And most prevalent...
I should have insisted on a proper profile pic.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” said the diminutive man with a warm, playful smile. “I’m Chaz. I’m not Rumpelstiltskin. I promise.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” said Mikey. He was angry with himself. He knew better than to be seduced by a picture of a car. And he hated confrontation, especially when it involved hurting someone’s feelings. But he also knew this would be his last chance to back out.
Chaz smiled at him innocently, like a puppy left out in the rain.
“OK. Let’s do this,” Mikey said, lowering himself into the sports car, relinquishing himself to autopilot in a world suddenly gone soft and surreal. He closed the car door.
“GOTCHA!” Chaz said, stomping the gas pedal and peeling rubber in the station parking lot. The car yanked forward, racing away.
The propulsion jarred Mikey, forcing him back against the seat. He grasped for the seat belt, the door handle, his bearings—finding comfort in the task of interlocking the stainless steel tongue in the black metal buckle.
Chaz squeezed Mikey’s knee. “Now you know why I don’t have a profile pic. I’m savvy that way.”
“Watch the road,” Mikey said, pondering whether to speak further for fear of distracting him. “I thought you might be worried about your privacy.”
“Oh, come on. Would you have gone out with me if you knew I was a sassy, southern leprechaun?”
“Maybe... if there’s a pot of gold involved.”
“Oh, I got plenty of gold,” he said, giving him a wry glance.
“Watch the road.”
“Lighten up, doll. You’re a handsome bear I’ve had in my sights. I’m a hunter, you know. My Daddy taught me how to hunt when I was little. So, I set up a trap...and I caught you.”
“Is that so? Well, how does a person your size deal with an angry bear?”
“I have pepper spray.”
“Maybe you better let me out up here at the corner.”
“No, hon. I’m just having fun.” He slowed to a stop at a traffic light, turning to face Mikey. “Please?”
He flicked the puppy-eyes switch on again. Mikey looked at him, relenting. “Food does tend to curb my anger,” he said.
“Then we’re gonna get you fed. My treat. And I promise from here on out to be a perfect gentleman.”
“I don’t buy that for a minute.”
“That’s probably wise of you. You know, I can see the wisdom in those deep, dark eyes of yours.”
“That’s pretty good. How many times have you used that one?”
“Just once... today.”
While the car was idling, Mikey was still tempted to just get out at the P Street and Mass Avenue intersection. Instead, he looked at Chaz, seriously, and said, “A little honesty goes a long way with me.”
“OK. I’ll be honest then. I think you’re a smoking-hot mailman. And I know from your profile that you like good Italian food. So, I’m going to wine and dine you, and then give you—” His voice went high with the final syllables, “—anight you’ll never forget.” He cackled wildly, slamming on the gas and running the light before it changed, making a left onto Massachusetts Avenue with another screech of tires and car horns blaring.
Mikey could do nothing but hold on.
* * *
Chaz’s idea of good Italian food was Buca di Beppo. Once parked, Mikey hopped out on shaky legs, quickly making his way around to the driver’s side.
