“Sometimes. But if I’m gonna sit on my ass all day today and drink beer I’d rather do it where I can watch something other than the guys whooping at the TV.” My gaze locks on Lennon’s, leaving no doubt what I plan on watching all day.
“Suit yourself.” He goes to pull his hand away, but I grip it harder.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind about the walk of shame, you might want to borrow something to wear.”
Lennon glances at the clothes in his hand before meeting my eyes with an uncharacteristically bashful expression. “I liked the look of those black jeans you had on the other day.”
***
After stocking the food in the cooler, and properly re-enacting our first encounter there, I settle in at the bar. Choosing the last spot on the far end, it gives me the perfect view of Lennon without having to turn my head from side-to-side.
People start to trickle in as soon as the doors open, the ladies with shopping bags opting for tables and the empty-handed folks heading for the barstools. I split my time between watching the crowd and the baseball game on the TV above the bar. That is, when I’m not focused on Lennon.
He’s behind the counter, filling drinks and running credit cards, spinning left and right faster than I rev my engine before the start of my run. It looks exhausting, but he wears a smile on his face the entire time, chatting and laughing with his staff and every customer that sits down. I don’t know why I find that so mesmerizing, but I can’t take my eyes off him.
As the clock hits noon, more people file in, and the seats closest to me are filled with a group of guys in bike shorts and ballcaps, just like my crew usually wears. It makes me feel right at home.
“You watching this game?” The guy closest to me asks, pointing at the TV.
“Not really, it was just on.”
“Mind if we change it? There’s a mountain biking event we want to watch.” He jerks his head toward the two guys that came in with him.
“I’d actually prefer biking to baseball.” There’s a lot of similarity between mountain biking and dirt biking. While I’m better with a motor, I like keeping up with everything on two wheels.
“Lennon, throw on Red Bull Rampage, will ya?” the guy hollers.
Lennon casts him a knowing smirk and changes the channel, then shouts to one of the servers. “Pay up, Beck. I called it.”
A brunette server slaps a bill into Lennon’s outstretched hand and turns to glare at the guy next to me. “Seriously, Blake. It’s Two Dollar Tuesday. That's the only reason you're drinking here instead of The Underground. You couldn’t order a drink before commandeering the TV? That cost me twenty bucks.”
“But… Red Bull Rampage,” Blake stutters. “It’s the premiere bike event. Invite only. The top fifteen ridersin the world.”
I happen to be familiar with this event, which features some of the gnarliest terrain you could ride on with two wheels, so I feel almost compelled to defend the guy. “If I’d known this was airing today, I’d have asked to change the channel nearly an hour ago,” I tell him.
“See?” Blake points to me as evidence. “He gets it.”
“He rides for a living,” the server, Beck, says, as Lennon slips his winnings in his pocket and goes to help another customer.
Blake looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Dirt bike?”
I nod and take a sip of my beer, hoping that discourages him from asking questions. Normally, I love talking about the bike, but today I’d rather enjoy the scenery behind the bar.
“Thought you looked familiar. Wait.” He turns back to Beck. “How do you know what he does?”
“He came in here a few days ago dressed like he just got done on the track.” Beck lifts a shoulder in a“duh”sort of way.
“That means he rides a bike for a living?” Blake shakes his head at him as though he should know better. “Half the town dresses like that.”
“They don’t have a camera guy,” Beck retorts without missing a beat. “But I’m out twenty and I need you to help me win it back.”
“Why do I have to be involved? I didn’t tell you to make that dumb bet.”
“Says the guy who makes a game out of stringing dirty drink names together. And you have to help because I won’t wait on you before the other customers if you don’t.” He jabs his finger at Blake’s chest.
Blake rubs at the spot with his palm, ignoring the two friends who laugh at his predicament. “I didn’t invent the game. I’m not even the top scorer.”
“But you still play, so you’re clearly not opposed to making bets that will help me win my money back.” Beck shoots Blake an evil grin before heading off to check on his tables.
