Jenna was still coming in hot and the news coming from her wife made it impossible for her to settle down. Still standing, having refused to take the offered seat, she growled, "What? You've been sleeping around on me? Are you serious? All those times you said you were working late, or early, or fucking whatever you said, you were going over to slip into bed with this...<em>prostitute</em>? Are you serious?"<br/><br/>Her hands clenched and unclenched; suddenly she reached out for the water glass sitting in front of Catherine, preparatory to fling the icy contents into her spouse's face. The waiter, a reedy, nerdy looking kid in dark-frame glasses who was familiar to him, gently moved it out of reach before she could get there. He had come over to try to maintain the peace with a frightened expression on his face, uncertain he could handle three origins of feminine rage.<br/><br/>Without her weapon, Jenna wheeled toward him. "Don't you dare! Adam..."<br/><br/>But she relented, somewhat. The advantage of having selected a restaurant familiar to them, comfortable and full of good feelings, Jenna did not want to disturb things so badly they would get kicked out. Did she have the geysering rage inside her enough to get kicked out of most anywhere else? Yes, and she had. But now... She sank into the chair and wailed at her wife. "You let this homewrecker into our lives? She doesn't even look that different from me! Like, a hot Latin chick, or a hot black dude, but like... her?"<br/>