At 22, Adaline Moulton warms up in an everyday comfortable monotony and undoubtedly loves placidity. But her jovial universe is suddenly shaken by none other than Deimos Kindelan, the man with an impertinent and rebellious character, whom she met at...
"Ew, what the fuck?" Irene yells with disgust while fleetingly standing up. "What the hell is that? Are those... teeth?"
They are theet indeed. And I have never been so bewildered, yet so... elated. I am intrigued, cannot lie about that. Very intrigued. Never in my life have I experienced something like this, nor have I ever thought about it. No man has ever cared about me to this extent or gave me this much attention, let alone done something like this for me. This man just punched a random stranger and yanked two teeth from his mouth just to get my number. I should feel guilty about causing that poor man a lot of trouble, but strangely enough there was no room in my head for anyone else besides the one that stands before my eyes.
"You wanted my number that bad, didn't you?" I sighed still shaken but trying to look nonchalant. "Well, you've got my attention."
I feel a sudden grip on my right wrist and I turn my head towards Irene. Her red colored hair matches her inner fury.
"Adaline Moulton!"
There you go, Irene, tell this psychopath my full name. How clever of you.
Sometimes I wonder how she graduated from high school. You know, they should teach us more what to do and not to do in risky situations rather than arithmetic or algebra. Even though I have a vague impression he already knows my entire name.
I look at Irene with reassuring eyes, making her loosen her grip till my hand drops swinging along my body. The man's stare never left my face this whole time.
"Call me if anything happens."
She glares one more time at the man with raging eyes that could kill, storms outside, leaving the two of us alone. I have to admit, I am thrilled.
"Well, now you know my name, so I might as well ask you what yours is." I finally break the heavy silence.
He inhales deeply, taking his time with the answer.
"Deimos Kindelan."
His eyebrows lower until they form a few wrinkles on his forehead, as if he expects a certain reaction out of me. I don't know what it means but I don't intend to overthink. I infer that when I am with him, no matter how much I do it, I will never make ends meet.
"Come on, let me show you something."
He grabs my hand, intertwines our fingers and walks me outside, my head literally spinning. I don't know where he is going to take us, but judging from what he had done to only take my number, I don't think he is going to disappoint me.
The wind and agitation of Seattle hits me. In front of the cafe leans against a street lamp an astonishing shiny, black and probably top-of-the-line motorcycle, which steals glances from every passerby. Even with limited knowledge about motorcycles, I can tell it's a Harley Davidson. And by the fact that he walks me towards it, there is no doubt it is his.
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