Page 90 of Two Chances With You

Still, this isme. I can’t believe this. Fucking hell. I slide the motorcycle underneath me until I’m riding pillion, leaving room for Gin to get on in front. And, ultimate irony, I actually help her on! Oh, God, I’ve taken leave of my senses.

“Okay, listen, do you know how to ride a motorcycle?” I ask.

“Of course! Who do you take me for? How do I start this thingie?”

“This thingie is a 750 custom, made by Honda, with a lenticular wheel. It’ll do two hundred kilometers per hour like it’s standing still, and this is how you start it.” I shove forward, grab the handlebars, and squeeze Gin between my arms, as if I were embracing her from behind. Then with my right thumb, I hit the ignition button. I give it a little gas, and I take a deep breath through her hair. Soft and perfumed. I shut my eyes. I’m lost.

“Hey!”

I open my eyes again. “Yes? What is it?”

“If you stay there like that, I’m not going to be able to drive.” She smiles.

“Okay, certainly.” I move my arms and push back a little. Gin puts on her helmet and lowers her visor. I follow suit.

“All right, Step, are you ready?”

“Yes. So do you know how to shift the gears on this—” I don’t get a chance to finish the sentence before Gin has put the bike in gear, twisted the throttle, and shot forward like a bat out of hell. I practically fall off the back of the bike from the jerky start. She caught me off guard. It won’t happen again. At least I hope it won’t.

I hold on tight to her, grabbing her jacket and passing my arms around her waist. Hey, though, I have to say, she knows how to drive this thing. Incredible. She shifts gears smoothly, playing expertly with the clutch. She really does have experience driving motorcycles. A lot, from the looks of it.

Red light, she brakes at the intersection in too high a gear. Okay, never mind. The engine sputters to a halt, and she almost goes over the handlebars. We fall to the right, and it’s just a good thing I got my leg straight in a hurry. I’m holding us both up. Plus the motorcycle.

“Hey, how’s it going? Are you sure that you want to drive it?”

“I didn’t see that the light was red. That won’t happen again.” She shifts into neutral.

“Are you sure that—”

“I already told you, it won’t happen again. Have you decided where we’re going?”

“To the Warner multiplex. It’s got lots of theaters, and they’re showing—”

She doesn’t let me finish. “Okay, great. That way I can let this thing unwind on the beltway.” And she takes off fast in first gear, surprising me once again.

Warner Village. Fourteen movie theaters, or more, different movies starting at different times. Two restaurants, a pub, and lots of people.

“Hey, Gin, I didn’t think we were going to make it.”

“Why? Were you worried about having enough gas or finding Warner Village?”

“Let’s just say that my concerns were a little more basic, whether we were going to get here alive!”

“Ha ha! Aren’t you satisfied with the way I brought you all the way here? And on your own motorcycle too. Didn’t I simultaneously thrill you and reassure you?”

I remain silent as we head for the entrance.

“Come on, buck up! Buy the tickets, and I’ll go get the popcorn.”

“Sure, but which theater?”

“How should I know?”

“Okay, fine, but which movie do you want to see? A comedy, a rom-com, or a horror flick?”

“Why don’t you decide? I mean, I brought you all the way here, now I’m supposed to pick the movies too? Why don’t you do something around here? Contribute.”

Two girls ahead of me laugh, and Gin walks away shaking her head. I can’t help but laugh either. Gin, the first woman who ever drove my motorcycle. The whole way around the beltway, at night, in a skirt, shifting gears in her fancy shoes, in the cold, with fast cars on all sides.

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