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"Like the soccer team."
He took out his BlackBerry. "I'll do some digging myself."
"Thanks. I'd appreciate that."
Two CUPS OF coffee and an espresso creme brulee had not made Michael any steadier on his feet.
When we reached his car, I held out my hand. "Keys?"
"I'm good."
"Please tell me you're not one of those cops who thinks the laws don't apply to him."
"No, course not. I ..." He looked around, blinking, then nodded. "You're right. One glass too many. But you had--"
"One and a half, the last sip an hour ago, and I'm firie." I walked along a yellow line dividing parking spots. "Want me to do it backwards?"
"Sure."
I did, making him laugh ... and hand over the keys.
As I pulled out of the parking space, he said, "Watch out. She's got a lot of--"
I hit the gas, smacking him back in his seat. At the street, I braked, sending him snapping forward.
"Sweet," I said.
"Just be careful. You may not be impaired, but your reflexes could be a little--"
I tore off, accelerating, then hitting the corner fast and hard. Three blocks later I idled at a stop sign.
"Reflexes okay?" I said.
"Carry on."
I turned left.
"Actually, the highway is--" he began.
"Too many cars. Don't worry. I have an excellent sense of direction." I took the first left onto a back road. "Columbus is this way. Roughly."
I hit the gas.
I PARKED BESIDE my motorcycle.
"Good thing we took the back roads," he said. "One cop and you'd have been out of a license."
"Not too worried about that," I said as I got out.
He eyed me over the roof. "You do have your license, don't you?"
"Sure. I've got one."
"One?" He looked at my bike. "Please don't tell me--"
"Then don't ask. I'm honest, remember? Not necessarily law-abiding, but unrelentingly honest." I walked around and held out the keys. "And I do believe you're ready for these."
As I handed them over, he caught my hand.
