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different way.
     
    Growing up in Rootsville had a truly rooting effect on her mind. She never wanted to move away and loved her town, which was entirely all right. However, maybe it wouldn’t kill her to expand her horizons a bit and see some of the world. Perhaps she could place a waitress in charge of The Morning Bell for a while, go on vacation, and possibly see a new state beyond Ohio. She shook her head in disbelief at herself. What had gotten into her? She never cared about having a thrilling life before. Something about Mason made her wish for greater things.
     
    Pulling her long, kinky curls out from her hair tie, she teased them gently to add volume. She sprayed a small squirt of her favorite perfume in her hair. The perfume smelled of vanilla and honey, a relaxing and intriguing scent of femininity that she enjoyed wearing on dates. She knew she was supposed to be meeting him at his place, but realized that she had no idea where he lived. Hopefully, he realized it as well.
     
    Jasmine exited the apartment without saying “goodbye,” to Calvin. When she entered The Morning Bell, she was greeted by Mason, who offered her a crooked smile and waited to take her to his apartment. He was also dressed casually, perhaps with a hidden secret underneath like she had. She raised an eyebrow as she mentally wondered what surprise he could be hiding in his pants, then giggled at her internal joke.
     
    “You clean up well,” she said sarcastically.
     
    “As do you,” he shot back.
     
    The tension between the two was thick, and it took all of her willpower not to kiss him. He leaned in closer to her, leading her to believe that he was about to satisfy her wish. Instead, he gently grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, then led her out to his vehicle.
     
    Still a believer in cars that speak for their owners, she searched the lot for some model of Mustang, as she tagged Mason as a muscle car guy. After passing several cars of various makes and models, she suddenly saw it, the vehicle that spoke to Mason’s character: a huge, bulky motorcycle. He handed her a helmet and climbed onto the back of the dangerous vehicle.
     
    “Seriously?” she asked, hesitantly taking the helmet and placing it on her head.
     
    “Are you going to get on, or what?”
     
    “I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” she admitted.
     
    Motorcycles were extremely dangerous and obnoxious. Barely anyone in the quiet town of Rootsville had a motorcycle, let alone be happy with the loud sounds they made.  She bit her lip and very slowly sat on the back – biding her time. Her heart began racing as she wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in his back to shield her eyes.
     
    “I’ll never let anything happen to you,” he said in serious tone, then quickly lightened the mood with a joke. “C’mon, live a little.”
     
    Despite his joke, she replied meaningfully, “I trust you.”
     
    “Good,” he nodded, then with a loud bang, he started the engine and sped out of the parking spot.
     
    As he raced through the streets of the quaint town, she found herself breathless from the thrill of the ride. Suddenly, her fear was replaced by excitement as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She opened her eyes and watched the stunning scene unfold.
     
    The wind caressed her cheeks and caused her eyes to open wider, taking in every vision. The series of small shops and brick homes turned into a blur of colors much like a painting by Vincent van Gogh. She enjoyed basking in the stunning scenery that zoomed past her eyes up until the point where he began to slow down, turning into a small, run-down apartment complex.
     
    The complex was definitely not pretty, to say the very least. Air conditioning units adorned each window and long, dark rust stains ran down the edges of the previously-white gutters. Small patios held multiple residents who were smoking and drinking beer. The smell of tobacco reeked through the air,