rin, and I turned up my anger a notch, hoping it would cover my unease. I didn’t know how most girls felt around him, but I’d seen how they behaved. I was experiencing more of a disoriented, nauseated feeling than giggly infatuation, and the harder he worked to make me smile, the more unsettled I felt.
“I’m already impressed. I don’t normally have to beg girls to come to my apartment.”
“I’m sure,” I said, screwing my face into disgust.
He was the worst kind of confident. Not only was he shamelessly aware of his appeal, he was so used to women throwing themselves at him that he regarded my cool demeanor as refreshing instead of an insult. I would have to change my strategy.
America pointed the remote at the television and switched it on. “There’s a good movie on tonight. Anyone want to find out where Baby Jane is?”
Travis stood up. “I was just heading out for dinner. You hungry, Pidge?”
“I already ate,” I shrugged.
“No you haven’t,” America said before realizing her mistake. “Oh…er…that’s right, I forgot you grabbed a…pizza? Before we left.”
I grimaced at her miserable attempt to fix her blunder, and then waited for Travis’ reaction.
He walked across the room and opened the door. “C’mon. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
“Where are you going?”
“Wherever you want. We can hit a pizza place.”
I looked down at my clothes. “I’m not really dressed.”
He appraised me for a moment and then grinned. “You look fine. Let’s go, I’m starvin’.”
I stood up and waved to America, passing Travis to walk down the stairs. I stopped in the parking lot, watching in horror as he straddled a matte black motorcycle.
“Uh…” I trailed off, scrunching my exposed toes.
He shot an impatient glare in my direction. “Oh, get on. I’ll go slow.”
“What is that?” I asked, reading the writing on the gas tank too late.
“It’s a Harley Night Rod. She’s the love of my life, so don’t scratch the paint when you get on.”
“I’m wearing flip-flops!”
Travis stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language. “I’m wearing boots. Get on.”
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. “There’s nothing to hold on to but me, Pidge. Don’t let go,” 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 a stop, I wasted no time scrambling to the safety of the concrete.
“You’re a lunatic!”
Travis chuckled, leaning his bike onto its kickstand before dismounting. “I went the speed limit.”
“Yeah, if we were on the Autobahn!” 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. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Pigeon.”
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.
“Sure, Travis,” the waitress said, writing down our drink orders. She looked a bit high from his presence as she returned to the kitchen.