Page 11 of Tito

“He was okay. He always smelled like peanut butter.”

“Why?”

“It was all he ate,” she said. “He loved the stuff.”

“I thought his favorite food was hot dogs?’

“It was. Peanut butter isn’t food. It’s a condiment.”

Mel had dated countless shitheads in her days. In fact, she seemed to gravitate toward them. Try as I might, I couldn’t think of one man that she dated who wasn’t a complete asshole. I couldn’t, however, remember anyone smelling like peanut butter.

“When was this?” I asked. “I don’t remember you dating a hairless biker.”

She gazed at the ceiling. “Maybe ten years ago.” She looked at me. “I was twenty-ish. He was a friend of the guy Teri was seeing.”

“Teri from El Cajon?”

“Yep.”

“An unpredictable man—when agitated—who smelled like peanut butter and wore a beard. He must not have been too bad, you’ve never mentioned him.”

She picked at her fingernails. “He was okay.”

“He was a Harley guy?” I asked. “Not a sport bike guy?”

“Yeah, he was a Harley guy.” She looked up. “I wouldn’t date a sport bike guy.”

“Why?”

“They’re thrill-seeking maniacs.”

“Which one’s better for a fling?”

“For a one-night-stand? The Harley guy. Definitely.”

I was intrigued. “Why?”

“Because he’ll fuck you like he’s trying to prove a point. In a sense, he will be. He’ll be trying to convince you to be a side piece.” She inspected her nails for a moment before looking at me. “Is he hot?”

“Yes.”

“Describe him.”

“He’s not easy to describe.”

She closed her eyes. “Do your best.”

“Dark hair. He cuts it short. It was kind of messed up when I saw him, but it didn’t look intentional—”

She opened her eyes. “Like he just got out of bed?”

“No,” I said. “Like he ran his fingers through it, and never looked in the mirror. Just kind of messed up.”

She closed her eyes. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“He’s got really sexy brown eyes, dark-colored skin, and he’s muscular. It’s hard to describe, but every time he moves, it seems like it’s choreographed. Each step, each hand placement, everything he does, it’s perfect. It’s amazing to watch. Like the rhythmic gymnasts in the Olympics.”

“Tattoos?” she asked.