Abi had to remind herself to better express her thoughts with eloquence rather than blurting out the first thing that popped into her head. She was still amazed he was actually here now that she knew she was a fan of his works, of his whole damn career. Fitzgerald too, though it was mostly Hemingway. She must seem like an uneducated idiot to him. “I had a wonderful time, before and after the rum and cocktails. Should have known who you were from the Papa Doble…” she smiled softly at him, biting her bottom lip nervously.
The booth was actually roomier than it appeared to be and didn’t have duct-tape on like the ones in the diners back in Boston. She bounced a little in her seat for the hell of it, and to run out some of her nervous energy. She really did have a million kinds of questions running through her head but there was something she had to get out of the way first. Something she’d regretted not saying to him the morning after the night before. Now was as good a time as any. “I actually wanted to thank you, soberly, for stepping in that night and saving me from having to bitch slap that idiot in the club. That was incredible. I’d go back to Cuba maybe for a day, but I don’t think I’d have as interesting a time as I would with you.”
Her cheeks turned a faint pink, and she beamed brightly at the filthy images running through her head. “How long have you been on board this… thing?” she asked.