Not entirely sure why, but Elijah felt a tinge of guilt while gawking so much at Gwen.  Mary Beth?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  A beautiful woman was still a beautiful woman, no matter how one chose to cut it.  And really, when was “looking” ever a cause for breakup or divorce?  And Mary Beth wasn’t here, so there was also that to consider, even though he knew she had issues about the flame-haired lass.  Ah yes, excuses were a terrible thing to waste.<br/><br/>As if her appearance wasn’t enough to blow his socks off, she called out the model of his motorcycle.  Granted, there was an Aprilia badge on both sides of the gas tank, but nowhere did it broadcast the name of the model.  Leaving her apartment the other night, he was reminded of the fact that those bike magazines he observed on his way out were, more than likely, not exclusively for Toby.<br/><br/><i>Boom!</i>There went his left sock, flying across the room following her correct identification of his Arai Randy Mamola replica.  What impressed Elijah even more was the helmet’s paint job was an alternative of the original, yet she still recognized it.<br/><br/>Possibly showing off by now, Gwen mentioned Mamola’s well-documented involvement with<i>Riders For Health</i>, and how she’d even journeyed to Africa for volunteer stints.<i>Zing!</i>Elijah’s right sock was now nestled next to the portable island housing the half-and-half, milk and various sweeteners.  She certainly had him beat.  The farthest he’d gotten was annually donating money to the worthy cause.<br/><br/>Refusing to come up for air where all things motorcycles were concerned, she decided to reveal a pair of rather distinct models that were on her wish list.  The Triumph made perfect sense, as the marquee was British, but the H-D?  Gwen liked American iron?  Both bikes were hefty in weight and similar in engine capacity, definitely not for the faint of heart.  Though he’d never admit it to her, Elijah thought she’d be best served on the Hinckley brand.  Not because of the fact that it was a better bike; he just didn’t dig on Harleys.  Secretly, he wished for both brands to be parked in her garage.<br/><br/>Those magazines were most assuredly Gwen’s instead of Toby’s.<br/><br/>Whoa!  Time out, he thought.  She mentions racing and bikes and doesn’t want to waste his time?  Business can wait.  Time was of no essence right now.  Peeking every now and then toward Martin, he noticed how one of the co-eds had left, probably miffed at a lack of attention.  Or, the majority of said attention had been aimed at a particular redhead ever since she entered the room.<br/><br/>Elijah eyed her neatly bound stack of papers, and quickly shifted gears.  “Nah, I don’t race anymore, Gwen,” he admitted.  “This body just doesn’t bounce along the tarmac like it did when I was in my 20s.”  He laughed, and after a sip of his<i>Americano</i>, offered, “The dealership I work at sponsors a young, hot-shot by the name of Andrea Tamburini.  Who, coincidentally, also happens to be the nephew of the shop’s owner.  But nah, he’s a good kid.  Smooth and fast is what he is, too.  I also wrench on Andrea’s bikes at the races.  It’s an awesome scene, and you should come out to the track one race weekend.  And Toby would go absolutely ape-shit!”  He shifted in his seat, attempting to recover from his over-enthusiasm.  “Um, Toby would, uh, really like it,” he quickly corrected himself.<br/><br/>HOE-LEE-CRAP!!!  What did he just do?!  And it wasn’t about the slip of profanity.<br/><br/>O!  M!  G!  Did he just inadvertently and really, really stupidly ask her on a kinda-sorta-yes-but-maybe-no-depends-on-who-you-ask date?<i>Fucked </i>was a poor description of his current predicament.  But wait, he thought, maybe she didn’t notice.  Or hear everything he said.<i>The Hub Café </i>was filled with its usual laughter and activity.<br/><br/>Papers still in her eager hands following her explanation of bespoke and non-bespoke items, she slid the organized paperwork toward him.  In turn, he threw out some numbers he’d gotten from the finance department.  It coulda been 2+2 for all he knew, or cared.  Elijah was just desperate for any kinda distraction.  He focused on the sheets of paper,<i>looking</i>at it, but not really<i>seeing </i>anything to retain.<br/><br/>Gwen then downshifted, proving that she was also proficient at shifting gears.  She spoke of an awkwardness and vulnerability, and how his opinion about her may have dipped because of this.  Elijah’s eyes left the inked pages to meet hers.  Instinct demanded he reach out a hand to one of hers.  Instinct was soon told to piss off.  There was already his potential faux pas to deal with about the racetrack.<br/><br/>Shaking his head in disagreement, he stated, “No need to feel awkward, Gwen.  We all have the occasional crappy day like that.  You needed a shoulder to lean on (he purposely did not say<i>cry</i>), and my shoulder just happened to be there.”  Elijah winked and grinned at her as if the two were one gesture.  “Besides, now that I’m aware of your British heritage, something tells me you won’t be in need of my shoulder anytime soon, if ever.”  Which was absolutely true, as he sensed a fierce pride within her, whether for Toby or herself.<br/><br/>With another hour or so to go until the start of their evening classes, they could afford to dither about their business venture or bikes.  Soon after, a gaggle of women entered the café, securing a corner table.  Within minutes, one of the patrons of the group pulled a smart phone from the inner pocket of her coat.  Engaging the camera, she zoomed in to 6.5x and took a shot of Gwen and Elijah.  And why the hell not, she snapped another one.  Satisfied with the pictures just taken, Erin Rossini returned the phone to the inside of her jacket.  All of the women paused their chattering, while a waitress patiently took their orders.