"Bike as in motorcycle?" I asked Gabe.
He nodded and snagged the keys his dad tossed.
"No way." I snatched them from his hand and threw them right back to Richard, who missed the catch and had to scoop them off the floor. "I've always wanted to ride a motorcycle."
"But it's sleeting."
"I know," I told him, grinning like the goof I was...at least when it came to motorcycles. "What kind of bike is it?"
"An Indian."
My sigh of pure rapture said it all and made the guys in the room grin. Richard dug up a helmet from somewhere. We left all my purchases and Gabe's to head once more for the elevators. While we stood in awkward silence waiting for ascent, I studied our reflections on the mirrored door. We almost looked like a couple, I realized, for a second wishing it were so. That made me wonder if I'd ever gotten over him. We'd been through so much together that one year we loved each other: the death of my mom and his "Mimi" from cancer; karate lessons taught by a Jackie Chan wannabee; endless hours of "The Price is Right," our mutual guilty pleasure. And then there were all those kisses, experimental yet so unforgettable. We'd never moved past first base as far as making out went, but I remembered being willing. Gabe wouldn't go for it. Thank goodness one of us had willpower.
I smiled at the memory.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asked, having caught my expression in the mirror.
"Stolen kisses in the broom closet at Kobayashi Karate Academy."
That made him smile, too. |
