He spins the steering wheel and pulls away from the curb, leaving the library and any thoughts of academic rigor behind. I take a sip of the mango smoothie, eyeing him from the passenger seat.
“What?” he demands as we speed through campus.
“Friday night at the library writing a paper?” I shake my head with a tsk, “So lame.”
“Whatever,” Colson chuckles and flips his turn signal, “you did say yes.”
He has me there.
“OK,” Colson looks at me out of the corner of his eye, “where to?”
“Get on 315,” I reply, pondering the variety of options along this thoroughfare.
A few minutes later, Colson hits the accelerator and merges onto the freeway, going south, away from campus. Following the river, we pass the downtown skyline illuminated by the setting sun, continue beyond the soccer stadium, and approach the southwest side of the city.
“Alright,” Colson scans the highway signage along the road, “now where are we going?”
I empty the rest of the smoothie into my mouth and twist the cap back on the bottle, “It’s your turn,” I chirp as I reach behind me and drop the spent bottle into my bag.
Colson flips his turn signal and veers onto the interstate ramp, “How about Cincinnati?” He reaches for the volume knob and turns up the stereo, filling the Bronco with Satellite by Starset.
“Sounds good,” I nod as I begin to peel off my fleece jacket.
“You’re really OK with this?”
Once my arms are free, I settle back into my seat and brush my hair out of my eyes, “Why not?”
●●●
I feel a tap on my arm and look up from my plate of bougie nachos to see Colson’s arm extended out in front of us. He’s holding his phone in selfie-mode and I, instinctively, tilt my head toward him and smile.
“What’s that?” I ask as he retracts his arm.
“It’s so people know that I do like hanging out with you outside of class.”
“Ah,” I nod, “an hour and a half away on the riverfront, no less.”
A moment later, I feel my phone buzz with the notification that I’m tagged in the photo.
“No riverfront, yet,” Colson slides his phone back into his pocket, “I can take another one outside.”
“You’re nothing if not thorough,” I say, wiping my fingers on a napkin and drop it next to my plate, “but I have to ask…”
“Mm-hm?” Colson rests his elbows on the edge of the bar and looks at me expectantly.
“Were you attacked by a bear in Alaska?”
He stares at me with amusement, “What?”
His response doesn’t surprise me. It was a vague story, if you could call it that, and the accuracy was questionable, just like most of the conversation that took place in the apartment before I left.
“My friend, Katie Van Outer, said her boyfriend, Dominic, knows you and that you used to street race and you went to Alaska and were attacked by a bear.”
Colson picks up his glass and gulps down the rest of his beer. Eyeing me, he retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his joggers and pulls out a credit card, dropping it on top of the check behind the plate of nachos.
“Yeah, I know Dominic,” he takes his time responding, knowing that I don’t actually care whether he knows Dominic or not, “and I can neither confirm nor deny my street racing experience,” he smirks, “but I did work in Alaska last summer. I saw a lot of bears, but I didn’t get attacked by any.”
“Not as exciting,” I concede, “but I’m glad that part wasn’t true.”
Once the bartender slides his card and a receipt back over the counter, Colson slides off his stool and pushes it back under the bar with his foot, “Anything else you want to know?”
Yes, where the hell do I recognize you from?
But, instead, I just shake my head, “That’s it…for now.”
He extends his hand and I take it, sliding off the bar stool. Except, when I loosen my grip, he doesn’t let go, rotating my hand and intertwining his fingers in mine. The chill of the night air gives me a burst of energy as I follow him down the pavement toward the path along the river, the beaming skyscrapers behind us giving the sky a greyish hue.
“You know,” Colson glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “I can show you a video of one of the bears.”
I stop dead in my tracks and look up at him, intrigued. He grins and motions to the brick wall lining the path. At the wall, I turn around and hop up on the edge while Colson begins scrolling through his pictures. Finally, he turns his phone on its side and hands it to me, tapping the play icon.
In the distance, a giant brown bear lumbers across the wet sand of a beach, coming closer to a cluster of tents. It takes a whole minute for the bear to arrive at the tents, where murmurs can be heard in the background. It towers over the tents and folding chairs before it stops, sniffs one of the chairs, and then continues on, unconcerned with the bystanders.
I look up at Colson, impressed, “Wow,” I hand the phone back to him, “OK, that’s pretty cool.”
He rolls his eyes, “Pretty cool…”
“I said it was cool!” I shoot back with a laugh.
