"I-I was just thinking about the real reason you asked me to dinner."

Now it’s her turn to be puzzled. "What? What reason?"

That thing I said about Shane being a one-woman woman isn’t entirely true. No, Shane hasn’t been cheating or straying, she hasn’t even been looking as far as I can tell. Shane also hasn’t seen, called, or visited Carmen in a little over two weeks. I knew Carmen would break eventually. Two weeks isn’t bad. I don’t think I could handle not hearing from my significant other for two weeks. Then again, I haven’t been able to handle many things lately. Carmen is a strong woman, I know, but there’s only so much a person can take. I knew she would come to me. It was a way of getting information without losing her pride. I knew that she was at her breaking point when she called me at two o’clock in the morning last night and asked me to meet her here at The Planet for dinner. Her treat. It was more of a treat than she’ll ever know. How could I refuse?

"You’re worried about Shane."

At first, she adamantly denies it. Shaking her head wildly and laughing, she put a hand to her chest (I couldn’t help my eyes from zeroing in on her smooth, supple ***** that were shaking ever so slightly because of her guilty giggles.) and said, "What? Jenny! I’m shocked that you would think that of me! C-can’t I just take a dear friend out for dinner?"

So now I’m a, "dear friend." How utterly sad. She is my everything. She is my morning, my afternoon, and my night. She is my east and west, my sun, my moon, my sky. She’s the air that I breathe, the water I drink, the food that fills me. She is my mind, body, soul and heart. And what am I? A dear friend.

"You can take a ‘dear friend’ out to dinner, yes…but you know that isn’t what your doing." I look up at her again, my right eye squinting a little in the certainty of my accusation. "It’s okay. I don’t mind."

At least one of us should feel good about this dinner.

She sighs and I catch myself staring at her ***** again. It’s as if they’re reaching out to me from the low-cut white tank top she has on. "All right, ya got me." That’s all she says. Putting her fork down and her elbow on the table, leaning her chin on her hands, she stares at me expectantly. I have the scoop, I’m just not willing to give it all up yet. What is she going to do the minute I tell her what I think? We’ll probably go home. It’s still pretty early and it’s nice outside. I think a walk would be a great idea.