Knocked Up and Tied Down

by Melinda Minx

  She looks up at me and smiles nervously, then waves.

  I smile back, trying to ignore all the empty chairs.

  “Did I miss the class?” I ask. “I thought it was—”

  “No,” she says, “Just... very low attendance today.”

  “Oh,” I say, “We can wait for more to show—”

  “I think you’re it,” she says.

  I lean my back against the wall, then I grab one of the empty chairs and slide it a few feet forward. “No problem, let’s go.”

  She starts lecturing, but it’s very dry and to the point. She’s basically just listing off stuff as if she were reading from some kind of New York State bicycle law handbook.

  I listen patiently for about ten minutes, but I realize I’m completely zoning out. I catch myself just checking out her legs a few times. And her tits. When I look back up I see her blushing nervously at me.

  “Hey,” I say, interrupting her lecture.

  Her eyes widen, and she looks down at me confused.

  I stand up. “Didn’t you say we’re going to go for a ride at the second part of class?”

  “Yeah,” she says, “But I’m not done…”

  “I’m a visual learner,” I say. “Since I’m the only student, you should adapt the class to my learning style.”

  “Uhh, okay,” she says nervously chewing her lip.

  “Let’s go then,” I say, grabbing hold of my bike.

  Ruth grabs her bike from the back and straps her helmet on. “Wilson, I’ll be back in thirty.”

  The bearded guy just grunts at her.

  We get outside, and I notice when I’m standing next to her that her arm is still pretty cut up and bruised.

  “Hey,” I say, tapping her forearm. “Is your arm okay?”

  She bites her lip and looks at me. “Yeah, it’s getting there.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  She opens her mouth a couple of times to respond, but no words come out.

  “If it’s bike safety related,” I say, “you can use it as a teaching aide.”

  I laugh, but she looks seriously at me.

  “Okay, you’re right,” she says. “You know the left and right turn hand signals for bike riders?”

  “Those dorky hand signals that literally no one uses?” I ask, holding my right arm up at a right angle.

  Her eyes widen, and she looks down.

  Shit, I’m guessing she uses those.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t mean—”

  “No,” she says, “You’re right. It’s the left hand, by the way. Anyway, I used that dorky hand signal, and the guy thought I was going to turn left instead of right, because literally no one knows which signal is which, and then this happened.” She holds out her cut up arm.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to be honest, if I were behind someone who did that, I’d think they were turning left too.”

  She nods. “So I guess the lesson is... the most important thing when biking in the city is to make sure drivers know what you are going to do. You can’t expect people who drive to educate themselves.”

  “The way I bike is probably going to give you a heart attack,” I say, grinning.

  “How do you mean?” she asks.

  “I’ll show you,” I say. “You can tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

  We get on our bikes and ride on Henry Street north along the East River. There’s a ton of congestion from cars and pedestrians.

  “I’ll ride in front,” I say, “Just tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

  It’s pretty fun seeing her get all worked up, so I decide to ride as recklessly as possible, just to get a rise out of her.

  As soon as we approach a red light with a line of ten or so cars backed up, I just roll up onto the sidewalk without signaling at all. There’s a bunch of people on the sidewalk, so I just shout, “Bikes coming through! Bikes!”

  Everyone gives us pissed off looks as they jump out of our way, I look back at Ruth and grin, giving her a thumbs up.

  The look on her face is priceless. Her jaw is dropped open, and she’s waving her hand at me to get off the sidewalk. “Eric, no!”

  I have to look forward again to shout more pedestrians out of the way. “Bikes coming through! Yield!”

  I look back at her and see that she’s following me on the sidewalk, but she’s mouthing sorry and excuse me to everyone she passes, and they are all scowling at her.

  “Great thing about a bike,” I say back to her, “Is you can go on the road like a car, but when the road is blocked, you can just shift over and be like a pedestrian. The best of both worlds.”

  I look away from her before she can respond.

  We hit the crosswalk, but it’s a red walk signal, and there are at least a dozen people waiting in front of us.

  “See,” I say, pointing up at the green traffic light. “Now we can just act like cars and go on the road again and—”

  She grabs my arm. “Eric, please let me go in front.”

  “Oh?” I say, “Am I doing something wrong?”

  She looks at me dead serious. “You’re doing everything wrong. It’s a miracle you are still alive if you’ve been riding like this.”

  “Not like a car can hit me on the sidewalk,” I say.

  “Someone could stab you for being an asshole.”

  I laugh loud and hard, but she doesn’t laugh, she’s still holding my arm, I realize, and she’s frowning.

  “Sorry,” I say, faking remorse because it was worth it to see her reaction. “You’re right, I saw the way everyone was looking at me.”

  “This isn’t Iowa,” she says. “You can’t ride your bike around on the sidewalk. I’m going to get in front of you, and you can learn from me the right way to do it, alright?”

  I nod, “Got it, teacher.”

  I let Ruth in front, and I find myself looking at her ass more than the road. The skirt looks good on her when she’s leaning forward onto those drop handlebars.

  We stop behind a line of cars at the next red light, and I pull up beside her. “Shouldn’t we at least move up to the light?”

  She shakes her head, “It’s better to stay with the flow of traffic, just because you’re on a bike doesn’t give you the right to pass everyone by.”

  “We take up less space,” I say.

  “Eric, after seeing how you ride, you don’t get to make any judgement calls,” she says, showing me a little sass.

  I put up both hands, “Okay, you’re in charge then.”

  We ride on like that, going almost no faster than the cars in front of us.

  “At this point,” I say, braking at another intersection. “We might as well just take the train, or buy a car and go as slow.”

  She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “I only took this route to show you how to handle car-heavy roads. You want to find a route on your daily commute that circumvents most of the traffic. I’d never go down this road if I were riding outside of the safety course. Let me show you.”

  She signals a turn, and we turn right at the green light. I follow her down a narrow road with a bunch of cars parked on the roadside. It’s super narrow, but there are very few cars actually driving. The road is surrounded by tall trees that offer a nice amount of shade.

  “Better?” she asks, smiling back at me.

  “Yeah,” I say, “Much better.”

  “It’s the same concept as avoiding Disneyworld on Labor Day and Times Square on New Year’s Eve,” she explains.

  I actually have a buddy with a place right on Times Square. We sit on his terrace overlooking everything—all of the excitement, none of the crowds. Not that I’ll tell Ruth that.

  “Makes sense,” I say.

  We reach the East Village, and I see a Thai restaurant I’ve been meaning to try.

  “Hey,” I say, “let’s stop here.”

  I jump off my bike and walk it onto the sidewalk. Ruth brakes and gets off, but just looks over at me instead of following.

  �
��Where are you going?” she asks.

  “It’s lunch time,” I say, and point at the Thai place.

  “I have to get back to work though,” she says.

  “Just tell them the truth, your student is a total dumbass, and you had to do extensive re-education to prevent him from killing himself on the road.”

  “Or the sidewalk,” she says.

  “Right,” I agree, and without thinking, I grab her by the hand. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  Her cheeks redden, and she looks up at me, quickly pulling away her hand. “I can pay for myself.”

  “I invited you. It’s my treat,” I say with a smirk.

  I grab the lock off my bike and snap it onto the bike rack outside the restaurant, Ruth frowns down at me.

  “Something wrong?” I ask.

  “You want to lock it through the spokes too, or your wheel will get stolen”

  She takes her lock out and shows me.

  I redo my lock, and shake my head. “I can’t believe some lowlife would still a damn bike wheel.”

  6

  Ruth

  Why is he inviting me to lunch? What’s this guy’s deal?

  I can’t believe I’m still attracted to him after he nearly ran over everyone on the sidewalk. In principle I hate people who do that, but somehow Eric completely shattering every rule of the road was charming or endearing. It was almost like he knew he was being an asshole, and just didn’t care.

  Which should be even worse, but—

  “Come on,” he says, holding the door for me.

  I smile and step inside. I can tell straightaway that the place is out of my price range. There’s an aquarium with brightly colored fish floating around, an indoor waterfall, and fancily dressed wait staff. Luckily, Eric didn’t let me agree to pay for myself, though I still feel weird knowing he’s going to pay. It’s not like he owes me for the bike safety class, and if he doesn’t feel like he owes me, then what is this exactly? It sure as hell can’t be a date, right?

  “Two please,” Eric says to the hostess.

  She smiles pleasantly and says, “We’re only taking reservations right now, do you have a—”

  Eric rests his elbows onto the little hostess stand, leaning in close. She crosses her arms at first, clearly annoyed, but within a few moments she’s laughing at his flirtation. And why wouldn’t he flirt with her? She’s gorgeous. Shiny blonde hair, perfectly coiffed and sophisticated, nothing like my own. She looks like she could stand beside Eric in one of his suits and compliment him perfectly, whereas I’m standing beside a casually dressed Eric and stick out like a sore thumb.

  He’s speaking in a low voice, so I can’t really tell what he’s saying. At some point I see him slip something to her, and she gestures toward a waitress, calling her forward.

  “Right this way,” the waitress says, and I see the hostess smile over at Eric as the waitress walks us to our table.

  “What did you do?” I whisper to him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says.

  I can’t help but worry about it… If he was flirting with her right in front of me, it means this isn’t anything more than him taking me to lunch to thank me for the lesson. My heart sinks a bit and I feel foolish for even thinking for a second that this could be more. I wish I would’ve insisted that we go back to the shop and never seen each other again.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks after the waitress leaves to fill our drink orders.

  “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head and faking a smile.

  “Hmm,” he mutters, grabbing his menu. Then he says without looking up at me, “I’m pretty sure something is wrong.” He shrugs, changing the subject. “I usually get some kind of green curry at Thai places.”

  I grab the menu and look down at it, if only to avoid looking at or talking to him.

  This is why I never date anyone. I feel like it comes so easy to people like Maya. When you’re beautiful like she is, it’s a given that a man is asking you out. I see it happen at the shop with her; a hot guy just gives her that look, grinning like a fool, and straight out asks, “Wanna go out sometime?”

  From there, she knows it’s a date, and that the guy is interested in her.

  The few times that I have been asked out, the guy hadn’t been flirting with me. It always leaves me wondering if the guy is actually interested in me or being weirdly polite. Like with Eric, did he take my hand because he is interested, or is he just a touchy feely kind of person?

  I’ve been in the situation before… we’ll go out a few times and I’ll become more confident that the guy really is interested, only to get the “good friend” speech when I get brave enough to show my own interest. I refuse to let that happen with Eric.

  My eyes glaze over the menu, and I sigh.

  “Can’t decide either?” Eric asks.

  No. I have decided. I’m not going to let another guy string me along like this.

  I put the menu down, turning my gaze to him. “What is your deal? Why are you taking me out to lunch?”

  “Can’t two people just go out to lunch together?” He asks.

  “No, they really can’t.”

  He laughs, “It seems to me like we are two people at lunch together, thus meaning it’s possible.”

  “You know what I mean,” I say. “Do you feel obligated to buy me lunch since I helped you pick out a bike and showed you how to not get killed on the road?”

  “I don’t do obligation,” he quickly replies. “I only do what I want to do.”

  I grind my teeth together. For someone who tries to sound all matter-of-fact and to the point, he sure takes his time beating around the bush.

  “And what do you want to do with me?” I ask.

  I feel embarrassed asking it, and normally I never would. Maybe it’s the borrowed confidence from wearing Tracy’s clothes or having the attention of a man who’d never normally give me the time of day, but I’m feeling very non-Ruth like, so I ask.

  He shrugs, “Who says you’re even interested?”

  His response is so offhanded that it takes a second for his words to sink in. Why wouldn’t I be interested? Has he ever looked in a mirror?

  “I think I am going to have green curry, but not chicken,” he says as if the topic is closed.

  I grab the menu out of his hand and lay it flat on the table.

  “Maybe I am,” I say honestly. “At least I think I am, but if you’re not, just tell me now.”

  “You’re going to have the green curry too?” he asks, flashing me the most insufferable grin I’ve ever seen.

  I consider just getting up and walking out now, before I waste more time on this.

  Actually, I will walk out right now.

  I slide my chair back and stand up.

  But Eric grabs my hand, holding me in place.

  “Let go,” I mutter.

  “I’m interested,” he says. “Now sit back down.”

  I hesitate for a moment, but the flutter in my stomach feels too good, and I sit back down. I’m sure I’ll regret it, but I can’t help myself.

  “Even if you’re no fun,” he says. “Don’t you like boxing?”

  What in the world does boxing have to do with anything? I’m considering leaving, but curiosity gets the best of me so I decide to see where he’s going with this.

  “No, I don’t like boxing,” I say, staring at the tablecloth rather than him.

  “Okay,” he says, “But you’ve at least seen the video of Mike Tyson biting off Evander Holyfield’s ear, right?”

  That has me questioning again what this has to do with anything?

  I shrug. “Yeah, I saw it, I think.”

  Eric leans back like he’s about to tell a story. I find myself listening even though I’m annoyed with him. With his whiskey smooth voice, it’s easy to give in to humoring him.

  “I’d just turned 13,” he says. “My dad was old school New York working class, and he loved his boxing. As a younger kid, I used to pretend to be a boxer
while my dad and uncle watched the matches. To me, it mostly just looked like two guys punching each other—”

  “It is just two guys punching each other,” I interrupt.

  He holds up a finger indicating he’s about to prove me wrong. “To the untrained eye. Anyway, that whole spring my dad had me take boxing lessons. I didn’t like it at first, but after a few months it all clicked for me. Suddenly I was into it, I understood that it was way more than just two guys punching each other.”

  “Were you good?” I ask.

  “I thought I was,” he says, grinning. “Of course I wasn’t, not yet at least. That wasn’t the point though. The point was that I understood what the commentators were talking about now, and I could talk to my dad and uncle about it, bond with them, all that kind of shit. The first big match I really got excited about was Tyson and Holyfield’s rematch. Holyfield was an underdog, at least until he’d knocked out Tyson several months before. This was their big rematch, and everyone—especially me—was excited as hell.

  “My uncle ordered it on Pay-per-view, and a bunch of guys went over there to watch it. My dad brought me. Finally, I felt like one of the guys rather than just a kid tagging along. I remember we grilled steaks before the fight, and everyone was predicting how the fight might go down. We all wanted a big drawn-out thing, seven rounds or more.”

  He smiles, losing himself a bit in his story, like he’s back there as a 13-year-old boy. It’s kind of endearing, though I still have no clue where he’s going with this story.