“Service here kind of sucks,” Dmitri says.

I’m looking at the bikes on my own, but I don’t really know my way around a bike anymore. You’d think that a bike would stay a bike, but just ten years have changed the designs a lot, and I don’t really know what I’m looking for anymore.

“They’re busy,” I say. “With customers who got here before us.”

“Those customers aren’t as rich as us,” Dmitri says.

“Flaunting my money won’t help my image problem, will it? Just wait patiently.”

“Where’s Ruth?” The lesbian-looking lady shouts to the hot one.

“Late again,” the hot one responds.

The hot one is going over some kind of paperwork with two customers, but she grins at me. “Sir, I’ll be right with you as soon as I can. We’re understaffed right now.”

I don’t give her a full smile—just a half-smirk, but I can see her cheeks redden at that. She’s totally the kind of chick I could get into bed with almost no effort. Maybe I can do it one last time before Dmitri saddles me with whoever it is he picks out.

I pull a bike off one of the racks and squeeze the brakes. I watch as something that looks like a miniature car rim squeezes onto the center portion of the wheel.

“Those are disc brakes,” a woman’s voice behind me says.

Dmitri and I turn around and look up. There’s a woman behind us with a bike helmet in her hand. Her hair style could best be described as... unfortunate. Her dark-brown bangs are totally straight and cut just above her eyebrows, and then the rest of the hair is longer, but not long enough to avoid looking like a helmet, or maybe a bowl.

She’s tall—lanky—and her arm is bleeding. Her jeans are covered in dirt and totally mangled—not in a fashionable, hipster way.

And she’s wearing big, thick glasses that make her eyes look smaller than they are. It’s like trying to make eye contact with someone through a beer bottle. She’s panting, as if she just ran a marathon to get here.

Dmitri looks her up and down with his mouth hanging open, and he elbows me. “She’s perfect,” he whispers.

“Excuse me?” the woman asks.

“Uh,” Dmitri says. “The bike I mean.”

She smiles at the bike, and despite all the other unfortunate things about her, her smile is really warm and genuine. Her cheeks form dimples, and I notice she’s got some freckles on her nose. I never cared for freckles, but they look right on this woman.

“Oh, yeah,” she says excitedly. “This is a great value!”

Then she looks Dmitri and me over, noticing we’re wearing expensive suits. Or does she know our suits are expensive? Does a woman wearing torn and dirty clothes know a suit from the mall from a custom-tailored one?

She pushes her glasses up her nose and licks her lips. “I mean, usually you can’t get disc brakes for under six hundred dollars.”

I try to ignore the glowing look in Dmitri’s eyes, and I try to ignore how bad the hole I dug myself is. It looks like I’m going to have to date this girl, and I’ve got my work cut out for me. Still, it could be worst, couldn’t it? I did like her smile.

“So,” I say, “I haven’t had a bike for over a decade. What is the advantage of disc brakes?”

“Let me show you,” she says.

She goes to another bike on the rack and bends over.

Dmitri points to her and whispers to me, “She’s got a nice ass at least.”

I elbow him. “Shut up.”

He goes tight-lipped, but his dumb smirk doesn’t disappear.

“What’s your name?” Dmitri asks.

“Ruth,” she says, pulling the bike out for us.

Dmitri looks at me wide-eyed and mouths her name to me, snickering.

Ruth pulls the bikes side by side. “Okay, so this bike has rim brakes. This is probably what you’re used to, right?”

She squeezes the brakes, and I see little rectangular things tighten against the rim, just like my old bike had.

“Yeah, that’s what my old bike had.”

“Remember how they worked in the rain?” She asks. “Or didn’t work. Rim brakes have to squeegee all the water off before they can get sufficient friction to slow the wheels.” She pushes her glasses up, looks down at her torn jeans, and says, “It’s really dangerous.”

“So,” I say, “Uh, disc brakes don’t have that issue I assume?”

“Nope,” she says, “They push against the center of motion here, and water doesn’t affect them at all. The only loss of friction you’ll have is between asphalt and tire.”

She smiles up at me. When she smiles, I can almost ignore her bad haircut and nearly hidden eyes. I bet if I got those glasses off her, her eyes would really shine when she smiles.

“I didn’t ask your budget,” she says, “Mr.—”

“Eric,” I say. “Just call me Eric.”

I end up taking the bike. I don’t want to let her know that I’m a billionaire and scare her off. A girl like this probably has self-esteem issues. I realize it’s a bit assholish of me to assume that, but seriously, she must have self-esteem issues. How else would she have that haircut? I have to make myself seem as average-Joe as I can to even have a chance.

When Ruth disappears to go get the paperwork, Dmitri looks at me and cracks up.

“Perfect! She’s absolutely perfect. With those beer bottle glasses, there’s no way she can even wear contacts. Good luck, man,” he gloats.

“You’re sure? I think you’re underestimating her.”

“You kidding?” He asks. “You’ve basically lost the bet already, man.” Then he gets a very serious, menacing look in his eyes. “Not that I’d let you back out, of course.”

“I’m confident,” I say. “I can make it work with her. The main challenge will be getting her to date me at all.”

He laughs. “She’s going to be suspicious…I mean look at her. Why would a man like you ever ask a girl like her out?”

“I’m going to take it slow. I’ll suddenly be very interested in my bike, it’s a great excuse to come here.”

“This is too good,” he says, still grinning ear to ear. The only time Dmitri smiles is when he’s feeding off other people's’ misery and suffering.

What have I gotten myself into?