that’s not going to happen. And…. Being what I am- doing what I do-“she laughed. ‘Well, there’s not much room for awkwardness.”

Dinner wound down, the food disappearing and the time of strange departure or remainder was at hand. He would have to decide soon- what he was going to do with her. Kick her out? Or keep her for the night?

“The stir-fry was wonderful.” She commented, sitting back with a sly smile. “So….”
Was dessert happenin’? Because she had no room. She was pleasantly content and not planning on gorging herself. If they were going to canoodle- she’d have to make sure she wasn’t bloated.
She stood and took her plate to the sink, cleaning it herself, the warm water rushing over her hands as she rinsed the plate.

And like the ugly, drunk cousin who always popped up at the ffamily reunion even though nobody in the family had invited him, awkwardness stepped back into the room with the end of dinner. Well, what was he supposed to do with her now? It was tempting to think of her as a really good after-dinner treat, but Lynch just wasn't that kind of guy. He didn't do one-night stands - or hookers. The idea was tantalizing, but in the way that heroin was tantalizing.

(He never did that either.)

He watched as she finished, feeling the cook's pleasure at her satisfied expression and compliment. "Praise is always appreciated. I can't tell a joke, never made it past backup on the football team, and I'm not sauve - but I can cook," Lynch deadpanned.

But he sighed a little as she rinsed the plate off. Even if he had been, how had she put it... stiff as rigor mortis, it had been nice to have someone else eating with him. Maybe he should try this more often. Eating with hookers. Hell, it might actually make him brave enough to ask out a woman who wasn't a hooker... or it might just be really really strange. "I, ah..." Once again, Lynch seemed to devolve into his normal, stuttery self. "I can pay you for your time," he said hesitantly. "Or drop you off somewhere, if you wanna brave the rustbucket again."

Aldonza smiled and listened as she washed her dish, sighing in unison as she turned.
He fumbled over his words as before and offered her money. She shook her head. "You gave me a home-cooked meal, why the hell would you pay me? I ate your stuff. You don't owe me anything. If anyone owes anyone anything- I owe you." She paused, realizing that her comment could be considered a sexual come-on but she really hadn't tried. Her voice was blunt and she stepped up to him.

"Honestly Tim, Thanks.... and I'll brave the rust bucket again if you want me to leave. But once you drop me off you can't get me back. So, you better think long and hard before you let me leave." she told him. Long and hard? Damn. She just was full of innuendos. And it was all unintentional, really! Her eyes were matter-of-fact as she stepped up to him, putting a hand on his chest tentatively, almost hesitantly. Would he have a brain aneurism if she touched him? Too much contact with a woman?

"You're a nice guy.... I don't want to seduce you- if you don't want me too-" she said, looking up at him with a wry smile. She thought it funny- how awkward he was. And she was quite confident that if he just let her- she could fix things. But he wouldn't. He'd send her home and remain sex-deprived for the rest of his life. She could honestly see it now. But what could he do if he kept her? Become a regular possibly? She liked him as a person- she really did. He wasn't her type but he was so nice. And men, men just weren't that nice--- nowadays.

For a moment, as she laid that small, delicate hand on his chest, Lynch could almost see himself taking her up on the offer - and make no mistake, he was sorely tempted. He wasn't a near-eunuch by choice, after all. What man would be? But Lynch was a man with a very certain set of moral codes. It wasn't that she was a prostitute that gave him pause, that particular bit fell outside those aforementioned moral codes, it was their age difference. That might seem like a wreid position to take - if you weren't against prostitution, why should it matter about age? - but Lynch was sensitive about that kind of thing.

He took her hand, surprised at himself and his non-cardiac arrest-nes, and let himself fantazise for a moment. Then he sighed. "I'd like to. God, would I like to. But... it's not that simple. I wish it was." Lynch blew out another breath. Why couldn't it be easy?

Unlike Lynch, Age didn't bother Al. he was only- maybe ten years older. And he wasn't a wrinkly prune- well, as far as she could see....
Aldonza- just didn't find much wrong with people. She had few reservations when it came to jobs. STDS, teenagers, and old people were the three reservations. Yeah- she wasn't into the old or young. But Lynch wasn't old in her book.

He blew out a slow breath as he fought the urge to take her up on the offer. He wished it could be so simple? His hand closed around hers and she paused for a moment- her movements frozen in time as she felt the hand of someone who really was anice guy? How could she push herself on him? How could she be so selfish and greedy that she'd push him?

She was no angel. She cared- she really did, but something spurred her on as she placed her other hand on his arm, pulling him close, their bodies brushing as the distance closed. Her big brown eyes smirked with something sinful as she smiled.
"But it is simple.... how isn't it simple?" Her fingers danced over his arm and ran themselves up his chest tenatively.

She shouldn't- she should leave him alone- all alone with no one else- free of her sins and away from her temptations.

OOC: Huh. For some reason I was thinking eh was older and she was younger. Weird.

Why wasn't it simple? Lynch had known the answer to that question up until a moment ago. Then every neuron in his brainhad fried the second she moved closer so her body brushed against his. "Because - becaues - be -" It appeared the stuttering was coming back to poor Lynch. Temptation did things like that to him. And, God knew there was a hell of a temptation sitting in front of him right now. God knew it would be easy to give in to his raging... desire and take her offer. Who cared about morals and age differences when he could have her, at least in illusion, at least for a little while?

He dipped his head, unconsicously, as if pulled to her by some poerwful, unstoppable force. Lynch could imagine how her lips would feel, how other tasty bit s of her would feel, and he simply acouldn't resist. He kissed her. Gently. Timothy Lynch was no romance novel hero - it wasn't any kind of kiss that would make your hair stand on end or your toes curl in your shoes. It was just a soft, shy little kiss.