Page 7 of The Biker Alien

Alec stands and embraces the man, patting his back as the man returns it.

Feeling a bit lost, I stand too. The waitress smiles at me and steps back.

“Who is this charming lady you have with you?” the man asks.

“This is Teri,” Alec says, puffing out his chest.

With pride? I mean, he does know a bit about my past, but there’s a lot more for him to learn about me, and there is a ton I don’t know about him.

“Teri? The one you said detailed your bike?”

“She is one and the same and my date.”

“Do you have your bike?” the man asks.

“We rode it here.”

“Nice. I’ll have to see if I can take a peek. Maybe when you leave.”

“Maybe,” Alec says, his tone a bit skeptical now, and I lift my eyebrows at him in question. He winks at me. “Teri, this is Greg Henderson, the owner of this place.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

Greg reaches over to shake my hand and then brings my hand up to kiss my knuckles, which makes me laugh. I’ve never had a guy do that to me before.

“The pleasure is mine.”

Alec grunts. “She is my date, not yours.”

“Fair enough.” Greg adjusts his blazer. “If you two need anything at all, let me know, and I will make it right.”

“Thank you. Can you have a bottle of your red sent over?”

“To headquarters or to your place?”

“A bottle to each.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Greg nods to him, winks to me, nods to the waitress, and walks away, approaching another table to see how they are faring.

Alec and I sit back down, and the waitress steps forward to fill his glass with the white wine.

“I’ll bring out a fresh bottle of white right away,” she says. “Any appetizers, or do you need more time?”

“More time please,” Alec says, “unless you know what you want?”

“I haven’t had much time to look at the menu,” I confess.

“Take your time,” he tells me. “Thank you,” he adds to the waitress.

I appreciate so much how both he and his friend are treating the waitress.

“I’ve had just about everything on the menu here,” he says. “It’s all delicious.”

I look over the menu. “This sounds good.”

He makes a face.

“It’s not good?” I ask.

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