trailed off, scrunching my exposed toes.
He shot an impatient glare in my direction. âOh, get on. Iâll go slow.â
âWhat is that?â I asked, reading the writing on the gas tank too late.
âItâs a Harley Night Rod. Sheâs the love of my life, so donât scratch the paint when you get on.â
âIâm wearing flip-flops!â
Travis stared at me as if Iâd spoken a foreign language. âIâm wearing boots. Get on.â
He slipped on his sunglasses, and the engine snarled when he brought it to life. I climbed on and reached behind me for something to grab on to, but my fingers slipped from leather to the plastic cover of the taillight.
Travis grabbed my wrists and wrapped them around his middle. âThereâs nothing to hold on to but me, Pidge. Donât let go,â he said, pushing the bike backward with his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled onto the street, and took off like a rocket. The pieces of my hair that hung loose beat against my face, and I ducked behind Travis, knowing I would end up with bug guts on my glasses if I looked over his shoulder.
He gunned the throttle when we pulled into the driveway of the restaurant, and once he slowed to astop, I wasted no time scrambling to the safety of the concrete.
âYouâre a lunatic!â
Travis chuckled, leaning his bike onto its kickstand before dismounting. âI went the speed limit.â
âYeah, if we were on the Autobahn!â I said, pulling out my bun to separate the rats with my fingers.
Travis watched me pull hair away from my face and then walked to the door, holding it open. âI wouldnât let anything happen to you, Pigeon.â
I stormed past him into the restaurant, my head not quite in sync with my feet. Grease and herbs filled the air as I followed him across the red, breadcrumb-speckled carpet. He chose a booth in the corner, away from the patches of students and families, and then ordered two beers. I scanned the room, watching the parents coaxing their boisterous children to eat, and looking away from the inquisitive glances of Eastern students.
âSure, Travis,â the waitress said, writing down our drink orders. She looked a bit high from his presence as she returned to the kitchen.
I tucked the windblown hairs behind my ears, suddenly embarrassed by my appearance. âCome here often?â I asked acerbically.
Travis leaned on the table with his elbows, his brown eyes fixated on mine. âSo whatâs your story, Pidge? Are you a man-hater in general, or do you just hate me?â
âI think itâs just you,â I grumbled.
He laughed once, amused at my mood. âI canât figure you out. Youâre the first girl thatâs ever beendisgusted with me before sex. You donât get all flustered when you talk to me, and you donât try to get my attention.â
âItâs not a ploy. I just donât like you.â
âYou wouldnât be here if you didnât like me.â
My frown involuntarily smoothed and I sighed. âI didnât say youâre a bad person. I just donât like being a foregone conclusion for the sole reason of having a vagina.â I focused on the grains of salt on the table until I heard a choking noise from Travisâ direction.
His eyes widened and he quivered with howling laughter. âOh my God! Youâre killing me! Thatâs it. We have to be friends. I wonât take no for an answer.â
âI donât mind being friends, but that doesnât mean you have to try to get in my panties every five seconds.â
âYouâre not sleeping with me. I get it.â
I tried not to smile, but failed.
His eyes brightened. âYou have my word. I wonât even think about your pantiesâ¦unless you want me to.â
I rested my elbows on the table and leaned into them. âAnd that wonât happen, so we can be