Page 31 of Unruly

Except, I don’t get nearly far enough away before I see a bike passing me on the other side of the road. I know that pink bike. And I’ve memorized the curves on the woman who’s riding it.

I turn around and quickly close the gap between the two of us now.

I’ve decided that I will chase this woman down a county road all night if I have to.

She’s fast. I knew she was fast from the first time she left me in the dust, and I’ve thought about it more times than I’ll admit. But now, I’m not trying to race her, I’m just trying to catch her, and that’s a different thing.

And she’s not making it easy.

I call her via my Bluetooth in my helmet.

It rings four times then goes to voicemail.

I call her again.

Three rings. Voicemail.

I call her a third time and this one she sends to voicemail after one ring, which means she looked at the screen, saw it was me, and made a deliberate choice.

I leave a voicemail.

“I know you can see it’s me. Pick up the phone, Darlin’.”

I call a fourth time.

She answers on the second ring.

“What.”

Fuck yes, baby, be annoyed with me.

“Pull over.”

She scoffs. “Absolutely not.”

“I just want to talk.”

“You’ve called me four times in three minutes.”

“You sent me to voicemail three times,” I argue.

“That was me communicating that I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“I interpreted it differently.”

She’s quiet for a few minutes. “Cash.”

“Halle.”

“You’re following me on a motorcycle.”

“We happen to be on the same road.”

“You turned around; I saw you.”

I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say to that.

“Pull over,” I say again. “Five minutes. Just talk to me.”