Grabbing his leather jacket from a chair and picking up his door key and wallet from a table, taking the stairs two at a time, heading along the narro... street, glancing at his watch, trying to remember if Laura Beckett closed her shop at eight or nine o’clock. He hadn’t got very far when it started to rain. Lifting his collar and pulling the zip up on his jacket he ran from the storm. “Fucking rain,” he cursed, wiping water from his eyes, cursing again and quickening the pace when the lights. ‘So what do you do on dates, that are not dates?’ Roger asked. ‘You don’t want to do that either,’ she said. ‘Oh well if it involves the sacrifice of small animals, no I don’t.’ he said. ‘You are implying I’m a witch,’ she said with a serious laugh. ‘I like that.’ ‘If the broom fits,’ he said. ‘Usually we go home and have sex,’ she replied simply while looking away. ‘If we did that, I assure you, it would be nothing personal.’ ‘Then on a strictly logical note, it would be a stupid thing for us. More

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