Page 69 of Thick

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said.

“My dad had a Camaro convertible when I was little. It kind of reminds me of riding in it, only better.”

“Not much beats being on a Harley.”

“Does it matter what kind you ride?”

He waved his hand toward the door. “Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Men get the same satisfaction out of riding sport bikes that I get out of riding that HOG. It’s personal preference. Old-school bikers used to have a hard-on for guys on rice burners, but it’s not that way anymore. We all share a love for the open road.”

“That’s good that everyone can get along.”

He opened the door. “I don’t ‘get along’ with anyone unless they earn my respect.”

I walked past him and smiled. “You get along with me just fine.”

“You were respectful from the beginning. That was your ‘in’.” He chuckled. “That, and your good looks.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

“Tough not to. You’re pretty like that.”

“I meant the respect part of your statement.”

“Same thing. Tough not to notice. Get tattooed and buy a Harley. You’ll learn pretty damned quick who’s judgmental and who’s not.”

“It’s sad people are that way,” I said.

“Welcome to the life of being ‘different’.”

It was something I knew a little bit about. It seemed if a girl wasn’t 5’-5” and weighed a hundred and ten pounds, she was considered repulsive. I knew I was overweight, but having people treat me like I was an outcast because of it got old.

Just once I wanted to put someone in their place after they gave a judgemental look or made a snide remark.

We each ordered an iced coffee and then sat outside in the late morning sun. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember ever enjoying a Saturday morning as much as that one. The early morning ride, the perfect Southern California weather, and the subtle reassurances from Tate about me being beautiful were enough to place the day high on my list of best days ever.

A topless Chevy Blazer pulled in between us and the motorcycle as we finished out drinks. As the three board short wearing surfers dug through the console looking for money, we stood and tossed our cups in the trash.

After maneuvering around the front of Blazer, Tate climbed on the motorcycle and started it. As I reached for my helmet, I watched the three surfers spill over the top of the doors without opening them.

The lanky driver looked at us and then tapped the tanned shoulder of his blond-haired companion.

“Can you believe he’s with that fat bitch?”

“Dude,” the blond said. “They ought to make a law against yoga pants in triple XL.”

The other chuckled a laugh. “Brah.”

I buckled my helmet and let out a sigh.

Tate flipped the engine off, took off his helmet, and hung it on the handlebars. After stepping off the bike, he looked at me and grinned a mischievous grin.

“I’ll be right back.”

I gave him a look. “Did you forget something?”