Sweet Unholy Revenge

On Saturday, Anya prepared for her date with Dean. She dressed carefully in a pair of fitted white jeans and a sleeveless lime green sheer blouse that covered her breasts entirely as she did not want to give Dean the wrong idea. On her feet she wore silver sandals. She wanted to dress light and casual to emphasize that their evening out was just that. She wore her hair in loose curls and added a pair of silver loop earrings to complement the entire outfit. She applied minimal makeup.

When she was finished, she stared in the mirror for a long time, contemplating whether or not to cancel the date. She felt guilty, as if she was doing something that Bruce would disapprove of. It’s just dinner, Anya, she told herself.

But deep down she knew it wasn’t.

She was going on date with a man she was deeply attracted to– a man who was beginning to stir feelings inside her– dangerous feelings. She knew it was more than dinner for him of course. She saw it in the way he looked at her.

She felt apprehensive, as if she was on the edge of something that, if she should step over, there would be no going back.

Or, maybe she was reading too much into it, and Dean simply wanted to have an amicable dinner with absolutely no strings attached. On that basis, what harm could a couple of hours do?

She knew there was a definite answer to that. Being in his presence for a few minutes was bad enough; he invoked too many sexual emotions that skewed her equilibrium.

She paused at the door in serious thought. Should she call Dean and cancel? Or should she go, and prove to herself that her feelings for Dean were just a figment of her imagination?



Dean requested a window seat in the restaurant so he could see Anya arrive. He wondered if she would show; although she had said yes, he had noted some uncertainty in her expression. He hoped she would not chicken out.

He had chosen a restaurant that was private; the booths were secluded and offered a bit of intimacy and privacy, as he knew Anya would be apprehensive about being seen. They could sit and have dinner in peace without her looking over her shoulder every now and then.

Half an hour had passed and she did not show. Dean was not concerned; he knew enough about women to know that they were never on time.

As the minutes progressed, however, his palms began to sweat; he was beginning to feel nervous as the hour flew by. Now she was late. Had she changed her mind?

An hour and a half flew by quickly. A lead-like feeling settled on his chest. He checked his cell phone to see if she had called or left a text, but there was nothing.

His server came by. “Do you need another refill, sir?” she asked sympathetically. It was obvious that whoever he was supposed to meet had stood him up. Dean glanced at his empty wine glass–his fifth–and nodded curtly. The server refilled his glass and walked away.

He took a big gulp of wine and allowed the warmth of the alcohol to thaw him out. He checked the time. He would give her ten more minutes, then he would get the hell out of here.

Twenty-five minutes later, he called for his bill, threw some money on the table and stormed out, his face creased with anger. How could Anya bail on him without even as much as a phone call? He knew she was stubborn, but damn it!

He quickly dialed a number and waited impatiently for the person to pick up. As soon as she answered he lashed out;

“She didn’t show! I waited here for two hours and she never came! What the hell is up with her?”

The female on the other end sighed. “Clearly she has reservations, Dean, you have to give her some time.”

Time is what I don’t have! I need to get this done with now! Listen, if she bails on me again, I’m changing tracks. I’m done with this nice guy bullshit!”

He hung up before the woman could respond.

He started his car and pulled out from the parking lot without even looking, and almost ran into an incoming car.

It was Anya.

His heart thudded with relief, and he was calm again.

He put his car in reverse and waited until she parked, then he got out. She emerged from her car and approached him cautiously, her hands tightly gripping her purse.

They stood facing each other for what seemed like ages, then Dean took one her hands in his. She did not pull away.

“I thought you weren’t going to show,” he reasoned.

She tightened her grip. “I almost didn’t.”


She shook her head. “Let’s just have dinner, ok?”

He smiled. “Ok.”

They entered the restaurant and were greeted by the pleasant hostess who looked at Dean in surprise, as he had almost knocked her over when he had stormed out. She said nothing, however, and led them to a table in the corner. Anya looked discretely around to see if she recognized any of the faces there. It would not be a good thing for her to run into any of her church brethren at this time.

“Are you ok?” He asked when they had taken their seats.

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, glancing out the window.

As if he sensed her fears, he said, “There’s no need to worry; no one you know will see you here.”

She turned to look at him. “Are you sure? The last thing I need is somebody bringing news to my husband.”

He looked at her innocently. “Is having dinner with a friend ‘news’?”

“We are hardly friends, Dean. And this is not just dinner.”

“It isn’t?” He asked innocently. “What is it then?”

The waitress appeared before she could answer. She quickly took their orders and vanished.

“I don’t believe you asked me here tonight just to treat me to dinner. I think you want something.”

He looked at her intensely without saying a word.

She took a deep breath; her body was beginning to tingle under his gaze. “What do you want, Dean?”

His intense look was replaced by a cheerful expression. He leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly. “I just want to have dinner with a beautiful woman, that’s all.”

“You flatter me.”

“Surely you have heard that compliment many times over. But let me ask you this; why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never had to come. You could have said no, I would have given up eventually.”

She looked at him incredulously. “I came because you were persistent, and I wanted to get you off my back! It did not appear as if you were planning on giving up any time soon.”

He sat back in his seat, folded his arms and scrutinized her for a moment. “I think you’re lying.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is the real reason you are here, Anya?”

“I told you–”

“You wanna know what I think? You’re here because you are intrigued… curious. You feel the chemistry between us and you want to see if it’s real. And if it is, you would want to see where it goes. Am I right?”

“I already told you– “

“I didn’t buy it,” he interrupted. “Still don’t.”

She stood up, irritated because deep down she knew he was right. “If you are going to sit there and call me a liar, then I have no business being here. Enjoy your dinner.” She turned to leave.

He got up swiftly, grabbing her hand and pulling her back

before she could leave the cubicle. She fell back against him, feeling the hardness of him. She felt a surge pass through her as their bodies collided. She pulled away in a desperate bid to get rid of the feeling. It was too late; there was something there, she had to admit. Something electrifying, something that was stronger than anything she had ever felt in her life. Something that made her want to lose herself in this man that she barely knew.

She was in trouble.