II: First Encounters
Hi Tim, 
Sorry to change things on short notice, but we're going to be running a bit behind tonight. Instead of trying to hash out a new time, how about you swing by our place whenever you're ready? That way we can all go together as soon as everyone's set, even if by some miracle we get back on track. 
We're at 115 Daxter. Just send an e-mail when you're about to head out - one of us WILL be home. If we don't hear back by 6:15 we'll call. 
Thanks, 
S&S 
I looked at the clock. We'd been sent home a bit early; it was ten after five now. I could take my time grooming and still be at their place by six. And I had to admit that I was curious enough about their place that the opportunity to see it for a bit was intriguing. 
I sent a quick mail saying I'd got theirs, would probably arrive around six, and would send another when I was getting out the door. Then I ducked into the shower for the second time that day, scrubbing down as best I could, to the point of needing to empty the fur trap part way through. 
Plain white tee, charcoal-grey slacks, black belt - Casey's wasn't a formal establishment, but it wouldn't be out of place to look a bit classy, and that just might make a better impression of myself. A bit of mild-scented gloss rubbed onto my fur, one last quick e-mail, and I was on my way, jacket in tow in case the autumn evening got cooler than expected. 
That section of Daxter was everything I'd thought and then some. The houses weren't mansions, but each was about the size of two four-bedroom town house units like mine, and had a small yard to boot. Number 115, like most, was a two-storey-plus-basement affair with a high peaked roof and large, arched windows. It had rust-red shingles, white siding, and a cobblestone path up to the front door as well as a garage and paved driveway. Planters ran along the front porch, and even my untrained eye recognized evergreens like holly and wintergreen. The place was probably worth two decades of my salary or more. 
So it was with some trepidation that I trudged up the steps and rang the doorbell. 
Silence for a few seconds. Then running footsteps - by the heavy, rapid tread, running downstairs. They levelled out for a few more strides, and a shadow darkened the frosted glass as the bolt was slid open. The door itself opened promptly thereafter - and I took a step back in spite of myself. 
My estimate had been off. The man of the pair wasn't just a bit over six feet - he cleared it by at least eight inches. And he wasn't just broad, he was downright solid, and muscular to boot - not so visibly as a professional body-builder, but it would be easy to believe him a wrestler. Arms, chest, belly, legs - all showed a substantial power. 
Oh - did I mention he was only wearing a pair of black gym shorts? 
My mistake. 
While I was still desperately clinging onto the courage to not slink off with my tail between my legs(minuscule as even that was next to a skunk's, damn it), he panted, "Hi, can I help - oh, wait." 
I knew it wasn't meant that way, but some part of me took it as a command. I waited, while he looked me over. Suddenly he broke into a grin. "You must be Tim." 
His eager grin was as infectious as it was reassuring. I found myself relaxing a little as I said, "Timothy Carver, that's me." 
"Samuel Knight." He took my hand in the cautious grasp of one used to minding his own strength. "Sorry for the confusion, but your picture really doesn't do you justice." 
"Neither does yours," I laughed. "I knew you were bigger than me, but I didn't think you'd tower over me like that!" 
"Well, that's just a problem of scale. Our picture is pretty new - I don't imagine we've changed much since it was taken." He poked a finger into my chest. "You, on the other hand, have put on weight in all the right places. That picture made you look so skinny as to be malnourished." 
I blinked. I'd got so very used to guys calling me weakling, shrimp, and other such pleasant things that being told that I was in good shape was a shock. Especially coming from someone who could probably lift two of me up on each arm. "Considering the source, I'll take that as high praise," I said. 
Sam laughed. "We'll have to get Sarah's expert opinion when she gets home. Come on in. She had to stay late at work, but she just called to say she shouldn't be long. 
I stepped over the threshold. Thank goodness they weren't both Sam, I reflected as he shut the door behind me. That would've got confusing in a hurry. 
I didn't feel as out of place in the living room as I'd feared. Sure, everything was good quality - the plasma TV, for instance, probably cost a full month or two of my salary - but the furnishings weren't at all ostentatious, and nothing seemed to be overdone for the sake of getting something expensive. 
"Make yourself comfortable," Sam invited, searching amidst the magazines on the coffee table and digging up the remote. "I'm just going to finish getting dressed - something between 'casual' and 'business casual', huh?" 
"Casual's fine," I called after his departing bulk, "as long as it's neat." He yelled back an acknowledgement as he trotted up the stairs. 
The evening news was showing on TV - something about yet another tobacco company needing to pay damages for fraudulently claiming that their product was safe and didn't contribute to cancer. Oh, and wasn't addictive, either, because look how many people decided to quit and did so? Never mind that they couldn't explain why people would want to quit, if the product was so faultless. Ah well. 
I was letting the exec's pithy excuses wash over me when the front door opened again. "Sam, I'm home," announced a richly feminine voice. "Is - ? Oh!" Footsteps - much lighter than Sam's, but with the distinctive ring of hard soles - came down the hall, and as I scrambled to my feet, there she was. 
On seeing Sam's actual size, I'd done some mental math, and this time I'd been right on the money. She - Sarah, I figured - was a hair under six feet tall, fairly heavyset for a woman, but - I felt my ears trying to flush - in no way unfeminine. Oh, no. In fact, her fit, strong build made her feminine curves look that much more lush for contrast. 
I swallowed, reminding myself that she was taken. Her face was beautiful enough, even without any evident cosmetics, that keeping my eyes there wouldn't be a hardship in the least. Difficult, yes, but hardly a let-down. 
"Well, now," she murmured, looking me over in a way that had me blushing after all. "You must be Tim. Has anyone told you the camera doesn't flatter you? Most people say it adds ten pounds, but in your case I think it took off twenty at least. I thought I was going to have to tie you to the table." 
I blushed a little more. "If it was a problem of how much I ate, I'd be huge." 
"Fast metabolism and a healthy bit of exercise, hmm?" She extended her hand, but when I did the same, she didn't settle for a handshake; her hand gripped my wrist instead, turning it, fingers seeking out the artery there. "Pulse does seem a bit high," she observed after a few seconds. 
I refrained from pointing out that an attractive woman had just grabbed my arm and held onto me, instead seizing on the very practised manner in which she'd done so. "Are you a doctor, then?" 
"Of sport medicine, yes," she replied, letting go of my hand. "Though I could work as a GP if I wanted to. I'm Sarah. Nice to meet you, Tim." 
Her smile was absolutely lovely... Taken, I reminded myself. Down, boy. "Thanks," I managed. "Same here." 
"So." That smile turned into a grin. "What's a literate, good-sounding, handsome guy like yourself doing out on the town with a few new people? I'd have thought for sure you'd have someone occupying your time by now..." 
Oh, God. Did she have to steer the conversation toward romance? I was specifically trying not to think about that with her around... "N-no," I protested, "I'm - " 
"Hey." 
Soft as it was, the deep voice made me jump. Damn, but the man could move quietly when he wasn't in a hurry. 
"Quit hitting on the house guest," Sam suggested, "and get changed so we can go, huh? I'm getting hungry." 
"Oh, when aren't you hungry?" laughed Sarah. "I'll be back shortly." And with that, she swept away and trod upstairs, and I tried to catch my breath. 
The big skunk gave my shoulder a pat and moved to a conversational distance. He'd exchanged his gym shorts for some made of loose black denim, his black belt clasped by a silver buckle monogrammed SJK, and had added a white tank top. Apparently cool October weather just doesn't bother some people. 
"So I guess you passed muster," the big skunk said, leaning against the door frame. 
"I guess so," was all I could think to say. 
"I hadn't meant to suggest that this should surprise you," said he with a puzzled frown. 
I shrugged. Might as well get it into the open. "A lot of physical guys - and the girls they hang out with - have pretty particular notions about what looks good," I mused. 
"I suppose you're right there." Sam grimaced. "Enough strength to lift a car off the ground, all the emotional depth of a puddle on a hot road in summer. I know the type all too well. And as for their groupies - well." He shook his head. "They're enough to get anyone down who doesn't meet their standard-of-the-month." 
The venom in his words was almost a palpable thing. "I wouldn't have thought you were the type they'd scoff at," I admitted. 
"I don't play football," Sam informed me. "For some reason, that type don't think of judo as a 'manly' sport." 
I suppressed a wince. This guy on a judo mat? He'd be unstoppable if he was any good at all. "Even though you could probably toss their 'manly' guys all over the room?" 
"I didn't claim it made sense," Sam chuckled. 
I couldn't help but grin. Intellectually, I'd known not every big, strong guy was a dumb jock, but it was nice to finally have it confirmed. 
As footsteps on the stairs distracted us from the conversation, I took a mental step back to consider the thought. Okay, all signs so far did point to the two being intelligent - but was I just biased in thinking so? After all, what he'd said was in my favour. Of course I was going to think him smarter for saying it. 
"Hey!" A hand passed in front of my eyes, making me jump back. As Sam enjoyed a bout of laughter at my expense, Sarah, now clad in a rather distracting V-neck, knee-long dress in navy blue, went on, "If you're done wool-gathering, you're the one who knows best where the food is, so shall we get moving?" 
I swallowed a stream of curse words. "Sorry, guys. I guess I kind of zoned out there." 
"You mean you're not sure?" Sam asked, all serious innocence. 
Sarah took a breath - and paused, looking at me. Her expression seemed to say, Your move. But what was the game, what was I supposed to do? 
Laugh it off, I decided. 
"Oh, sorry," I replied in the dopiest voice I could manage. "I missed it." 
Sam guffawed, giving me a slap on the shoulder that made me lurch forward a step. "Attaboy! Now let's get some food, shall we?" 
They had two vehicles in the garage. One was a four-year-old, cobalt-blue station wagon, which, they explained, Sam could ride in as a passenger if the seat was put back and reclined. However, I was the one navigating, so I needed to be in front, they said. 
That meant we piled into the other vehicle - a fir-green pickup truck, ten years old according to the trim on the side, but I'd seen some year-old vehicles in far worse shape. 
"Sarah's something of a gearhead," Sam explained to me as I was belting into the middle of the seat. "Add me to do the grunt work - fetching her tea, gathering chicken blood for voodoo rituals, that sort of thing - " 
Settling into the passenger seat, Sarah reached past me to give him a smack on the shoulder. "What he means is that he's fine when brute force is called for. If I put a hand wrench on a nut, he can tighten it until most people would need an impact wrench to get it off. But no matter how carefully I point it out, if I tell him to put the wrench on the nut, half the time he'll get it wrong. Even if there's only one nut there." 
"This may be true," Sam replied, buckling up and tapping the garage door remote. "But at least I can boil water without setting off smoke alarms." 
"Oh? A laugh from my right. "All right, Mr. Chef, why were you so enthusiastic about going out for dinner if you're so good with a kitchen?" 
"I wanted a break," purred Sam, turning the ignition over. "Without needing to worry about where we packed the spare fire extinguishers." 
"You mean you're forgetful as well as mechanically inept?" Sarah chirped. The two of them shared a laugh, and I just sat there looking confused and about as smart as a brick. 
That conversation went on hold as Sam turned inward. "'Scuse me, Tim," he said, reaching in front of me for the gearshift and moving it into reverse. 
I bit my lip, suddenly all too aware of the tight quarters. An inch either way and I'd have a leg against mine. And Tim's hand would be inches from my knee every time he changed gears. Thank God it was him driving, not Sarah. 
Never mind that, thank God it'd be a short trip. She was too close for it to matter whose hand was on the stick. 
"So who won?" Sarah asked me as the truck pulled onto the road. 
"Huh? Won what?" At least she didn't have to repeat herself this time. 
"That little exchange just now," Sam rumbled, starting forward. "We do that all the time." 
"He always thinks he wins," Sarah mock-sighed. "Of course, I always think I do, so we could use a tiebreaker. Who do you think won?" 
"Well," I stalled, "I - " Suddenly an escape offered itself, and I seized it with both hands. "Hang on, change lanes. We need to turn left up there." 
"Right," said Sam, glancing over his shoulder. "Er - whatever, you know what I mean." 
"This one is wise in the ways of distraction and changing the subject," Sarah intoned. 
"Yeah," chuckled Sam, scanning the side of the road. "I guess Tim wins this round, then." 
"Sounds right." Sarah moved a hand over to rest it on my knee for a few seconds, and I managed not to jump out of my skin at the contact as she went on, "Not bad for your first time playing that little game with us, Tim." 
Not having much intelligent to respond with, I just grinned, and reminded myself that it was just a friendly pat, nothing more. Thankfully, she took her hand back soon enough to avoid mortal embarrassment on my part. 
"There it is," she said then, pointing up at the fir-green-and-brown sign that bore the Casey's name. 
"We did read your directions," Sam explained, signalling and easing toward a just-vacated parking spot. "But it's always best to have someone who really knows the way keeping an eye out - witness that turn we almost missed." 
"We're not usually so oblivious," Sarah chimed in. 
"Yeah." Sam chuckled, putting the truck in reverse again and turning toward me. His arm brushed my shoulder on its way behind the seat, propping him there while he spun the wheel one-handed and backed into the space. "It's a special kind of stupid for me to screw up something like 'Go down this road, Turn, Go down that road, Park.'" 
He straightened out the truck, edged forward a little, and stomped on the parking brake. "Let's get ourselves a table," he said as the engine died. 
Once I'd slid out the passenger door after Sarah, I marvelled at Sam's handling of the truck. There wasn't even an inch separating the tires and the curb. Sam himself, coming around the hood, looked down at his handiwork and clucked his tongue. "Acceptable, I suppose." 
"Don't let him fool you," Sarah stage-whispered. "He's good behind the wheel, but not that good; he got lucky this time around." Sam shot her a hurt look. "Just keeping you honest, dear," she chirped back at him. 
"Thanks awfully," he sighed, glancing up at the sign right overhead. "Huh. Prime spot. I hope nobody mistakes it for a business truck." 
Same colour green, right by the door... "Anyone who needs to know should know where their receiving driveway is," I mused. "I'd only worry if you come back and it's got the name stencilled on the doors." 
"I won't know how to react to that until I've had the food," Sam chuckled. He slid one arm around Sarah and let the other hand rest a moment on my shoulder. "So let's check out the menu, shall we?" 
First, of course, there was the matter of getting a table. The maître d' that night was Alex, a young, slender polar bear who bore not a trace of the plodding deliberation most people thought of as typical of ursines. "Good to see you again, Tim," he called, with a bright smile that only got brighter as he realized the skunks hadn't just chanced to walk in behind me. "And with company! Welcome to Casey's - " this to Sam and Sarah, of course. "Table for three?" 
"A booth, please, if one is free," Sam replied. 
"But yes, three," was Sarah's contribution, as she jabbed her elbow against Sam's ribs, driving an exaggerated protest and another hurt look from the bigger skunk. 
"I think," the bear said, and after a second or two, concluded, "you're in luck. This way, please." With a broad grin, he grabbed a few menus from the stack and strode deeper into the building. 
Alex always could read his guests. Some people might have had trouble keeping up with him, but Sam and Sarah followed easily, leaving short-legged little me to trot along in their wake. That was fine; I'd rather hustle a little and be seated than take forever to get there. 
We wound up at what some people might call the worst booth in the house, and others the best: the one nearest the kitchen. Sam slid in one side of the booth; I shuffled into the other, and was mildly surprised when Sarah sat beside me. 
At least, until I saw how much space Sam and his tail took up. 
By the way Alex grinned and winked at me as he set the menus down and picked up the fourth set of cutlery, he hadn't made that connection, and probably thought she was my date. Maybe he figured Sam was her brother - they did have a strong resemblance. Still, was everyone I knew going to assume I was on some kind of hot date? 
"Nicky'll be right with you," the bear said with a broad smile. "Have a good night!" And with that he was off. 
"Well, the atmosphere's certainly nice," Sam observed, looking over the wood panelling and warm, cozy lighting. He pulled his menu in close. "Are you all right to drive home, dear?" 
A laugh. "Yes, you can have a few drinks, Sam," was her reply. 
"If I can make up my mind. Know any good liquor around here, Tim? I'm not one for beer." 
That was when Nicky showed up. 
Where Alex didn't meet the popular image of his race at all, Veronica was very much the classic bouncy bunny. Five foot six, buxom and broad-hipped but otherwise lightly built, with a perky smile that just wouldn't quit, the grey rabbit looked not unlike a cheerleader plus a few years. 
"Hi there, and welcome to Casey's," she chirped as she bustled over. "I'm Nicky, and I'll be serving you this evening. How about something to drink, to start?" 
Sarah went with a simple iced tea; remembering Sam's query of a few moments ago, I ordered two shots of Reisler's, a local distillery's scotch that just happened to be my favourite. Nicky dashed off, leaving the three of us to mull over the menus. 
"Quite the assortment here," Sam mused. 
"Sure is." Sarah turned back to the first page and frowned. "If there wasn't any worry about budget or anything like that, what would you get every time if you could, Tim?" 
"Every time?" I chuckled. "That would be doing the chefs an injustice. There's a lot of good stuff here." 
"You know what I mean," she laughed. "There must be something that stands out. Something you'd fall back on if you didn't have a craving for something specific." 
Well, seen in that light... "They do this grilled salmon platter - I haven't had it yet myself, but I've smelled it on the way by a time or two. Heavenly." It wasn't the top of the price list, but it was pretty high-end for my salary. 
The skunks exchanged glances. "Cats," they said, and rolled their eyes - all in perfect unison, like they'd been rehearsing it. 
"He may have a point, though," Sam murmured after they'd shared a chuckle. "Seems they don't do things by half measures. Besides, you've told me often enough that fish is good for the body - salmon especially." 
"You," Sarah shot back, "need more protein." 
"Hmm," was Sam's reply as he flipped through his menu again. For a moment, I thought he was looking at me, but when I looked up there was no sign of it. 
Besides, why would he - ? 
Wait. 
Oh, no. That couldn't be right. He couldn't be suggested - he was married, I could see a ring on each one's left hand, he couldn't be that kind of guy - 
"You finding it warm or something, Tim?" Sarah asked into her menu. 
Damn my ears. I never could get them to hide a blush. Fate gave me another opening, though. "Hey, here come our drinks!" 
"That's two points for Tim," Sam murmured, closing his menu. 
"Iced tea for you, Reisler's for you, Reisler's for you," said Nicky, setting the glasses down. "Are you folks ready to order?" 
"Looks that way," "Sam said as I also put my menu aside. "I'll have a twelve-ounce steak, medium rare, and some mussels to start." 
"Make the mussels a family-size," Sarah cut in. "And I'll try the penne primavera." 
"Twelve-ounce medium rare, primavera, large mussels," Nicky repeated. "And...?" 
I was about to ask for a repeat of the penne when I heard Sarah say, "He'll have the grilled salmon." 
I blinked, and in my moment of stunned surprise she went on, "And don't let him tell you otherwise, or give you any nonsense about separate bills, and don't you dare give him the cheque." 
If her ordering on my behalf had been a surprise, the rest, well... I suppose it kind of followed, but it left me stunned anyway. I'd just met these people - what was going on? 
"Ooh, you've got yourself some keepers here, Tim," Nicky laughed, flipping her notepad shut. "Sit tight, folks, we'll get you set up right." One last, brilliant smile, and she almost literally bounced her way toward the kitchen counter. 
"You've taken a good bit of ribbing from us, Tim," Sarah said before I could ask. "And you took it in stride. And you showed us this place, which my nose tells me we're going to love. The least we can do is give you a good dinner." 
"So relax," Sam agreed with a smile. "Enjoy yourself for a little. No strings attached." 
No strings attached... Lots of people said it. But with these two, who laughed and joked so easily, I could almost believe it. So Sam and I shared a toast to good times, and he was suitably pleased with the Scotch. So we shared the mussels in their creamy sauce, and Sarah made me blush all over again licking a trace of sauce off her fork - I swear, she could make anything look sexy. And so we dug into our respective entrées, and the salmon was as delicious as my nose had insisted it must be. 
"Did they poach that cow from India?" Sam wondered once Nicky had collected the plates. "That steak could not have been merely of this world." 
"This is quite the place," Sarah agreed. "We might have to make a habit of coming here. Are Wednesdays usually good for you, Tim?" 
I blinked yet again. "Me? I can't..." Afford it, I'd been about to say, before remembering that I wasn't paying a dime tonight. 
"Just for a few drinks," Sam suggested. "Nothing says we have to have a banquet like this all the time. Just hang out for a little, toss a few down, maybe get some snacks, and have a home-cooked meal after." 
I relaxed a little. A full meal here on a regular basis would strain my paycheck, but a few drinks would not. "In that case, yeah, Wednesdays are usually okay." 
"Back to our place, then?" Sarah grinned. "We never did finish that conversation from before dinner." 
For a moment I hesitated, but then I remembered: I'd been looking for company, for someone to hang out with. I'd been lucky finding these two; I'd be stupid to turn them down and spend another night alone in my cramped room in a dingy old town house 
"Sure, that sounds good," I said. 
Sam stayed to deal with the cheque, while Sarah chivvied me out to the truck with her. I felt a little awkward not even putting something down for the tip, but she pointed out again that I'd brought them there in the first place; the tip they left was because of me, so it was sort of mine, too. 
She unlocked the passenger door for me and got around to the other side. I hesitated; she patted the spot in the middle, saying, "Go on, leave room for Sam.. I don't bite." 
True, I'd have to move over sooner or later anyway. Might as well be sooner. I shifted into the middle and buckled up. 
If I hadn't, I might've hit my head on the roof of the cab a moment later, jumping half out of my skin when she set a hand on my thigh. 
"You can relax, Tim," she said, and this time her voice was all sincerity, no humour or teasing to be found. "I don't mind if you look; I'm not going to slap you for it. Sam wouldn't either, and even if he'd be inclined to do so, he knows I'd deck him twice as hard." 
I groaned, only half from embarrassment. "Have I been that obvious?" 
"No, you've been pretty discreet." Mercifully, her hand slid down to my knee. "Tim, I know we come on pretty strong, but we're not trying to make you uncomfortable. Either tell us to back off - together or individually, we won't take offence - or don't worry that we'll bite your head off for responding naturally." 
Responding naturally. Right. I took a deep breath. "If you keep that hand there, I might have to take care of a, uh... natural response in the washroom." I was blushing furiously, but managed to get the words out with only that one little hitch. 
She laughed, and lifted that hand to push as a fist against my shoulder instead. "Attaboy," she said, and, glancing past me, turned the engine over. 
"So are we good?" asked Sam, squeezing in on my other side. 
"We are here," Sarah replied, pulling the brake release. "You?" 
"All taken care of." As Sam belted in, he went on, "Just remember, we only met the guy tonight, eh? Keep your hand on the actual stick-shift." 
They both laughed as my ears flushed and pinned back, but this time I let myself laugh along with them. Oh, God, I thought. What had I got myself into? 
We got back to that comfortable living room and, thankfully, talked shop instead of romance. They'd moved here, I learned, because Sarah had been offered a position at the nearby clinic and it was a step away from the bustle of bigger cities. Sam was an investment broker, of all things, making arrangements to open an office in town, and in the meantime dealing with a few clients whose portfolios he'd been managing remotely even where they'd lived before. 
Given their success, I was kind of ashamed to admit to being just a rank-and-file programmer. They didn't mock it at all, though, and while they found some things to praise about it, they had none of that false cheer I'd come to expect. It did have the effect of moving conversation onto safer matters like the weather, though. 
Not long after, I went home, with some rum and, at Sarah's insistence, a good deal of water keeping the Scotch company in my gullet. I washed up and crawled into bed just after 10:00, kept up for a little by the biggest hard-on I'd had in months. Damn, but those two could get me going... and somehow, I enjoyed every minute of it.