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My head is saying to go home and soak my aching limbs in a hot bubble bath, but my body is moving toward his car after he opens the passenger door for me.
We drive across town in silence, but that’s okay. I’m happy enough to wind down while I sneak glances over at him. He steers the wheel with his strong hands, and I make out the letters tattooed across his fingers: Good across his left, and Evil across his right. Only the word Good has a line tattooed through each letter. When I was younger, I believed tattoos were just words and pictures, but as I grew up, I learned most tattoos have stories and meanings behind them, which causes me to wonder what the story is behind him marking through the word Good? Is that why people call him Psycho, because he thinks he’s not good?
What does it matter, anyway? I’m already in his car, about to go and have dinner with him.
“Do you like Italian?” he asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Sure.”
He parks across the road from Giovanni’s, and I swear I see his hand flinch, as if he’s making a move to take mine. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or glad when he thinks twice and keeps it at his side.
Opening the door for me, we’re greeted by the hostess, who quickly seats us in a booth. She leaves us with our menus, and before I can speak to Louis, a waiter is at our table, taking our drink orders before rushing off.
“So your first day was a success?” Louis asks.
“It was. And I had five clients book in with me for their next appointments.”
“That’s good.”
His smile throws me off. He definitely doesn’t seem so scary when he relaxes. The waiter returns with our drinks and takes our orders. Once he’s gone, I enquire, “Did you and Lexi grow up around here?”
“Our parents moved us to town when we were six. I don’t remember living anywhere else.”
“You were both six?”
“We’re twins.”
“That must’ve been nice. I’m an only child. I would’ve loved a brother or sister.”
“It had its ups and downs,” he says as I watch his mouth. His bottom lip is a little fuller than the top, and I envision what it would be like to kiss them. I imagine he would be the one to take the lead, and my lower stomach tightens with desire.
“You asked what being a part of a motorcycle club entails the other night and I never answered you. I want to be honest. I never outright lie, but I’ll be clear, there are certain things I’ll never share with you. Mostly, it’s a bunch of guys who love to ride.”
“Why not just tell me you love to ride?”
“Because, as I said, I don’t lie. I don’t believe in starting a good thing off by keeping you wondering about something I can easily explain.”
No, he said he doesn’t “outright” lie, which means he lies by omission. I realise I wouldn’t want to know everything he deals in, so I don’t call him out on it.
“Have you ever been in prison?”
“No. Does that surprise you?”
“Yes,” I reply truthfully.
“Why?”
“You’re a part of a motorcycle club, and I’ve heard rumours of what you guys get up to. I never pay attention or add to them, but I’ve heard them. The way you were last night… I don’t know. You must have a reputation, and reputations like that are built on bad deeds.”
He goes quiet. I’m about to apologise for being rude when he says, “I’ve done some bad things in my life to lock down my reputation. I don’t take shit from anyone, but you’d never see that side of me.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, and luckily, I’m saved from having to when the waiter brings out our food.
The aroma of my spaghetti and meatballs has my stomach rumbling and my mouth watering.
As I dig into a meatball, a thought occurs.
“Did Lexi ask you to bring me to dinner?”
