He shouldn’t have caught my attention, but he had. My eyes followed the fiery skull on the back of his leather cut. The swagger in his walk was only made more pronounced by the shit kicking motorcycle boots shoved beneath his faded and ripped jeans. He looked ridiculously out of place in Kennedy’s Korner, the bistro slash coffee bar slash hip hangout for the intellectual elite. At least that was what my current boyfriend, David, considered himself. His self-absorbed friends were equally pompous.

David took a drink from his crafted beer. The biker caught his attention too, only his reaction was the opposite of mine. I was intrigued by the intimidating, out of place stranger. David was, most decidedly, not. His nostrils flared wide in disgust, a facial expression he and his friends had seemingly practiced in a mirror because they had it down to an art. “Good god, since when does Kennie allow ogres into his place?”

Chandler and Tara laughed at his comment. I, on the other hand, was bored with my group and kept an interested eye on the man.

Tonight, David and Chandler, his roommate from Yale, along with Chandler’s girlfriend, Tara, were busy in one of their more mind-numbingly, dull political debates. I knew it was best to keep my opinions to myself when it came to David and politics. David had grown up an east coast aristocrat in a typically uptight and proper family setting. I’d grown up on the opposite side of the country with my single mother, who was, most assuredly, not an aristocrat or uptight. We’d even spent a good portion of my younger years living in a commune where we’d grown our own food and dyed our own clothes—with vegetable dye, of course. But my rather unorthodox upbringing had always been filled with love, and my mom had encouraged me to grow my mind at every opportunity. I’d graduated at the top of my class in high school, and I’d gone on to Berkeley to earn a degree. I was working my dream job as head librarian in a large public library. I’d met David at work, where he had been spending a lot of time doing research for his master’s thesis.

With all of my table mates deep in debate, I took the opportunity to watch the rather dangerous looking but fascinating newcomer. He strolled briskly, boots stomping with confidence, across the polished wood floor to a blonde who was sitting at the bar counter. She looked like the type who might sing in a band or deal cards at a posh casino. Her face broke wide in a gleaming white smile the second she spotted the man.

The biker’s tattoos rolled back and forth on his massive bicep as he wrapped his arm around the woman and kissed her. It wasn’t a peck either. It was long and intense. Watching it made a flush warm my face.

“What do you think, Emmie?” David’s question pulled my attention back to our small, circular table.

“Uh no, David, you know I won’t get into a political discussion with you. It will only end up with you feeling superior and me being angry.” I wasn’t completely sure when it had happened, but the elation I had experienced when David and I first started dating had dissolved.

My curt comment had covered the table with an awkward silence. I was sure I’d have to endure a lecture about it on the way home tonight.

I sat back and sipped my coffee, signaling that they may continue with their tedious conversation while I enjoyed my latte. I heard a chain jangle and the massive boots pound the wooden floor behind me. As my friends regained their debate momentum, I snuck a peek at the biker and his girlfriend as they walked out of the bistro. No surprise that they didn’t stick it out in the haughty, tedious place for long.

Quickly, my active imagination created a scenario of what the rest of the couple’s night would be like. Crazy make out session in a dark booth in the back of some rock n roll biker’s bar, a place that was the complete opposite of Kennedy’s Korner. Then off to an unobtrusive apartment to finish what they’d started in the bar. Sheets everywhere, lots of naked skin and maybe a little wild play in the midst of it all. A man like that would not be dull in bed. Envy was my middle name tonight.

After my cohorts had finished with their closing arguments, none of them any more enlightened than when they’d started the inane debate, we paid the check and went our separate ways.

David took hold of my arm as we headed down the block to his Audi. Actually, hold was the wrong word. It was more of a pinch and a harsh one at that. I scowled down at his hand.

“David, you’re hurting me.”

He released me immediately. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “What’s wrong with you lately, Emmie?”

“I’m not following,” I said curtly. Of course I knew exactly what he was referring to, but I decided to let him spell it out to see if he could figure out the source of my discontent. He was, after all, the psychologist.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. When we’re out with my friends, you’re aloof and disinterested. Hell, you fell just short of disdainful tonight.”

“Maybe I’m just bored of always doing the same thing and always being with your friends.”

He took hold of my arm this time but was mindful not to pinch. He did, however, yank me just sharply enough to snap me around to face him. Months ago, when we’d started dating, I thought he was the most handsome man in the world, the ultimate catch for any girl. But lately his always neatly combed hair and smoothly shaved jaw were losing their appeal.

Before he could spin off into one of his lectures, where he resorted to talking to me like some silly, immature girl, I reached up and brushed my fingers along his baby smooth face. “Have you ever thought about growing a beard? Even just an impressive five o’clock shadow might do the trick.”

“Do what trick? And you’re changing the damn subject.”

“I don’t know—the trick that will rekindle that spark we used to have.” I pressed my body closer. “I know. Let’s not go back to your place. Let’s drive to the shady side of town, find some really gritty bar and make out in the back booth.”

David shook his head and continued toward the car.

I hurried to keep up with his long legs. “It wouldn’t have to be a full make out. You know, just some really heavy petting and a lot of kisses.”

“Can never have a serious conversation with you anymore, Em.”

I stopped just five feet from his sparkly luxury sedan and thought if I had a fairy godmother, I’d have her turn the sedan into a motorcycle and put a beard and leather jacket on the polished man standing next to the car. “Are you fucking kidding?” I asked. “Serious conversations are the only thing we ever have. What I want to know is when does the fun, the excitement, the spontaneity start?”

He ignored me and opened the passenger door. I stood there for a very long moment and then shook my head.

“You go on ahead, David. I’m going to find a cab or an Uber ride.” I turned and started walking away.

“Emmie,” he called.

For a fleeting second, I thought he’d capitulate and agree to go to some unhip, off the beaten path bar, like I’d suggested. At the very least, I expected for him to try and make amends.

I turned around. There was a look of concern on his face. I almost patted myself on the back for waking him up to the idea that this relationship needed a major overhaul. But then he opened his mouth.

“But you’ll still make sure I get that table near the reference desk for my research Monday? There’s too much glare on that table by the window and too much noise at the one near the children’s library.”

I blinked at him and wondered just when I’d ever found him the slightest bit interesting. I think my mind had concocted the check off list for the ideal man, only my mind had had it all wrong.

“It’s first come, first served for those tables. You’re on your own.” I rolled my eyes as I turned back around, thinking I’d just wasted six damn months of my life with that man.