Page 9 of Mine for 24 Hella-Hours
Taking a turn left to the next stop light, I glimpse at her white vehicle getting away.
I’m coming for you.
Two cars block my way.I see how it is.I steer the bike behind them. Waiting for an opening and when it finally appears, I do a lane split before the beast catches up with my runaway girl.
Dylan
Ialmostkissedthefloor on my way out of there.
That slope is heels-unfriendly.
And I left my coat in the car which is pretty stupid considering I live in New York.
Although it’s still early if I’m being honest, my date was as disappointing as I thought it would be. This was a waste of a perfectly sexy dress on a sexually wired woman.
And he was over thirty minutes late which is fine. A simple text would have been nice, though. I’m wallowing over something that is out of my hands. I tried, that’s all that matters, right? I gave dating a shot and maybe I should take a break. Recalculate my route prior to a new year of dating.
I wonder if I’ve set my standards so high that most guys don’t reach the barrier let alone cross it. Do they even try? Am I too quick to judge?
I stop at the red light, extract my phone quickly, and send Finn a text. Because I would feel bad if I didn’t. He’s nice, just not the guy for me. I kind of knew that based on our interactions when he came to my shop several times. He didn’t make my body alight. It was more like a friendly chat rather than a spark.
Something else happened at the club though. My libido climbed its way to the Olympus of lust. I’ll probably use my toys tonight. They always give me what I need.
Almost.
I grab my black faux leather jacket from the passenger seat and shove my hands through the sleeves before the light turns green. I drive down the emptying roads. Windows closed, and light music fills the cabin of my car with classic rock.
I’m in my zone on these drives. I can lap around the city just to get those moments of peace. Whenever I need to reflect on the past and figure out my next move—I go for a ride.
Checking my rearview mirror, a guy on a black motorcycle is on my tail, signaling something with his hand. I don’t know what it is about so I brush it off.
Repeatedly, he gets closer and taps on my trunk a couple of times then points to the side of the road.
What the fuck is he trying to do?
I switch off the music.
The muscle car in front of me is speeding away, stranding me with the wild rider at my rear.
He revs to me loudly and points to the side of the road.
I’m not paying for any damages to his expensive bike which will probably result in ordering special parts. It’s his fault he’s riding my ass.
Looking out my window, he looks at me every few seconds, signaling me to pull aside. No way! He’s being ridiculous.
My foot pushes the gas farther as I glide on the straight route, glimpsing at the mirror, he’s still there.
My gears are turning—the possibility I forgot to turn my headlights on hangs in the air. I check and cross it off the list.
Why the fuck is he after me like a bat out of hell?
Bystanders still roam the streets. The loud noises of his bike encase me and break my accustomed silence.
I hope it’s not the guy I ditched. We came in separately so I never saw his transportation and I practically left when he went to the restroom after maundering on and on about his work, his ex, and the weather. I suggested dancing but he immediately shut me down. I told him I didn’t think it was going to work and he replied, “We’re just getting acquainted.”
I’m too tired to deal with the boring, stagnant moments I waste on men who fail to see me. They’re datingme, not their exes. I know it was wrong of me to bail on him like that but it was too much for me to handle. I just wanted an exit.
Please don’t make him a psycho who avenges his rejections.
