by Shay Savage
“There’s only one seat on the bike,” I said.
“You can have it.” He leaned back and the bike dropped from its perpetual wheelie right next to my feet. He continued to stand on a pair of pedals attached to the rear wheel. “I don’t need the seat.”
I looked at the bike, then back to that incredible half smile, and then back to the bike again.
“Just get on,” he said softly, but the words were still very much a demand. “I’ll make sure you get there on time.”
I had no idea what I was thinking, but suddenly I was sitting sidesaddle on a BMX bicycle, wearing a pencil skirt and spiked heels, flying down the sidewalk in the middle of the city. The boy was alternating between rapidly rotating the functional pedals, standing on the pedals attached to the back wheel, and balancing on the handlebars with his legs stretched out behind us. I couldn’t help but noticed the definition in his arm muscles as they tightened and flexed during that particular move.
He swerved around the pedestrians and hot dog stands as if he did this kind of thing every day, and he probably did. I held tightly to the inside part of the handlebars and just prayed I wasn’t going to fall off. I had to admit, he did get me to the Draganov Financial building with five minutes to spare.
“Thank you,” I said as he stopped the bike and lifted me off the seat with both hands while balancing the bike with the toe of one foot.
“My pleasure,” he responded. “Will you have dinner with me now?”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, stammering.
“Why not?” he asked, his eyes narrowing a little. His hand went up to push a loose strand of hair out of his eyes but only ended up pulling more hair from the tie at the back of his head. “Do you already have a date?”
“No, but…”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, I…”
“You’re not wearing a ring.” He gestured towards my left hand with his head.
“I’m not married. I just…”
“You are going to eat tonight, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course, but…”
“Why not, then?”
“I don’t even know you!” I finally blurted out.
“Well, I know that,” he said with another smile. “The whole idea of going to dinner is for us to get to know each other.”
“But I’m going to be here for hours,” I said. “I’m not even sure when I’ll be done.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said. He pointed to the ground beneath his feet. “Right here. I didn’t have any other plans today, so it’s no big deal at all.”
“I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“Ethan. Now will you go to dinner with me?”
“Well, Ethan”—I sighed, finally giving in—“I’m Ashlyn. And I guess if you really feel like waiting that long, I’ll look for you when I get out. If you are still here, maybe we can go to dinner.”
“Sweet,” he said, the half-smile returning. He maneuvered the bike behind him with one hand and stepped up closer to me. His tongue darted out and twisted the hoops in a circle through his lip. “Can I kiss you?”
“What?” I gasped. “No!”
“Okay,” he said, still smiling. “I’m gonna go get a couple things, but I’ll be back here in an hour. I know just where to take you.”
I glanced at my phone. Three minutes before two o’clock.
“I won’t be done until after six,” I said.
“That’s cool,” he responded, sitting on the seat of his bike and lighting a cigarette with a chrome-plated Zippo lighter. “I’m gonna go grab something, but then I’ll be right back here.”
He pedaled off slowly without looking back, perfectly balanced on the bike—one hand holding the cigarette and the other tapping on his phone.
I shook my head and went into the building.
Chapter 3—Interview
The interviews went fine, of course. I mean, having my dad ask me a bunch of questions about my GPA and why I wanted to go into accounting was ridiculous, but we played the game for the sake of appearances anyway. The current CFO and my immediate supervisor would be Helen Dragonov, my father’s older sister who didn’t even bother asking me about my schooling. Instead, we talked about my stepmother’s upcoming party.
“I swear, Miles makes a bigger deal out of it than Sue does,” Helen said. “He tries to tell everyone that she’s the instigator of such things, but my brother loves to show the estate off to anyone who will come around.”
“That sounds like Dad.” I laughed.
“He’s always been that way,” she said. “Even as a child, he would get angry if one of his playmates didn’t come to his birthday parties.”
“He still gets mad about that.” We both laughed, and Helen glanced down at her notebook. “I think we’re probably done here. I already know everything about you, so I’m not sure we have anything to talk about unless you have any questions.”
“Not right now.”
“If you think of any, we can talk about them during Sunday’s luncheon.”
After the round of interviews and introductions to the only two board members I hadn’t known since I was twelve, Dad took me to the room that would become my office. I met three women there and ended up interviewing each of them as my potential secretary. I met so many people and talked so much small talk, I was about to scream. Besides, my thoughts kept meandering outside.
I wondered if Ethan was really out there, waiting for me. I wondered if I should maybe go out the back door and avoid the whole situation, but that would be exceedingly rude, wouldn’t it? I had already told him I would look for him, and if he really did spend his whole afternoon waiting for me, I couldn’t decline his dinner invitation, could I?
Did I even want to?
One thing was certain: I wasn’t about to tell my father that I had a date because he’d insist on meeting the guy. I could just imagine how that would go! Dad would throw a fit when he found out I didn’t really know Ethan, and then if he actually saw him—all pierced and tattooed and riding a freaking bicycle—yeah, let’s just say it wouldn’t go over very well. I forced myself to focus on a little more corporate talk before Dad said he needed to leave to get ready for a dinner engagement.
“One thing about Vanessa,” Dad said to an aging board member, “she doesn’t care if you forget a birthday or anniversary, but dinner engagements with her sister and brother-in-law are not to be taken lightly!”
They both chuckled, and I wondered if Dad’s third wife had actually ever become angry about anything. I couldn’t see it. I gave Dad a quick kiss on the cheek and told him I would see him next weekend, and then I rushed down the hallway to get outside as quickly as I could. I pushed the elevator button for the lobby level about thirty times, just in case it really did make the door close faster. Once the doors opened again, I stepped out of the elevator, trying to decide if I was going to feel relieved or devastated if I did not find Ethan on the sidewalk outside the building.
The sun was peering out between two skyscrapers, and I could see the light shining through the spokes of the bicycle’s wheels and the faint glow of Ethan’s cigarette. I walked slowly towards him.
“Hey,” he said casually. He tossed the butt of the cigarette into the gutter and held out a small shopping bag towards me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Shoes,” he said with a shrug. He pointed down at the heels still squashing my toes. “You don’t want to wear those anymore.”
I peered into the little, unmarked black bag and found a pair of pink Converse high-tops with small, black, cartoon kittens all over them.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” I asked.
“Put them on, obviously,” he said. “You wear a seven and a half, right?”
“Yes…how did you know that?”
That smile came back, this time with both sides of his mouth turning up and his teeth rubbing against the thin metal rings
in his lip.
“I have a thing for feet,” he said and then blushed. He actually blushed. “Put them on—they’re really comfortable. Here…”
He moved off the bike and held it steady, indicating that I should sit on the seat to change my shoes. As ridiculous as it was, my feet were killing me, and getting out of the heels sounded blissful. I looked at the ridiculous shoes in the bag, then at my $1500 executive-wear designer skirt and blouse.
“I don’t think they match my outfit,” I told him.
“Who gives a shit?” he asked, looking at me quizzically. “We’re not going to the fucking Candelabra downtown. No one is going to be looking at your shoes, and you’ll feel better.”
I couldn’t really argue with his logic but found myself looking around for anyone I might know exiting the building. When I didn’t see anyone, I sat down on the bike and pulled off the heels. Once I had the Converse laced up, I dropped my dress shoes in the bag.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when I noticed Ethan glowering at the bag in my hand.
“I don’t suppose you would let me burn those fuckers, would you?”
“The shoes?” I asked, incredulous. I thought of the look that would be on Presley’s face if her shoes were about to be tossed into a fire. “No! Of course not!”
“I figured,” he grumbled.
“Why would you want to do that?”
He looked up at my face again and gave me the same questioning look he had before.
“They hurt you,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t like them.”
He guided me on to the seat of the BMX and took off down the sidewalk in the same fashion we had before. I held tightly to the middle of the handlebars, with his hands on the outside. His thumb reached over slightly and ran down the length of my little finger.
“Your skin is so soft,” he said quietly, his lips near my ear. I felt my body shudder, whether at his touch or his soft voice, I didn’t know. I leaned back just enough to feel his chest against my back as he veered off the sidewalk, onto the road, and then back on the sidewalk across the street.
It wasn’t long before Ethan pulled into a side alley and parked his bike next to a brick building. There was a white door propped open, and the smell of simmering tomato sauce and fresh bread wafted out into the air around us. Ethan took my hand to help me off the bike and then looked down at my fingers wrapped up in his. He glanced up at my eyes, quickly looked back down again, smiling that crooked smile and—holy shit—blushed again. He kept a light grip on my fingers and pulled me through the kitchen door.
“Isn’t there a front door?”
“Sure,” Ethan said. “But it’s all the way around in the front.”
He led me through the bright white lights and stainless steel of the kitchen, calling out “yo” a couple of times and nodding his head at the kitchen staff. One of the guys with a floppy chef’s hat whistled, and Ethan told him to fuck off but smiled when he said it. The kitchen erupted in laughter just as we reached a set of saloon doors that opened into a small dining room with about twelve tables in it. Each table had a tiny votive candle and tiny vase with a single white rose in it. The linens were deep red and added to the atmospheric warmth emitted by the dark-stained hardwood floors.
It was quaint, cozy, and undoubtedly the most romantic place I had ever been.
“Hi, Ethan!” A tall woman with long, striking red hair and wearing a hostess uniform reached out and grazed her fingers down his arm. I bristled and glared at her. I mean, I realize this was a first date and all, but she didn’t necessarily know that. Even if she did, that was just rude. I stepped a little closer to Ethan’s side and wrapped the fingers of my free hand around his arm.
“Hey, Sheila,” Ethan said, looking sideways at me. “This is Ashlyn.”
“Ashlyn,” Sheila said. She looked over my outfit, all the way down to my shoes, and I could have sworn she was smirking. “Right this way.”
Sheila led us to the table in the middle of the small establishment, and I started to sit, but Ethan pulled me back to his side.
“Not here,” he said in a low voice. He turned to Sheila and indicated with his head. “Over on the other side of the fireplace.”
“Fine,” Sheila replied in a surly tone while flipping her hair. She took us around to the back of a large, round fireplace designed to sit in the middle of the room.
“This place has the best Italian food in the city,” Ethan said after we sat down and Sheila left. “Alfero makes everything from scratch; he even makes his own mozzarella. I worked here for a while, and he showed me how to make it. It’s really cool.”
“That’s sounds interesting,” I said with a nod. “How long did you work here?”
“Just that one day.”
“You worked here for one day?”
“Yeah, it doesn’t take that long to make the cheese—just a few hours, and most of that is waiting for it to cool.”
“That doesn’t seem like much of a job,” I said.
“That’s okay. I got paid in pizzas!” Ethan laughed. “I got to use the cheese I made on it.”
“So, where do you work now?” I asked, starting to fear the answer.
“Well, I’m kind of between jobs,” Ethan said, granting me a vision of his half-smile again. “I was working down at the pier with one of the crab boats a couple of weeks ago, but they were heading up to Alaska this week, and I didn’t want to be away from my friends that long.”
“Dare I ask how long you worked fishing for crabs?”
“Oh, I didn’t do the actual fishing,” he said, snickering again. “I went out on the boat and played my guitar while they were working. Once we got back, I helped them unload.”
“Did you get paid in crabs?” I had to ask.
“Nah, I don’t really like seafood,” he said. “I just wanted to know what it was like on the boats. I’d seen them out in the water all my life, but I had never been on one.”
“So you got actual money for that job?”
“Nah,” he said again. “I just needed something on my resume.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to decide if he was serious or not. His eyes were laughing, and he was biting those rings in his lip again.
“You’re teasing me.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a shrug. “So what were you interviewing for?”
“Draganov Financial,” I said, not really wanting him to dig into this subject.
“What do you want to do?”
I considered saying something along the lines of “Absolutely nothing at my Dad’s company,” but I decided that was probably a little too much information at this point.
“I’m looking into one of the assistant executive positions,” I finally said. “I graduate next month with my master’s in accounting and business administration.”
“Oh,” he said. He scowled down at the table and started fiddling with the napkin-wrapped silverware.
A big guy dressed in all white stopped by the table just then, calling out in lightly accented phrases.
“Ethan! Good to see you again!”
“Hey, Alfero,” Ethan said, standing up and shaking the guy’s hand. “I’d like you to meet Ashlyn.”
“Wonderful to meet you, Ashlyn,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it lightly. “Watch out for this one; he’s a charmer.”
I smiled and looked away, trying to force myself not to blush. I probably wasn’t successful. When I glanced back at Ethan, I saw he was blushing as well, so I decided not to worry about it too much.
“Do you know what you want tonight?” Alfero asked, looking at me.
“Umm…I’m not sure yet,” I said, looking down at the menu for the first time. “Ethan? What are you getting?”
“I want a caprese salad,” Ethan said. “And a margarita pizza, bruschetta, the fettuccini Alfredo and a Coke. You got vanilla gelato today?”
“Of course,” Alfero responded. “I made it this afternoon.”
/> “Vanilla gelato for dessert.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Are you going to eat all of that?”
“Nah,” Ethan said. “I like everything, so I can never pick what I want. I take the leftovers to CeeCee and Gwen.”
I shook my head at him, trying to figure out what the heck I had gotten myself into with this guy. I glanced over the menu once more and decided on the eggplant Parmesan.
“Are you in school?” I asked when Alfero left with our order.
“No,” Ethan said. He didn’t look at me and didn’t seem to be prepared to elaborate. Just as I was about to change the subject, he spoke up again. “I had to drop out.”
“Oh.”
“I got hurt in high school,” he said, shrugging again. “I did a lot of track and field, mostly pole vaulting. I hit my head coming down when I was sixteen and ended up in a coma for a couple of days. I spent about a month in the hospital before I could go home. I have trouble reading now. All right, that’s not really true. I can’t read now, which made college pretty much impossible. I tried using someone to read everything to me, but it was just too cumbersome.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure how to respond.
“It’s okay,” he said. The corners of his mouth turned up, but it didn’t hit his eyes this time. “I graduated from high school, at least.”
“How old are you?” I asked, immediately regretting the question.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“A little,” I said. I tried to laugh it off. “I mean, can you at least buy me a drink?”
“No,” he replied and flashed that incredible half grin again. “But if you want one, you can order it, and I’ll slip you some cash when no one is looking.”
I think my mouth must have dropped open as I stared in disbelief. Ethan suddenly looked away, and his hand went up into his hair, making it impossibly messier than it already was.
“I’m nineteen,” he blurted out.
I felt my heart sink.
