Commitment Issues Read Online Free PDF Page A

to be sure. Almost preppy. Oh, what the fuck...? I did a quick U-turn with my Harley and gunned the engine to catch up to Chico's car. He was halfway through a turn, so I barely made it before he was just gone to places unknown.
    At a stoplight, I pulled alongside Chico's Lotus, revved the Harley's engine, and raised the visor of my helmet.
    "You can take me,” he hollered over the engine noise, “but I'm the only one of us who knows where to turn."
    I put the visor back down, bowed my head, and stuck out my lower lip to pout. Chico thought it was funny and was chuckling as the light turned green.
    You can count all the instant tricks I've had on one hand, and you'll have plenty of fingers left.
    We drove about twenty minutes before getting to his house. He lived in a new section of town where all the houses had huge arches over the front door and exaggerated roof lines. They barely had any space between the houses, so this was not the part of town full of people who liked gardens and yard work.
    Chico pulled into the garage of his house, and I pulled my bike onto his driveway and got off. Even though Chico lived in a nice part of town, I took time to lock everything on the bike. He waited for me in the garage. As soon as I cleared the garage door, Chico pushed a button to close it.
    "What made you change your mind?” he asked me with an evil grin.
    "I have no idea,” I said, and that was the truth.
    "Well, I'm glad you did. Come on in."
    "Wow,” I said as I eyed a dozen or so bicycles hanging on hooks on one wall of Chico's garage. There were bikes of every sort, some with knobby tires and others with tires that seemed no wider than a piece of linguini.
    "I like to ride. What can I say?"
    "Yeah, I can... wait... what's this?” I said as I pointed to a macrame bag with maps that was on its own hook near the bicycles.
    "Maps,” Chico said. “Just maps."
    "Okay,” I said as I pulled one of the maps out of the bag. “You ride bicycles, so how come you have a map of the entire state?"
    "If you're gonna ride, you shouldn't mess around."
    "You must have leg muscles for days,” I said.
    "Feeling a little twitch of expectation?” he said with one raised eyebrow.
    His house was one of those places that look like nobody lives there. Nothing was out of place, and there were few sentimental mementos. If he had an extended family, he kept their photos out of sight. The walls were bare, and the art objects that were on his various tables and shelves had been arranged by a designer. Even books on a shelf were shown as a color-coordinated sequence.
    His furnishings were angular with plenty of metal and glass. There wasn't a smudge or piece of dust on anything. I was convinced that Chico had a basement for his regular life and was worried that I would mess things up just by walking through the rooms. White carpet? Great. Just great. I am not a white-carpet kind of guy, and riding a Harley with its spurts and highway bugs is just one reason. I'm not a slob, but white carpets are for people who live their life in a more sterile environment than me. I couldn't live like that, but I could certainly try to keep from upsetting Chico's pristine surroundings.
    He apologized because he hadn't been expecting a guest.
    "Apologize for what?” I asked.
    "Can I get you anything to drink?"
    "No, I'm good."
    "Oh, sorry, I forgot. Would you like a soda?"
    He remembered that he was entertaining Sean the alcoholic. The whole damn world knows my history. I guess the “anonymous” part of Alcoholics Anonymous is relative.
    "No thanks,” I said. If he wanted a drink for himself, he decided against it as though the sight of seeing somebody else drink would make me want to drink. I appreciate the thought, but seeing booze going into somebody else has nothing to do with me. If being around alcohol was a real problem, I would never be able to go into a 7-Eleven or grocery store. Drugstores sell cough syrup with more alcohol than whiskey.
    Chico slid up