The shaved-head guy—the hot one—ambles toward the alley entrance. He has an easy grin on his face as he lights a cigarette.
The helmeted rider swings one leg off the bike in a smooth, unhurried motion.
Lou squints slightly.
“…Actually,” he says. “I take it back. That one might be a felony.”
“Lou.”
“I’m serious. Bald guy is fun trouble. He will buy you cheap tequila and maybe steal a street sign. Helmet guy looks like laws are suggestions. But he might tie you to his bed and have you thanking him for it.” He looks at me, “Bitch you’re considering it!”
“I’m not!” I protest.
The helmet rider finally pulls off his gloves, one finger at a time.
Lou leans in. “You’re literally drooling. There’s a puddle forming at your feet.”
“Stop it! I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
The helmeted rider finally turns his head toward us. The visor is a black mirror, and I know, I just know, he’s looking right at me.
“Go on,” Lou whispers, giving me a shove. “Worst case, you end up in a ditch, and I have a great story to tell. Best case, you don’t walk straight for a week.”
“Stop it!!!”
“Meeting someone is not a betrayal, Sisk. It’s called being alive. You have to move on.”
The shaved-head guy pushes off the wall, says something to his friend I can’t catch, and starts our way. His grin is all teeth and trouble.
Lou mutters, “Okay, decision time. Fun or fatal?”
“I’m not deciding anything.”
The shaved-head guy stops in front of us. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sends the cigarette flying. It lands in a nearby puddle with a faint, satisfying sizzle.
“Good crowd tonight,” he says, his eyes crawling all over me.
Lou answers first. “Depends on your definition of good.”
The guy smiles and his eyes find mine again. “You from around here?”
“Was,” I manage. “Just visiting.”
“Visiting?” He leans in a little, his voice drags lower. “How long do I have to convince you to stay forever?”
Lou glances past him, his eyes going wide. “…From the way your friend is coming in hot? I’d say about thirty seconds.”
I turn and he’s there. The helmeted rider, he’s closer now, and everything else fades into the background. His friend says something else to me but I miss it. I nod anyway, although my attention has already shifted.
The second rider stops, close enough for me to see the dark lines of a tattoo snaking under his collar. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t introduce himself, doesn’t even take off his helmet. He just tilts his head a little, like a question, and I’m ready to give him the answer.
Lou notices.
“Oh,” he murmurs.
The other guy notices too. He chuckles, backing away with his hands up. “Alright, alright. I know when I’m beat.” He winks at me. “He’s all yours.”
