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me his signature smirk, that small lip twitch that deceives his best efforts to act unaffected around me.
    “Why would I want to go to dinner with you?”
    “Because even if you won’t admit it, something inside you needs to know that I’m not the asshole that drove you home last night.”
    I’m not sure what irritates me more, that he acts like he knows me or that he’s right. I squint, but he’s unreadable. It’s insane that I’m even considering his offer, a likely round two of throwing my bruised ego into the ring.
    I sigh. “I’ll be starving by five and you’re still an asshole.”
    He purses his lips to the side. “Grab a snack, I’ll get you at six, and … you’re wrong.” He doesn’t give me a chance for rebuttal before he’s out the door.
    I need a what-the-hell-just happened moment, but I don’t have that luxury because there’s a bean up some kid’s nose just calling my name.
    *
    I manage to slip out of the hospital before Jade has a chance to play twenty questions. Part of me is dying to talk about this situation I’ve fallen into, but that would require an explanation of my fascination with a gay man whom I’ve just recently met. That’s an answer I don’t have yet.
    Steven is another “answer” I don’t have. I’m sure “pleased” would not be the word to describe how he’d feel about me going to dinner with Trick, but can a straight guy really be jealous of a gay guy?
    I finger through my long red waves that have been pulled back into a ponytail all day. Trick has seen my naked face so there’s no need to fuss over makeup. I’m sure I’d do it all wrong in his eyes anyway. Faded skinny jeans, black boots, and a white off-the-shoulder top say casual … friendly.
    “Seriously?” I mumble to myself, seeing him pull up on his motorcycle. This is Chicago; he has to have something other than a motorcycle.
    As I open the door, he pulls off his helmet and gets off his motorcycle. I squeeze my legs together and second guess dinner being such a great idea. How stupid am I to torture myself like this?
    Fuck. Me. Now!
    There it is and … Oh. My. God! It’s even better than I imagined. I’m drowning in my own saliva as I attempt to keep myself from drooling—dark chaotic hair, intense eyes, the always present thick, dark stubble, and now a million—actually gazillion—dollar smile with teeth. He has teeth! Pretty. White. Teeth.
    “I’ll drive.” I motion back toward my door.
    He shakes his head and crooks a finger at me. Trick is grand master of the sexy come-hither look. How do gay guys do it better than straight guys?
    “Are you going to try to kill me again?”
    “Again?” He cants his head to the side.
    I slip my purse strap over my head as he shrugs off his black jacket and puts it on me. “Yes, again . And don’t be coy; you’re not that good at it.”
    He repeats the hair twist from last night and slips his helmet on my head.
    “If we took my car we’d both be safe.”
    He hops on. “What fun would that be?”
    The moment I get my leg over, he palms my ass, again , and scoots me forward. Trick is dangerous in every way imaginable. Yet, I ignore all reason and just hold on. As crazy as it may sound, I’d rather be holding Trick with layers of clothing between us knowing it will never be more, than naked in bed with Steven and a future of possibilities.
    This is so messed up!
    *
    Trick takes the helmet and jacket then leads me into the restaurant with long strides that leave me jogging to catch up. What’s the big hurry?
    “Have you ever had Moroccan?” He looks down at me as we wait to be seated.
    “Not in Chicago.”
    “Where have you had it?”
    “Morocco.”
    He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Let’s go.”
    “What?” I follow him back outside.
    Releasing my hand, he keeps walking. “Maybe you should pick the restaurant.” He calls back with exasperation weighting his words.
    “Why? I don’t understand.”
    “Just … let’s