Gert picked the most far out Goth place she could find, knowing deep inside she would never find the kind of man in a place like this. It was just getting a few customers, and she chose a stool at the bar that was all alone, a place where she could think until she was drunk enough to get crazy.
"So, do you think you're gonna make it? You look to me like you're just about through it, but the eyebrow piercing has got to go." The voice must have been referring to the new piercing she had just gotten when she had her hair and nails done. She knew as soon as she did it that it was a dumb move. Just being defiant with life, she supposed. She turned toward the voice, to her left, and three stools down he sat. He wore faded Levi's and an old plaid flannel shirt. The only thing about him that fit into this place was the vintage black leather biker jacket, otherwise here was a man with no eyeliner, piercings, and his dark hair was clean. She bet it was soft and smelled great, and even as she thought these things she thought she must be drunk already.
"Well, are you gonna make it?" He smiled now. He had beautiful teeth, so white, so straight. She couldn't help but smile back. She could feel the heat of the blush rushing to her cheeks and she quickly looked down at the hands in her lap with the violent nail job at the tips. The easily embarrassed Demon Child.
"Yeah. I'm gonna make it. Thanks. I'm Gert." She winced inside at the very mention of her name, but he gave no indication of surprise or disappointment. He smiled yet again.
"I know you will," he replied. " I knew you would already. So did you."
His name was Mike, Mike Blake. Within 10 minutes they had moved to a booth to talk and once the talking commenced there wasn't a firearm large enough to stop the two. They had more than a strict work ethic in common, they had EVERYTHING in common, from music and art to books and humor. They both were raised in very similar backgrounds, raised by single parents to a point, becoming the step-child of another and gaining obnoxious, controlling siblings. Neither had ever been lucky in love, and neither had no idea how to change it. Thank goodness there had been no children. Imagine their pain at the failed marriages of their parents. The only different between them was their personalities and their pets. She was an extrovert and he knew when to shut up an listen. He had a goldfish; she had a cat diagnosed as certifiably maniacal. The good news was he wanted a cat. That could be good.
Might be risky for the goldfish, though.