Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Twenty Five (Pt. 1)

"So, how did you get out?" I asked.

We've been riding uneventfully along the highway for about twenty minutes. With no helmets on. It seemed like neither the police or the other men in black had noticed our escape from the narrow alleyway, nor did anybody hear or see the gunshots fired back there. Which is kinda weird, considering the whole Jarod-the-doctor-killer thing going on on TV, but I'm thankful for that.

However, I was having a bit of a problem. I've been repeatedly asking Layla about our destination, but she seemed reluctant to divulge any information about that. All she would say was "You'll know when we get there."

And to which Phil answered with several big fat swearwords plus an entire debate script on why saving his wife is more important than an episode of The Amazing Race with Layla.

But that wasn't the worst part yet.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not like riding a superbike with a hot girl sucked, it's just that this Panigale model wasn't exactly built for two riders. Sure, Layla got the comfy leather cushion, but at the back where I sat, my butt was getting a little numb because of all those vibrations coming from the plastic cowl cover.

So, I desperately needed something to distract me from the discomfort at my crotch. And the question was the perfect candidate, as I was still kinda curious how did Layla get out of the so-called Holding Room Wong had mentioned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Layla replied, her voice so muffled by the relentless wind that I had to lean forward in order to figure out what she was saying. As I did so, a strong gust blew her hair into my face.

"Um..." I stammered. Uh-oh. I was getting distracted by her hair. There was a slight fragrance to it, but not too intense that might suggest that she goes through a can Aqua Net a day or something. Neither did it have that kind of clichéd scents like roses or jasmines. I don't know how to describe it; it just smelled...natural. Womanly. Very...Layla-ish.

Thankfully, before I could do anything weird or awkward (i.e. munching on her hair), Layla did a sharp right turn, pulling me out of my trance.

"What are you doing?" I asked, squeezing my thighs together instinctively to prevent myself from falling off.

"I gotta make some calls" was her curt reply.

By turning right, Layla had pulled up at a highway rest stop. It was a small one, with just a few stalls selling chips, donuts, fruits and some beverages. There were also a couple of payphones and portable toilets at the far corner of the 1000-sq-yard compound. Unsurprisingly, the parking area was nearly empty, with just a Cougar and a few bikes loafing around idly on the tarmac.

As Layla drove past the stall selling pizzas, the strong, spicy smell wafted across my nose, making me drool involuntarily. I spotted some delectable-looking slices at the corner of my eye. My stomach grumbled in response.

Right at that moment, Layla halted the Ducati with a start and turned her head around to face me. I could see that her face was flushed, but she stared at me coolly.

"And I believe you're famished." She observed, the edge her mouth twitching playfully as if she was trying very hard not to smile.

It was my turn to blush. "As a matter of fact, yeah, I am." I rubbed my belly self-consciously, praying that she hadn't heard any of the weird growling noises my stomach had been making.

Layla smiled and ran a hand through her hair. "Run along then. Rendezvous with me here fifteen minutes later."

I grinned back. "Cool. See ya."