Page 20 of Tito

7

Reggie

I’d never ridden on a motorcycle before. It wasn’t at all what I expected. I had every expectation of enjoying it. Quite the opposite was true. When we turned corners, I was sure we were going to tip over. When we came to a stop my stomach filled with fear that we’d rear end the car in front of us. Visions of my ragdoll-like self being flipped over the handlebars and into the street—only to be runover by another passing motorist—played over and over, like a scene from a M. Night Shyamalan horror movie.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was a bundle of shaking nerves.

He pulled off his helmet and glanced over his shoulder. “Are you always nervous when you ride?”

“I’m a motorcycle date virgin,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “It shows.”

After convincing myself we were no longer moving, I removed my helmet and handed it to him. “How?”

“You were tense the entire time.”

“How often do these things tip over?” I asked.

“With experienced riders? Providing no one crashes into you, never.”

“How often does someone crash into a motorcycle?”

“Per vehicle mile traveled, you’re less likely to be involved in a crash on a motorcycle than in a car,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Did you just make that up?”

He stepped off the motorcycle and reached for my hand. “It’s statistical data.”

“Oh.” I took his hand in mine. “Well, that makes me feel a little better. I was convinced we were going to die before we got here.”

He helped me off the motorcycle, which I thought was nice. Relieved that we made it to the restaurant alive and that the ride from hell was over, I eagerly followed him across the parking lot. Once inside, I searched for the restroom. A path worn through the dated seashell-pattern carpet marked the way to the bathroom, which was nestled at the end of a narrow corridor just inside the entrance.

Making a few adjustments to my appearance was going to be in my best interest, especially if I wanted our dinner date to go my way. I smiled at the elderly hostess and then glanced at Tito. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” He faced the woman, who seemed to have aged a little in the last sixty seconds. “Table for two.”

In slow motion, she removed two menus from the hostess station, then began to shuffle toward the center of the restaurant. “Follow me.”

She was adorable. I grinned at the sight, knowing I’d have ten or so minutes to kill while she was escorting Tito to the table. I glanced in his direction. “I’ll be right back.”

I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Despite wearing a helmet during our trip, my hair had exploded. I looked like Albert Einstein. If Albert Einstein had tits and a crease across his forehead, that is.

Across the middle of my forehead a crease remained, marking where the helmet had rested during the forty-five minutes of hell that I’d endured. Frustrated that I hadn’t thought of it before getting on the motorcycle, I quickly braided my hair. I made a few adjustments to my makeup and checked myself in the mirror. Short of the valley that ran from one side of my forehead to the other, I looked presentable.

I wasn’t going to capture his attention with my looks, that much I was sure of. My magnetic personality was all that remained. I’d lure him into my sexual web with wit, wisdom, and wanton behavior.

I glanced in his direction as I walked through the dining area. He was a handsome man, no doubt. It wasn’t his looks, however, that garnered my attention. There was a mysterious cloud of unknown that accompanied his being. I studied him, wondering just what it was that gave off that vibe.

I’d nearly reached the table before he made eye contact with me. When he did. I wagged my eyebrows playfully.

Straight-faced, he returned the gesture.

He had good eyebrows. They weren’t oddly shaped, and they didn’t meet in the middle, which was a pet peeve of mine.

I sat down across from him and offered an apologetic grin. “Sorry. My hair was a disaster.”

He looked me over. “I didn’t think so.”