He gunned the throttle when we pull

He gunned the throttle when we pulled into the driveway
of the restaurant, and once he slowed to a stop, I wasted no
time scrambling to the safety of the concrete.
“You’re a lunatic!”
Travis chuckled, leaning his bike onto its kickstand
before dismounting. “I went the speed limit.”
“Yeah, if we were on the Autobahn!” I said, pulling out
my bun to separate the rats with my fingers.
Travis watched me pull hair away from my face and then
walked to the door, holding it open. “I wouldn’t let anything
happen to you, Pigeon.”
I stormed past him into the restaurant, my head not quite
in sync with my feet. Grease and herbs filled the air as I
followed him across the red, breadcrumb-speckled carpet.
He chose a booth in the corner, away from the patches of
students and families, and then ordered two beers. I
scanned the room, watching the parents coaxing their
boisterous children to eat, and looking away from the
inquisitive glances of Eastern students.
“Sure, Travis,” the waitress said, writing down our drink
orders. She looked a bit high from his presence as she
returned to the kitchen.
I tucked the wind-blown hairs behind my ears, suddenly
embarrassed by my appearance. “Come here often?” I
asked acerbically.
Travis leaned on the table with his elbows, his brown
eyes fixated on mine. “So what’s your story, Pidge? Are
you a man-hater in general, or do you just hate me?”
“I think it’s just you,” I grumbled.
He laughed once, amused at my mood. “I can’t figure
you out. You’re the first girl that’s ever been disgusted with
me before sex. You don’t get all flustered when you talk to
me, and you don’t try to get my attention.”
“It’s not a ploy. I just don’t like you.” “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t like me.”
My frown involuntarily smoothed and I sighed. “I didn’t
say you’re a bad person. I just don’t like being a foregone
conclusion for the sole reason of having a vagina.” I
focused on the grains of salt on the table until I heard a
choking noise from Travis’ direction.
His eyes widened and he quivered with howling
laughter. “Oh my God! You’re killing me! That’s it. We have
to be friends. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I don’t mind being friends, but that doesn’t mean you
have to try to get in my panties every five seconds.”
“You’re not sleeping with me. I get it.”
I tried not to smile, but failed.
His eyes brightened. “You have my word. I won’t even
think about your panties…unless you want me to.”
I rested my elbows on the table and leaned into them.
“And that won’t happen, so we can be friends.”
An impish grin sharpened his features as he leaned in
a bit closer. “Never say never.”
“So what’s your story?” I asked. “Have you always been
Travis “Mad Dog” Maddox, or is that just since you came
here?” I used two fingers on each hand as quotation marks
when I said his nickname, and for the first time his
confidence waned. He looked a bit embarrassed.
“No. Adam started that after my first fight.”
His short answers were beginning to bug me. “That’s
it? You’re not going to tell me anything about yourself?”
“What do you wanna know?”
“The normal stuff. Where you’re from, what you want to
be when you grow up…things like that.”
“I’m from here, born and raised, and I’m a criminal
justice major.”
With a sigh, he unrolled his silverware and straightened
them beside his plate. He looked over his shoulder, and I
noticed his jaw tensing a bit at those around us. Two tables
seating the Eastern soccer team erupted in laughter, and
Travis seemed to be annoyed at what they were laughing
about.
“You’re joking,” I said in disbelief.
“No, I’m a local,” he said, distracted.
“I meant about your major. You don’t look like the
criminal justice type.”
His eyebrows pulled together, suddenly focused on our
conversation. “Why?”
I scanned the tattoos covering his arm. “I’ll just say that
you seem more criminal and less justice.”
“I don’t get in any trouble…for the most part. Dad was
pretty strict.”
“Where was your mom?”
“She died when I was a kid,” he said as a matter-offact.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. His answer
caught me off-guard.
He dismissed my sympathy. “I don’t remember her. My
brothers do, but I was just three when she died.”
“Four brothers, huh? How did you keep them straight?”
I teased.
“I kept them straight by who hit the hardest, which also
happened to be oldest to youngest. Thomas, the twins…
Taylor and Tyler, and then Trenton. You never, ever got
caught alone in a room with Taylor and Ty. I learned half of
what I do in The Circle from them. Trenton was the smallest,
but he’s fast. He’s the only one that can land a punch on
me, now.”
I shook my head, dumbfounded at the thought of five
Travises running around in one household. “Do they all
have tattoos?”
“Pretty much. Except Thomas. He’s an ad exec in
California.”
“And your dad? Where’s he?”
“Around,” he said. His jaws were working again,
increasingly irritated with the soccer team.
“What are they laughing about?” I asked, gesturing to
the rowdy table. He shook his head, clearly not wanting to
share. I crossed my arms and squirmed in my seat, nervous
about what they were saying that caused him so much
aggravation. “Tell me.”
“They’re laughing about me having to take you to dinner,
first. It’s not usually…my thing.”
“First?” When the realization settled on my face, Travis
winced at my expression. I spoke before I thought. “And I
was afraid they were laughing about you being seen with
me dressed like this, and they think I’m going to sleep with
you,” I grumbled.
“Why wouldn’t I be seen with you?”
“What were we talking about?” I asked, warding off the
heat rising under my cheeks.
“You. What’s your major?” he asked.
“Oh, er…general ed, for now. I’m still undecided, but
I’m leaning toward Accounting.”
“You’re not a local, though. You must be a transplant.”
“Wichita. Same as America.”