bowling.
Honor had definitely ruled out marriage and children with Droog Dragul. In addition to the faint fear that he was going to throw his head back and start howling, or start counting things. (One...one pointy knife! Two! Two major blood vessels in dee neck!) Droog had wiped down everything at their table with antibacterial wipes he produced from his purse, including their chairs and the floor around them. “Now I heff created clean space,” he said, smiling.
Dexter the serial killer leaped to mind.
Then Droog ordered water and took a sandwich from his purse. Baloney on white bread.
It was a long eighty-three minutes.
To his credit, when he asked her for a second date, Droog took her rejection well. “Ah, yes, I understand,” he said. “Vee don’t have the cleek.”
“The cleek?” she asked.
He snapped his fingers. “The cleek.”
“Oh. Right. The click.” Honor forced a smile. “But it was very nice meeting you, Droog.”
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