"You like Mexican?" I called as she walked over near me with a wave.
"Who doesn't like Mexicans?"
I smiled and immediately covered it with hand, my thumb grazing one cheek and my pointer finger the other.
“Food,” I said. “The traditional cuisine of the place, not the people, although, I like them too.”
“Oh, Mexican food. Yeah, I love it!”
“Would you like to eat some right now? I’m starved after that fight.”
“The four minute knock out? I’d hate to see how hungry a few rounds would make you.”
“You might soon find out.”
I put the bike helmet on top of her head and secured it. "Lots of people don't like it, but I find those people to be suspicious."
“There are people who don’t like Mexican food?”
“Bikes, my dear Celia. Motorcycles.”
I boosted her onto my bike and watched as her long legs straddled the bike and felt my body respond to the sight of her thighs wrapping around the leather seat. Once I was in place, she wrapped her arms around me. "Hold on tight," I told her.
I could feel the heat from her chest on my back, the push from where her breasts connected with the lower part of my shoulder blades.
"So, where are you taking me?"
"Baja," I said.
“California?” she asked.
I smiled again into the wind. “The Mexican Restaurant Baja. As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt her drop her arms and distance herself from me. "What's wrong?"
"We can't go to Baja. I mean, I can’t go there."
"I know it's in a rough part of town, but trust me, no one will fuck with us. I grew up in the neighborhood. We're square."
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
I took a deep breath and got off the bike before I helped her off, then lifted the bike helmet off her head. I didn't take my hands off her. She didn't ask me to, so there we stood under the streetlight, with her practically in my arms, and just stared at each other.
“I liked the lecture this morning.”
I dropped my hands. She was so fucking beautiful. Under the streetlights, her eyes picked up all these green and gold flecks, taking on an amber hue.
“Now might not be the best time to remind me of that.”
“Sorry, I thought it might be a better topic than Burgundy. I grew up in this neighborhood too. I’m surprised we didn’t run into one another back in the day.”
“Oh, I think I’d remember you.”
“From Burgundy to Physics Professor, huh? That’s a jump. Did you tunnel through the socio-economic barriers?”
“Physics humor. I like it. Maybe you’ll make the honor roll.”
“I’m just good at improvising.”
“It’s a necessary skill to make it out of Burgundy.”
“Why are we even here?”
“Mexican food, remember?”
“I’d rather not. Everyone here knows me,” she whispered the last part.
“That’s perfect then. Everyone here knows not to mess with me.”
She dropped her head down, casting her eyes on our shoes, toes touching each other. "They’ll mess with you if you show up with me."
"I know it's in a rougher part of town, but I promise you'll be safe."
"No, you don't understand; I have a reputation in this neighborhood. And reason to never come back here. Miguel at Baja knows me by name."
"No shit?! I gave Miguel the seed money to open up Baja. I'm his silent partner. I promise you'll be safe."
"You know Miguel? He’s an old family friend."
"Yes, we came up together. He was even a killer cook when we were kids. If it makes you feel better, I can call ahead, and we can just slip in the back. No one will see us."
She hesitated for a while. I wasn't sure what was going on. I knew that Little Burgundy was the wrong side of town. A girl like her should never be there alone at night, but it was where I grew up, and if she grew up here too, there wasn’t anything to worry about. Connections in Burgundy meant everything. If you knew people, you could get away with just about anything. I’d wanted to share a piece of myself with her, show her my past and hope she could get to know me through the process. But if Celia had grown up here too, that sort of threw a wrench in the process. We came up in two different times, but maybe we could connect and reminisce about our experiences. It was likely we knew the same people, had hung out at the same joints—hell, we might have even gone to the same schools.
Truth was, I was terrible at letting people in, allowing them to really know me, the real me, but that seemed to change the second I met Celia. After that short encounter in the hallway, it felt like the course of my destiny had begun and it was already charted beyond my control. I didn’t know the outcome, but I knew Celia would be a part of it.