I don't know where this ends, but I think I'll keep going

T-MINUS 12 YEARS, 2 MONTHS, 28 DAYS, 10 HOURS (OR THEIR FIRST DATE)

Flowers or no flowers? Randy couldn't make up his mind. Bella would adore receiving flowers at the door, but Zendi would lament the death of an organic lifeform for the sake of custom, and DeathbySex? – unless they were poppies, cannabis, or maybe belladonna, she'd laugh and toss them back into his face. DBX was the hardest one to please and the personality Randy was most desperate to impress that evening. Because it was Saturday night, and a young man's got needs.

He might be the smartest man on the planet, but Randy was still a hormonal teenage boy. Even his big brain took a back seat to sexual feelings on the weekends - OK, if he was totally honest pretty much every day, hour, and minute of the week. It was so cool having the best of all dates in one package. Bella was the girl you took home to meet the 'rents. There wasn't a mother alive who wouldn't want Bella for a daughter-in-law. Zendi was the intellectual. She and Randy could have metaphysical and philosophical discussions over brunch. She was also who he wanted around for any interviews. She knew exactly what to say which would make Randy look like the respectable and serious young man he wanted to project publically. She also came up with the most quotable sound bites which bumped middle paged magazine articles to the cover. Which made Randy's agent very happy. Normally he had to take his shirt off to guarantee a cover. And DeathbySex – well, the name said it all. She was a wildcat in bed who could go back in the bottle the next morning. Now he just had to figure out how this all works. He decided to keep the flowers behind his back and if Zendi or DBX opened the door, he'd be positioned so he could toss them to the side and maybe she wouldn't notice. He rapped twice and the door opened.

"Randy! Right on time! Such a gentleman," said Bella. She was wearing an orange and red fusion paisley printed sun dress with white crocheted lace and a cute, puffy fabric flower near her right shoulder. She was a wholesome vision fit for a spring cotillion, but not what Randy had in mind for his Saturday night. She saw the flowers and squealed.

"Oh they are so beautiful!"

"Not as lovely as you are."

Bella blushed as Randy took her hand and he helped her down the three steps leading to the door. Hand in hand, they headed down the sidewalk. In front of them was a charcoal-colored Harley-Davidson Street Rod with a 9000 rpm engine, drag style handlebars, and blacked out wheels.

"Where's your Prius?" asked Bella, letting go of his hand.

"Oh, I left the toy car behind tonight. I thought you might like the bike better."

"Why would you think that?" asked Bella, and then her face was crestfallen as she caught on. "Did you think she was coming along on our date? Well, you won't be seeing any of her tonight."

We'll see about that, thought Randy. He'd spent some time reading the DSM-5, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders , and had some thoughts about how to get Alias triggered to where he wanted her to be. The motorcycle was phase one.

"Is it safe?" questioned Bella nervously.

"Safe with me," said Randy. "I promise, I'll go easy." He hopped on the bike strapping on his jet black helmet and motioned Bella to get on back. She fumbled with her headgear adjusting the strap as tight as she could and gently placed her hands on Randy's waist. Randy revved the cycle throttling the engine until it roared like a dragon with sleep apnea and tire squealed off at the speed of a racehorse leaving the gate. Bella gasped and grabbed him tighter pushing her helmet into his neck and pulling her knees angrily up from the hot breathed exhaust. Randy smiled behind his black visor. It was working.