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Chapter Eight
Nick
I turned into the coffee shop, coasted to a stop, and parked the bike alongside a hybrid Toyota. In complete contrast to most of my southern California neighbors, I tried like hell to leave the biggest carbon footprint on the earth that I could.
I hopped off my bike and glanced at the battery-powered eco-friendly ride. From the rearview mirror, an orange dangled by a string. Protruding from the skin of the fruit over the entire surface, were cloves.
A hippie air freshener.
Today’s colon-cleansing, environmentally conscious, trash-separating robots disgusted me. I felt if the occupants of the earth could focus more on being genuine, and less on being what they felt others expected them to be, the world would be a much better place.
I scanned the lot for Peyton’s Jeep, but saw nothing. After checking my watch, I realized I was ten minutes early. I gazed out into the street, wondering if I could stomach being in the presence of whoever drove the fruit-scented Prius until she arrived. In a matter of seconds, she swerved between two passing cars and into the parking lot.
With the top off of her Jeep and Jimi Hendrix’s Castles Made of Sand playing loud enough that I could recognize it, she shot into an empty stall, parked, and hopped out of the Jeep. Wearing her trademark attire of jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a tee shirt, she looked no differently than she had on the other three occasions I had seen her.
“Nice day for going topless,” I said.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band from her wrist. “Your subliminal suggestions are falling on deaf ears, biker man.”
“It was worth a try, reporter.”
While walking toward me, she dropped her sunglasses in her purse, removed a pair of glasses, and put them on.
One of my weaknesses was a hot bitch wearing glasses. With her hair in a ponytail and the bold black frames fixed high on the bridge of her nose, my imagination took over. An image of her peering at me through the lenses while my cock was in her mouth quickly came to mind.
“You wear glasses?”
“My contacts were killing my eyes.”
I admired her until she was at my side, then turned toward the entrance. “Inside or outside?”
She stepped between me and the Toyota. “Outside.”
We got our drinks, she declined a crunchy biscuit, and we sat outside at a table amongst several coffee-drinking sun worshipers.
“So, did you remember my number?” I asked.
“Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.”
“Good memory, huh?”
She laughed. “Like a fucking elephant.”
“What was so fuckin’ important that you had to come by the shop last night?”
She looked embarrassed for a split-second, but quickly donned a smile. “I was working on the piece, and realized I had no way to get ahold of you. I can’t effectively write something informative if my only way of obtaining information is by simply stumbling into you.”
“How many more times are we going to have to meet?”
After I asked the question, I realized sooner or later, the meetings between us would actually end. As much as I never would have guessed it, the thought of not seeing her again wasn’t something I looked forward to.
“I don’t know,” she responded. “Maybe ten or twelve.”
“Ten or twelve?” I snapped back. “Jesus.”
“Well, four installments.” She took a drink of coffee, then shrugged. “Three or so meetings for each article. It’s not that much.”
“Guess not.”
