5. Kane
Chapter five
Kane
T he sun has started its descent by the time I catch up enough to call it a day, making me wonder why I bother with vacation when all the stress it’s supposed to relieve comes back the moment I see all the work that piled up in my absence.
The only consolation is that my to-do list is on the mountain instead of some stuffy office.
Jackson may get the bigger paycheck, but I’ve got the better job, or so I like to believe.
Tossing my bag in the passenger seat, I go through the motions of heading home, only to realize I have nothing to go home to.
The fridge is just as bare as the house itself, and I don’t have the energy to survive a trip to the grocery store.
Even if there was food, it’s hard to muster the excitement to cook for one, which is why I’ve rarely done it since Brian moved out nearly a year ago. Looks like I’m eating out again.
“Hey, Kane. The usual for dinner?” Jason asks as he sets my favorite beer in front of me, a Hefeweizen with an orange slice. Too bad I still can’t take the first sip without hearing Brian’s disapproving voice telling me what a travesty is to put fruit in beer.
“I feel like I should say no and try something different, but how do I pass up perfection?” I ignore the unwanted memory of my ex and lift the pint glass to my lips, closing my eyes as the cool liquid hits my tongue. Why does a cold beer taste so good at the end of the day?
“One Reuben, coming up.” Jason gives me a playful wink as he keys in my order. “How was your trip?”
“Meh. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to see my sister and my nephews, but do you know how exhausting little kids are?”
“How old are they?” he asks as he fills a glass from the tap.
“Charlie is four and Henry is two, and aside from naptime they don’t sit still.”
“Too young to ride bikes, then?” He arches a knowing brow in my direction, daring me to admit I didn’t try to stick them on two wheels.
“Yes, smartass, we did ride bikes. And played superheroes. And watched shows about superheroes. And dressed like them.”
“At least you didn’t have to play tea party, although I bet the pink hair would’ve worked well with a princess costume.” He reaches over the bar to rumple my unruly mop of hair.
“Take that back. This isn’t princess pink, it's flamingo.” I lean back so he can’t mess me up more than he already has.
“Why flamingo?” he frowns.
“Cause those birds are tough as hell,” I recite my favorite fact.
In addition to being aggressive when the situation calls for it, flamingos can withstand some pretty cold temperatures, so while they look gentle, they can be fierce.
I like to think I’m the same way. They’re also exceptionally loyal, which is maybe why I stayed with Brian longer than I should’ve, but that’s beside the point.
Jason laughs and drifts off to help another customer, leaving me to sit with my thoughts, which aren’t the best company. I’ve been feeling sort of off lately—hence my vacation—although it didn’t have the effect I wanted.
Despite having a job I love, I feel stuck in a rut.
Professionally I’ve hit the ceiling, until Jackson retires, anyway.
Which likely won't happen anytime soon given that he’s only about five years older than me.
Personally, I’m a disaster, still bitter about my last relationship and questioning myself at every turn thanks to Brian’s insinuation that he cheated because I’m, “not masculine enough,” as if it’s my fault I’m short and slight for a man.
Right after he dropped that bombshell, I decided to lean into his assessment of me by dying my hair pink and experimenting with eyeliner.
Why I chose that method of retaliation I have no idea, but it caught the eye of a sexy stranger, giving me the opportunity to have a little affair of my own.
Or maybe tryst is the better word since I was technically single at the time.
Either way, for a moment there I managed to convince myself that there was nothing wrong with my slightly feminine features.
I was still man enough for that guy, and even though it was just the one night he made me feel better about myself than Brian ever did, despite two years together.
That night got me through months of self-doubt, but here I am, still single and unintentionally celibate nearly a year later, which is starting to freak me out.
Part of that is my fault. I’m not good at putting myself out there, and I can’t really expect people to approach me if I don’t look approachable. But—and here’s the rub—maybe guys don’t want a man who isn’t tall and muscular, just like Brian said.
No matter how much I try to ignore it, the guy is in my head, and I’m starting to wonder if the only way to get him out is a change of scenery.
That’s the real reason I went to visit my sister, to see if a fresh start might get me out of my funk.
Only her scenery didn’t do anything for me.
I want green mountains, not red cliffs, so for now I guess I’m home ?
I take another sip of beer as my eyes wander around the restaurant, landing on a stranger sitting at the opposite end of the bar. Talk about new scenery. Although, he’s not exactly a stranger in the sense that I recognize him from the mountain.
Some people just belong on two wheels, and this guy is one of them. I wouldn’t have expected that since he’s a little taller and broader than your typical biker, but his physical stature didn’t impede him. Just the opposite.
The guy rides like the bike is an extension of his body, tethering him to the trail despite the fact that he’s not actually touching it.
Fast but not reckless, he whipped over terrain a novice would consider a joyride, and floated over obstacles even seasoned riders don’t attempt.
I’ll own it—the way he rides gave me a semi—and that’s saying something because I’m hard to impress.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him, strictly because of his grace on the bike, and once I got a look at that face I was done for.
Strong jaw with just a hint of stubble. Eyes that studied the trail with a mix of determination and wonder. The hint of a smile when he got to the bottom of the mountain, almost like he was at peace and trying to stay in the moment. I know because that’s exactly how I feel on my bike.
His effortless skill mesmerized me, to the point that I almost, almost , built up the courage to approach him.
But I lost my nerve when Brian’s current boyfriend swaggered past on his way to his shift at the bar.
One look at the solid legs poking out from his shorts and my stomach sank, knowing the calves beneath my knee-length shorts were no comparison.
So, I watched him ride off, a strange pang of regret rippling through my chest over the loss of something I’d never have.
And now he’s here, right across the bar and… Shit . He caught me staring .
I lift my glass, an awkward little “ cheers ”, as if that will somehow make it any less embarrassing to get caught mid-ogle. Instead of lifting his glass in return he spins to his right, then his left, looking behind him.
Oh. My. God. Gorgeous and modest? That’s unexpected.
And sort of awesome. I stifle a laugh when he realizes there’s no one around him and gives me an almost bashful smile.
My chest constricts with that strange little yearning thing again.
Although now, instead of a dull ache it’s an acute pain, like someone pricked me with a fucking needle.
Suddenly the idea of watching him walk away is more painful than the idea of talking to him. Man up, Kane .
Tossing back the last of my liquid courage, I make my way around to his side of the bar, grateful that he’s focused on something in his hand rather than me as I approach.
“Hi. Um, can I sit?” I point to the empty stool next to him.
His brows disappear beneath his hair before he moves to pull out the stool. “Yeah. Please.”
“Kane.” I give him my hand.
“Blake.” Sparks travel up my arm the second his warm fingers wrap around mine, a feeling that’s foreign in the sense we’ve never met, yet familiar in the sense it’s happened once before. It gives me a good vibe about Blake.
We linger there a second, staring at each other with our hands clasped, until he clears his throat and darts his gaze to the barstool. I let my hand slip away from his and take a seat.
“Enjoying your visit?” I press my lips between my teeth as soon as the words are out. That’s the best you can do?
“What makes you think I’m just visiting?” He cocks his head to the side .
“The hotel key card you’re spinning on the bar.” I nod toward the hand resting on the counter, and he visibly starts. It’s cute. “Doing some heavy thinking?”
“Um, just the usual for a guy sitting alone at a bar.” He casts me a sideways glance as he sips his beer.
“And that is?”
“What the fuck am I doing alone at a bar?” His shoulders seem to slump a bit as he gives me a guilty smile.
I bite my lip to stop the grin tugging at it. “At least you have the excuse of visiting. I, on the other hand, sit at this bar alone quite frequently.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I think I might put off a ‘stay back’ vibe.”
“Why’s that?” His tone is purely curious. I like that.
“I’m not very good at small talk.”
“You’re doing fine so far. Although, now I’m wondering why you came over, if you don’t like talking.”
“I’m not sure I would've if you didn’t catch me staring. But I figured since I missed you on the mountain, I should at least talk to you now.”
“You saw me on the mountain?” Those brows lift into his hair again.
Swallowing my nerves, I nod. “I like the way you ride.”
“You bike?” His eyes seem to light up.