Kevin Bradford couldn't believe his luck.  He'd answered a personal ad and wound up getting a date with a gorgeous blonde named Virginia.  She'd called him at work to set up a meeting time.  The date was fantastic.  Virginia was intelligent, witty and fun.  He didn't want the evening to end, but it was late, so he took her home.

     "I had a great time tonight," he said.  They were sitting in his car in front of her apartment building.  "I'd love to see you again.  If you're willing, that is."

     Virginia hesitated, then nodded.  "You can call me, if you like."

     Kevin smiled.  He couldn't believe his luck.  A beautiful woman wanted him to call her.  All he could think was:  Wow!  But he kept his wits enough not to vocalize that thought; he'd eaten his shoe enough already tonight.

     "I guess I should give you my number," she said.  "But I just got the phone and the number is upstairs.  I can't remember it."

     Great, Kevin thought.  He just knew she was scrambling for an excuse not to give it to him.  He'd bored her to tears.  She thought he was a moron.  A fool.

     "So," she continued, "maybe you'd like to come upstairs for a few.  We can have a drink and I'll find the number."

     "I understand," he began, then realized what she'd said.  Quick save time.  "Uh, I've had my phone for years and I still can't remember the number."

     "Really?  I was going to ask for it."

     "555-2341."

     Virginia smiled.  "Coming?"

     Her apartment was small--cozy.  She didn't have much furniture and no pictures adorned the walls.  It lacked the feel of being lived in.  Kevin reminded himself that she was new in town.  Maybe her stuff hadn't arrived from New York.

     "Grab yourself a beer if you like," she said.

     Kevin walked into the kitchen and tugged open the refrigerator door.  The metal bar on the inside of the door fell off and the contents crashed to the floor.  Kevin jumped back.  "Oops!"

     "What happened?" Virginia asked, running into the room.

     Kevin looked up sheepishly.  "I'm sorry, the bar came off and--"

     "Oh no."  Virginia closed her eyes and sighed.

     The bottles of ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise survived the crash, but the bottle of cherry Gatorade broke.  So did two other bottles labeled AB.

     "Back up," Virginia said.  "You don't want to cut yourself.  There are some towels in that bottom drawer.  Hand them to me."

     Kevin found the towels and passed them to her.  He knelt and began picking up shards of glass.  "This looks like blood," he said.

     She shot him a look.  "What?"

     "Uh, nothing.  I just said it looks kinda like blood."

     "It isn't."

     "I know, but it looks like it.  What is it?"

     "Gatorade."

     "Sure, some of it, but not all.  It's too thick."

     He dipped a finger into the redness and touched his tongue.  "Jesus!" he said.  "This is blood!  What the hell?"

     "I can explain," Virginia said, rising.

     Kevin backed away from her.  "Okay," he said.  "What are you doing with blood in your refrigerator?"

     "I'm type AB.  It's very rare and last year I had an accident.  I almost died because they couldn't find a donor.  Now I keep some on hand, just in case."

     It didn't ring true, but Kevin wanted to believe her.  She was so gorgeous!  "I'm type O," he said for no reason.

     "I know."

     "You do?"

     "Not that you were O," she said, though he could tell she was lying.  "Just that you weren't AB."

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