Page 22 of Ridin' Free
I wasn’t sure what Twister’s idea of a date was, but this was as good as it was going to get.
He grinned.
Much as I hated to admit it, he looked good doing it.
“Baby, I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
I ignored what sounded like a compliment and asked, “Where we goin’?”
“How ‘bout Humphrey’s?”
Humphrey’s was a local bar and grill. It wasn’t anything special, and that was fine by me.
“Okay.”
“You wanna ride to my place and drop your car?”
What his suggestion implied was nothing I hadn’t thought already, but I still shot back, “Don’t push it, Stallion.”
“You know as well as I do, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”
“Deliver the diapers, would you?”
He chuckled as he began to make his way around me. “Give me five, sparky, and we’ll be on our way.”
I shook my head, annoyed he’d called mesparkyagain, but not enough to argue about it. When I was alone in the driveway, I climbed behind the wheel, started my engine, put on some tunes, and waited.
As promised, he wasn’t more than five minutes. When he walked by, he clapped his hand twice against the hood of myBronco, winking at me as he passed before he went to mount his hog. After he started the engine, he revved it, then began to ease his way out of the drive.
I followed him out of the neighborhood, and we were at Humphrey’s in under ten minutes. When I parked in the spot next to him, I tried not to think about the fact that I hadn’t been on a date in years.
One date didn’t mean a damn thing.
This was a distraction.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Twister was off his hog and waiting for me as I got out of my car, looping my purse over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke as we made our way inside. We were greeted by a hostess, who asked if we preferred a booth or a table. When Twister glanced back at me and I offered him no more than a shrug, he told her we wanted a booth.
We were seated right away, and we’d barely had a chance to look at our menus before our server stopped by, introducing himself.
In spite of the extensive offering of beers the place had on tap, Twister still ordered a Corona. Not wishing to prolong the evening too much, I opted for the same. When Twister tacked on a request for onion rings as an appetizer, I quirked an eyebrow at him.
“What? They’re famous,” he teased, pointing at the menu.
I glanced down at what I could see of his body from across the table. He was covered in a black-tee and his kutte, but I knew what laid underneath. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but he wasn’t younger than Mustang, and boss-man was thirty-eight. Metabolisms were often unkind to some, but his hadn’t failed him yet. He looked nothing like a man who indulged in fried foods and who’s favorite beverage was Corona.
Our server informed us he’d be right back with our drinks, and I lifted my eyes and caught Twister’s. He wore a beguiled expression on his face, and I knew he had an idea of what I was thinking.
I ignored him and looked back down at my menu. I decided on the jambalaya as soon as I saw it, but I pretended to deliberate until our server returned with our beers. When he asked if we were ready to order, Twister glanced at me for confirmation.
“I’ll have the jambalaya, please,” I said, handing over my menu.
Twister ordered the biggest burger they had, and then we were alone again.
Leaning forward, he propped himself up against his tatted arms on the table, looked right at me and said, “Tell me somethin’ about you.”
I conjured the brattiest answer I could think of before I told him, “My favorite color is pink.”
