Chapter 17
Lainie
I’m so nervous. I’ve nibbled off the rest of the pink polish on my thumb waiting for Keeton. I’m listening for the rumbling of his motorcycle while I surreptitiously peek out the window through Keely’s blinds.
“Will you sit down, girl? You’re makingmenervous,” says Keely as she flips television channels.
“I can’t help it. It’s like my firstrealdate.” I’m not counting the one with Tod Mendenhall now. This is the first real one.
“Do you know how weird that sounds coming from a divorcee?”
Divorcee?Definitely a 1950s word and one that makes breaking up with your gay husband sound glamorous. It’s not. Trust me. “I know how strange it sounds. My entire life, up to this point, has been strange.”
Keely laughs, “It’s still strange.” Sipping her glass of three-buck chuck from Trader Joe’s she adds, “My oldest and prissiest sister is going on a date with a biker-dude. If that isn’t fucked up, I don’t know what is.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Wait ‘til you meet him. You’ll get it.”
“I won’t get to meet him. Not tonight anyway. You think he’s going to walk up here to pick you up? He’s a biker, hon. He’ll honk then yell, ‘Lainie!’ at the top of his lungs until you run down there.”
We live in a three-story building in the older part of town. It was built in the 1960s or 70s when they thought it’d be cool to have a lot of open spaces for people to “commune.” When you open our front door, there’s a walkway that everyone takes to the stairs. Like an old motel. From our side of the building, I can see the parking lot perfectly. She may be right, but I don’t think so. “No, he won’t. You’ll see.”
“If that biker-dude walks up three-flights of stairs to escort you down for your date, you should probably marry him. Either that or I’ll eat my socks.”
“Ha ha.” The sock part is funny but the marriage part? Not so funny. I’m already so into him, I could see myself jumping into marriage even though I know it’s probably a bad idea. Heck, I’m planning on jumping into bed with him on the first date, if that’s any indication of how much this guy affects me.
When I hear the rumble of a motor I gasp. “He’s here.”
“In order for this little experiment to work, you can’t let him see you at the window. So, step back and let’s see what he does.”
The motor shuts off, and I turn to Keely with a knowing smirk. When we don’t hear anything for several minutes, Keely rolls off the couch and stands next to me. Booted footsteps sound on our level and get louder the closer they get to our door. I squeeze Keely’s hand like my life depends on it. “I’m so nervous,” I whisper.
“You work with him,” she whispers back. “You see him every day.”
“I know.” I do know, but this feels different. Very different.
When the knock sounds on the door we both jump, startled. “You get it,” I whisper to Keely. “I’ll go back into the hallway for a minute.”
Keely giggles softly. “Okay. This is so fun.” She straightens her beloved Elvis Costello concert tee and swipes a hand over her long hair.
I quickly walk back far enough down the hall, so he can’t see me but close enough to hear everything.
“Coming,” she says loudly, but not too loudly since she’s at the door already.
I hear the door open and I swear I hear Keely gasp. “You must be Keeton. I’m Keely.”
In a low, sexy, rumbly voice Keeton speaks, “Nice to meet you. You the owner of the blue Honda?”
“Oh, yeah. What’s up with that?”
I hear Keeton make a noise like a grumble. “Piece of shit, girl. How ‘bout we talk about this later. Where’s Lainie?”
“Right here,” I singsong as I walk into the main room. I spot him, and I want to drool. He’s so dang hot in his dark jeans, deep blue dress shirt, and black leather jacket that looks worn and soft.Yummy.I look at his clean-shaven face and smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says smiling at me like he likes the look of me. “You look beautiful, babe.”
He must be crazy. All I did after work was brush my teeth and hair, freshen up my makeup, and change into jeans and a flowy pink top with tiny multi-colored flowers embroidered all over it. I like it because it makes my chest look nice with a deep V-neck while also being long enough and flowy enough to hide my stomach and hips. “Are these boots okay?” I chose to wear some high-heeled booties because I read that it’s best to wear boots on a motorcycle. These are all I have.
“Fuck yeah. You look sexy as hell.”
