<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #80BFFF"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Jerry Dawson</span></span></span><br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/52369226-3528-4ca1-91bb-aab87f83ff6d_zpsf1eea54c.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Jerry followed her in and cast a proving look around. Everything seemed to be clean and neat. So far about the wild girl and him expecting to find beer cans and clothes littering the floor. He sat down and when she sat down next to him, he was painfully aware of the warmth her body was radiating. Her fingers touched his cheek and Jerry was sure that if the lights would have been off, they could have seen the sparks of electricity flying, as he clearly felt his skin prickle. He tried to change the topic into something less dangerous. <br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">"So, you like to cook? I was surprised that you invited on a snack, it isn't what one associates with a bartender in a nightclub. At least I didn't, but I am really not that hungry and it would be kind of unfair to make you create some mess in the kitchen and then not eating it, right?"</span><br/><br/>Jerry had always liked to create special dinners, but as a single he had not many opportunities to show his talent. When he had been younger and was living with his parents and his siblings, he had often cooked, as they had a routine at that time that every weekend two of the kids were responsibly for dinner. And most of the time he had been the one to cook, while his brother or sister just stood around and watched him. But since he lived in his flat he really missed to cook. For a single cooking was not worth the effort. You didn't get small enough packages for one person and throwing half of it away was no fun.</div>