Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I was still doing that a few minutes later when he joined me with a steaming mug in each hand. As he handed me one of them, I said, “I’d never given a lot of thought to motorcycles before, but these are actually really beautiful.” I gestured at two completed bikes that were parked side-by-side at the edge of the garage. One was red with shiny stainless steel accents. The other was black-on-black, with an iridescent gas tank and fenders that shone like an oil slick on water. “What kind are they? I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Those two are my frankenbikes. I spend most of my time restoring vintage motorcycles, but sometimes when I’m scouring the junkyards, I find pieces too fascinating to pass up. I’ve started assembling them into new creations, which is fun because I’m not bound by any guidelines. With the restored bikes, I rebuild them exactly to the manufacturer’s specs. But these let me be creative.”
“That’s really cool.” I took a sip of the hot tea, which was laced with lemon and honey, and told him, “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you.”
“I’m glad it’s helping. Why don’t you come and sit down?”
I followed him to the seating area, which consisted of a boxy black leather couch and matching chairs, surrounding a large glass and chrome coffee table. There was a chess game in progress set up on the table, and as we both took a seat, I gestured at it and asked, “Are you black or white?”
“Black.”
“White’s three moves from winning.”
“I know. It’s very frustrating.”
“Who are you playing?”
“My dad,” he said, as he settled in and crossed his ankle over his knee. “He always wins, and he takes ages to do it. It’s basically a slow form of torture.”
“Does he live locally?”
“No, he’s in Miami. He sends me a letter every week and includes his next chess move. He’s perfectly capable of using email, but he insists on hand-written letters. That’s why I’ve been losing this game for months.”
“Is that where you’re from, Miami?”
He nodded. “I grew up in a part of town called Little Havana.”
“Are you Cuban?”
“I am. I was born in Miami, but both my parents are from Cuba. Are you Latino, too?”
“No, Italian-American. My last name’s Genardi. What’s yours?”
“My full name is Elian Euxenio Suarez-Rivas, Suarez from my dad, Rivas from my mom. Before I was Lucky, I was Elie. Nobody ever calls me Elian.”
“That proves a lot of things sound better in Spanish. Your middle name is Eugene in English, right?”
He grinned at me. “Yes. Now let’s never speak of it again.”
I grinned too before taking another sip of tea. Then I asked, “So, what brought you to Thrust earlier tonight? Because I have to say, it doesn’t really seem like your kind of place.”
He tilted his head and studied me curiously. “Do you know me well enough to be able to determine what is and isn’t my kind of place?”
“I know you were the only person in that crowd rocking this whole Fabio-Fonzie vibe.”
Lucky burst out laughing, and then he said, “Wow. If I’m ever at risk of developing an overinflated ego, I’ll come and find you so you can knock me back down to size.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. You just have the hair of a cover model on a romance novel, and you seem to spend every day of your life in a white T-shirt, jeans, a black leather jacket, and motorcycle boots, so…” I shrugged and finished my tea before placing the empty cup on the table.
“How do you know I wear this every day?”
“I told you, I’ve seen you around.”
“Do you live in the neighborhood?”
“No, but you visit mine regularly. Apparently you’re a big fan of hash browns, just not on the weekend.”
As understanding dawned, he exclaimed, “Oh, the diner! But I’ve never seen you in there.”
“You’re right, I’m usually at the bakery across the street when you ride up on your motorcycle. You’re extremely consistent.”
He leaned back and said, “Okay, now I get it. A look of recognition crossed your face right before you fell on me, but I was sure I’d never seen you before.”
“You hadn’t, but no one ever remembers me anyway.”
“I would have.”
I asked, “Why are you so sure?”
“Because you’re beautiful, Logan, and in case hanging out at that club in the Castro didn’t make it obvious, I’m gay. A man like you would never escape my attention, even if he wasn’t up on a platform, doing the worst robot I’d ever seen in my life.”
I didn’t know what to do with those compliments, so I focused on the last part of that and joked, “Dude, you need glasses. My robot was dead-on!”
“I’m wearing contacts, thank you very much, and you really shouldn’t quit your day job for a career as a robot.”