Ten minutes later, I spotted the place along with the familiar brunette – the same one I'd pissed off yesterday. She was standing just outside the main door.
I slowed to a stop and felt my eyes narrow as I took in the scene.Something was off.
Her back was straight, and her jaw was tight. She was locked in conversation with a lanky blond guy sporting high-end athletic wear along with a spray tan that must've come witha warning label. He was waving his arms like he was directing traffic at O'Hare.
His agitated voice carried through the crowd. "Don't you know who I am?"
I moved closer.Iknew who he was – a total douche. It didn't take a genius to know the type, complete with over-styled hair and more swagger than sense.
The brunette glanced down at an old-fashioned clipboard. "Of course. Chadwick Kensington."
He puffed out his chest. "The third."
She looked up. "Sorry, what?"
"Chadwick Kensington.The third.My friends call me Chad."
"Uh, okay, Chad…"
His nose wrinkled. "I didn't sayyoucould."
What an asshole.
And he wasn't done yet. "I run a premier lifestyle blog.Premier.I was promised a premium motorized experience, and this? This is abike." As he said it, he gestured toward a bicycle parked within kicking distance.
I did a double-take. This wasn't justanybicycle. It was the most absurd bike I'd ever seen.
Molded to the front fork was a big, toothy shark face, complete with jagged teeth and predatory eyes. The frame was painted bluish-gray with raised gills. The seat sported twin sharklike fins. And the kickstand was a mini-surfboard with a big chomp taken out of the side.
I almost laughed out loud.No wonder the guy was pissed.
Still, it was no excuse to be a dick.
With a shake of my head, I edged closer and caught her reply. "I told you, thereareno motorized bikes. They're not allowed. You can Google it if you want."
"I don'tneedto Google it," the guy huffed. "I spoke to someone from this shop a week ago – a really chill dude whototally got my vibe. I told him I wanted something eclectic, and he said he had just the thing."
Her brow furrowed. "Right." She pointed toward the shark on wheels. "That's from our eclectic series."
"It can't be," he said. "It has no motor."
Her face scrunched, but then her expression cleared. "Ohhhhh."
"Oh, what?" he demanded.
"The bike. It'seclectic. Not electric."
Listening, I bit back a laugh. Chadwick Kensington the Third probably thought that "irony" was the thing you used to press your shirts.
He threw up his hands. "But that's the same thing."
"It is not," she said. "Eclectic – that means a bike with personality." She gave the bike a furtive glance before adding, "It even has a name." She cleared her throat and finished in a mumble. "Shark Attack." She brightened. "But you can call it anything you want."
He looked toward the bike in question. "I don't care what you call it. I'm not driving that thing."
"You don'tdriveit," she said. "You ride it. Like I said, it doesn't have a motor."
"I wouldn't care if it did," he said. "I still wouldn't take it. What am I? Twelve?"
