Chapter 26
Istepped back to Kendra. Before I could say anything, the hostess had grabbed two menus. "Mr. Wild. Your table’s ready."
We followed her as she weaved through the busy restaurant. Forks clinked against plates, and chatter drifted through the air. The aroma of grilled food wafted. It smelled delicious, as always.
"That's a neat trick,” Kendra asked. “Does that always work?"
With a grin, I said, "Most of the time.”
The hostess seated us in a booth toward the back of the restaurant. We slid into the comfy leather benches across from each other and settled in. The cute blonde dealt out menus and said, "Someone will be with you shortly. Enjoy your meal."
I slipped her $20 and smiled appreciatively.
Kendra cracked her menu and started browsing. "I take it you've been here before?”
"Many times.”
"It really is the best on the island. Good choice."
"So who put you up to this?" I said with a grin.
Kendra's brow wrinkled with confusion. "Put me up to this?"
"Well, I saw you talking to Bill Wimbley. I'm assuming you're one of his riders.”
A guilty frown tugged her face. "Yes. I'm one of his riders.
But nobody put me up to this. He did, however, encourage me to make nice, since he is considering you as a potential team member.
It really depends on what you do on the track.
From what I've seen, you've got skills, you’re aggressive, and you're not afraid. Those are great attributes when it comes to racing.”
"So Bill wanted you to convince me to join the team."
Kendra gave me a flat look. "Bill is not my pimp.
I'm not here to make him or anyone else happy.
I'm here because I felt bad about what happened, and I wanted to express my regret.
Something tells me we might meet each other on the track again, and I'd rather keep the beef there.
I don't like drama. I'm not fueled by rivalries.
When I'm out there, I'm racing against myself. My personal best.”
"I think that's a great philosophy. Winning doesn’t always mean a trophy. Sometimes winning is just giving it everything you’ve got. Too many people are afraid to give it everything, on and off the track.”
“I have a theory about that,” she said.
“If you give it everything and fail, you’ve got no excuses. No one to blame. That can be a tough pill to swallow.”
“If you never push the limits, you’ll never know what you’re truly capable of.”
I smiled. We were on the same wavelength.
Our waitress showed up with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon, my name is Gwen. I'll be your server today. Can I get you started off with any drinks or appetizers?”
“Could you bring us some seared scallops and crab puffs while we look over the menu?” I said.
We both ordered bottled water to drink. As much as a hair of the dog sounded tempting, I needed to stay hydrated.
Kendra and I perused the menus. I went with the filet and a cup of lobster bisque. So did Kendra. The waitress collected our menus and brought out the appetizers a moment later. We dug in and started chowing down.
"So what got you into racing?” I asked.
"My dad, actually. He's a bit of a daredevil himself, and I guess he wanted to pass on the family affliction.” From her tone, I got the impression there was tension between the two.
“I don't know, I got hooked right away. The speed, the constant improvement, chasing a quarter second here, a quarter second there.
After your first podium, you're trapped.
You can't do anything else. You have to get that feeling back of standing on the podium again, even though it only lasts for a few moments.”
"The memory lasts a lifetime.”
"True. And that's what life is about, isn't it? Making memories?”
"Indeed," I said with a smile.
Kendra had a face I could look at for a long time. Her voice dripped like honey, and I didn't mind what she had to say.
"What does your boyfriend think about your racing?”
She gave me a look. "I don't have a boyfriend. I wouldn't be here with you if I did.”
"Isn't this just a business lunch?”
Her eyes narrowed at me. "Would you want your girlfriend having lunch at a fancy restaurant with an attractive man in the middle of the day?”
"Attractive?"
Kendra gave me a flat look. "Tolerable.”
I laughed. "Tolerable?”
"Shut up. I think you know how you come across to the opposite sex.”
I played dumb. "And how is that?”
Kendra blushed. "Insufferably arrogant. Cocky—“
“Irresistible?” I teased modestly.
“Cocky.”
I laughed again. “Confident.”
Kendra's eyes narrowed at me, and she thought about it for a moment. "I'll take confident over insecure any day.”
It was about that time when two masked thugs stormed into the restaurant. One of them aimed his pistol-grip sawed-off shotgun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger.
KABOOM!
The barrel spat fire, and birdshot demolished the ceiling. A plume of smoke mushroomed from the barrel, and the patrons in the restaurant screeched in horror. Forks stopped scratching against plates. Conversations went silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Mr. Shotgun shouted, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. As you’ve probably figured out by now, this is a robbery. Stay calm and cool and do as you're told, and you'll all get to go home alive and well. Cause any trouble, and they're going to be scraping you off the floor.”