Amanita: Poison Shot

Chapter 5: The Bighead

"Must've missed it," the mysterious biker replied nonchalantly. He had recovered from the initial shock of me getting suspicious of him.

"Go to the roundabout down there, see? Then, simply make a U-turn. Six blocks away from here, you'll be there," I replied to him in a neutral, informative voice.

"Okay." His voice was melodic yet grave. "Will I be anywhere near the Statue of Victoria?"

"Oh, no," I answered in a heartbeat. "Once you're on Main Avenue, you'll have to cross five side streets or so. But you don't need to count. You'll see the Statue of Victoria. It's huge. You can't miss it. No wonder you got lost if you were looking for the statue in this area. Where do you come from?"

"Thanks," he replied, not caring to answer my question.

I guessed that small talk wasn't any of his strengths.

While I was examining the final result of my temporary fix, he didn't say anything further. I didn't either. I was starting to feel uncomfortable with that heavy kind of silence between us. And that staring on his behalf.

I started to wonder whether he was undressing me with his eyes as many guys did. But I discarded that thought soon enough. There was something off in his green eyes. They seemed to be unfocused as if he was engrossed in some faraway thought, in a faraway place.

But when he realised I was looking at him, he got hold of his helmet with more strength than before. He had nice, big hands. He seemed nervous although there was no need to. I was dying to know why, but I didn't dare to ask him.

He turned his head to stare at the empty road from where he had come and then turned it towards the roundabout in the opposite direction. As he did so, I could see the thick tendons in his neck.

His hair brushed his neck and his cheeks in the process. It seemed to bother him a bit. He combed his hair backwards with his hand again, just like before, displaying biceps and triceps that would have made a CrossFit pro jealous. An instant later, he turned his face back to me.

I immediately stopped staring at him, turning my head to the bike, but it was too late. Our gazes had briefly locked.

I felt stupid for ogling him and blushed. I was almost sure that he might think I was a hormonally-imbalanced teenager, to phrase it nicely. Great.

Since my job was done, I decided to put the bike back up, putting my hands on the handlebars as I did so.

"Eντάξει. It's done," I said trying to sound normal but I was nervous. I had accidentally let out an 'okay' in Greek, one of my mother tongues besides English, but he didn't seem to mind. "I don't mend bikes that way usually, but this should do. Remember: fill the coolant tank asap."

His gorgeous eyes seemed gloomy. He could've thanked me, but it was obvious that there was something that was nagging him, something he didn't want to share. Maybe he was late and wanted to leave, but felt awkward about our unusual encounter or didn't know how to thank me.

I admitted to myself that I'd miss that pair of intense, green eyes.

And his arms.

And his chest.

Okay, fine – everything but his stubbornness not to talk more than a few short sentences.

"Take it. Come on," I added, assuming the leading role once more.

First, he got his large black backpack and put it on his back. He held his helmet between his elbow and his ribs. Then, he softly got hold of the handlebars right when I took my hands away.