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“Oh, hello,” she says, looking a bit startled to see me.
“Tori, this is Lainey. Lainey Bird, this is Tori, Ox’s wife.”
Tori extends a hand and I greet her. She smiles warmly and gives Connor a sideways glance I can’t interpret.
“My name is Elaine, actually,” I stammer to this gorgeous woman. She looks me up and down and her gaze falls on my jeans.
“Nice jeans,” she says. “And don’t mind Connor. He and Ox give nicknames to everyone. I’m Victoria. And my husband’s name is actually Bryan. Although I can’t remember the last time anyone ever called him that.” She waves her hands, dismissing her brain’s obvious desire to remember.
“What’s your nickname then?” I look up at Connor who is still giving this woman an odd look.
“I like Tarzan,” he smirks.
“Tarzan?” Tori says laughing. “He used to be known as Heathen once upon a time, which I think fit him pretty well while it lasted.”
“Heathen?” I ask, raising my brows at him in question.
“Enough show and tell. Ox, seriously man. Just bring it already.”
“It’s done. It needs to rest a minute though,” Ox calls out from the kitchen. He enters moments later carrying a steaming pie that looks to be nearly two feet across. It’s shaped like a dormant volcano filled with cheese, sausage, peppers, mushrooms and bits of bacon. The smell is unbelievable. My mouth immediately waters. Inner Foodie polishes up her fork and knife. This is going to be so good.
Ox drops it in the center of the table and Conner pulls over a stack of plates. A huge knife shaped in a semicircle rocks across the pizza, neatly dividing it into eight giant slices.
Tori slides into the booth and pats the bench beside her for me to sit next to her. I slide in and watch long strands of mozzarella cheese stretch up as Ox serves each person a fat slice of deep dish.
“I’ve been thinking since it is such a nice day, maybe we should take the bikes out after lunch. Can you spare the day, Tarzan?” Tori asks, taking a sip of her soda and giving Connor an inquisitive smirk over her glass.
Connor returns her gaze with what I’d call an icy glare. But his voice remains calm and kind. “Possibly. I’ll see if Lincoln can cover for me. Where did you want to go?”
“The ride along the river is always fun,” Ox chimes in. “What do you say, Lainey, wanna go with us?”
I chew what can only be described as pure heaven melted onto the most delicious crust known to man. It’s crisp and buttery, oozing with a garlicky sauce. Stuffed with sausage and spicy pepperoni, I feel it slide down my chin and I don’t even care. Connor wasn’t kidding. Ox knows how to cook a deep dish. I lived in Chicago for years and never had anything this good. My Inner Foodie fights the urge to moan out loud.
“Um … ride?” I ask, cooling the heat of red pepper flakes in my mouth with my soda. Something tells me they’re not talking about bicycles.
“Yeah, you’ve been on the back of a bike before, right?” Ox interjects, chewing. “Or are you a virgin?”
I flush slightly at his use of the term. “Um, if you mean a motorcycle, then no. I’ve never been on one before.”
Ox shoots Connor a look. He only nods back and then pulls out his phone and taps a quick text. Within seconds, it buzzes with a reply. He stuffs it back into his pocket and gives me a glance that hints I’m very much going to regret coming here today.
“Well then, today’s your lucky day, Lainey Bird.”
* * *
Connor’s “bike,” as he calls it, looks more like a piece of art than a machine. He tells me it’s an Indian. It’s solid black with bright flames of chrome that spiral and weave through the exposed motor. The tank has a subdued Indian head, the manufacturer’s logo, I learn, embossed with iridescent pearl black paint. The long leather seat can easily fit two people. It looks sleek, fast and like I should make sure my health insurance policy is all paid up before I get on it with him. But there’s no time for second-guessing. The peer pressure weighs down on me like the heat of the summer sun, forcing me to muster every ounce of courage I can. I throw my leg over the bike, feeling my inner thigh muscles stretch. I’m not an overly religious woman, but I pray as if my life depends on it. Because at this moment, I honestly feel like it does.
“OK,” Connor begins, stuffing my head into a helmet that feels much too tight. “Keep your arms around me and hold on tight. Try not to fight the movement or tilt of the bike. Go with it. I promise I won’t let you fall off, and I won’t dump us onto the pavement.”
I nod and swallow hard. Good to know that dumping onto the pavement is a thing. I hadn’t imagined that particular disaster yet. My stomach twists in knots around the pizza I just ate. It’s a warm June day and sweat starts beading on my lip and in my hair under the helmet, which is also black to match the bike.
“We’re not going far,” he promises.
Tori and Ox look like they were built to be on the massive bike they just mounted. Tori tucks herself behind Ox like a pro. He has a Harley with long handlebars that would stretch any mortal man out like a medieval torture device. But for his oversized frame, they seem just right. Tori snaps on her helmet and I can somehow hear her voice in a tiny speaker over my ear inside my own helmet.
“Don’t worry, Lainey. Riding a bike is just like having sex. You hold onto the man and let him do all the work.”
Laughter now floods my ears as the two men enjoy Tori’s joke. But it manages to break the tension, and I do feel slightly more at ease.
