Old Me

7 - The Date Part 2

I followed Michael up the stairs attempting not to look at his butt as he climbed them in front of me.

It was weird that you really couldn't hear much of the coffee shop bustle from downstairs. It was like it's own private space.

I wonder what he uses it for besides his music lessons. Michael waved to the barista behind the counter as we passed through the tables and people and finally made it outside.

"So, whats Bea short for?" He asked me breaking the awkward silence as I followed him across the street.

"Oh, it's short for Beatrice," I said pronouncing it the proper Italian way, BAY-UH-TREE-CHAY. The car lights flashed as he unlocked it and walked around to the passenger side to open my door for me.

"Thank you. How chivalrous," I said dramatically as I climbed in, immediately regretting how corny I sounded.

I saw him chuckle as he walked across the front of the car and slid into the driver's seat. His car was clean inside, another sign that he wasn't your typical boy. I buckled my seatbelt and he did the same after starting the car. He turned the radio down to a comfortable volume and pulled into the flow of traffic on the street.

"So, do you always go by Michael, because I heard others call you Mikey?"

I could feel myself starting to sweat despite the a/c being on in the car, and I adjusted the vent closest to me to blow more directly onto me.

"Well I go by Michael, Mikey, Mike...it really just depends on the person," he said turning up the a/c a notch on account of me fixing my vent.

Ugh, how embarrassing. Now he knows I'm sweating. Thank God I wore the stick of deodorant that Ale left at my house. I feel like men's deodorant works best when you know you're going to be sweating. Plus, most of the time it's cheaper. I should really just start buying men's deodorant.

"What would you prefer I called you?" I asked.

He turned to look at me as we sat at a red light and smirked.

"I can think of a few things, but how about we start with Mikey or Michael."

He cocked his pierced eyebrow and winked before turning his head back to the road.

"Oh, gosh. Was that supposed to turn me on or something, Mikey?"

"Did it work?" He asked chuckling.

"No," I stated with a chuckle as well.

The car was silent again and I looked back over at Mikey. His biceps were flexed as he turned the wheel and I focused on his tattoo.

"What's the tattoo of? I mean, what city?"

"Huh? Oh! Right. It's of Sydney," he said glancing down at it as if he forgot it was there.

"Like Sydney, Australia?" I asked.

"Yeah, exactly like Sydney, Australia."

"That's cool," I said nodding my head. I wanted to ask what the tattoo meant but contrary to popular belief a lot of people don't actually like constantly being asked what their tattoos mean.

"I got it to remember where I came from," he continued still focused on the road.

"Wait, what? You're from Australia?" I mean it made sense. I knew there was something off about his accent. But he doesn't talk like a stereotypical Australian.

"I know, I know, I don't really sound like it anymore. But yeah, my dad moved us to LA when I was fourteen, and I've been here ever since."

"Wow," I stared out the window in thought, questions buzzing through my brain with curiosity.