Chapter 6 Definitely Not My Scene
Theo
I’m not meant for sales, and whoever decided otherwise has either never met me or actively hates me.
I’m awkward as hell, I can’t lie to save my life, and when I get nervous, I start saying things that sound smart in my head and clinically unhinged out loud.
Everything about me screams not meant for public consumption, yet here I am, six hours from home, parked inside a convention center that could use better air fresheners.
It’s one of those regional motorcycle expos where everything is too loud.
There are custom builders showing off bikes that look like art projects with engines, paint shops with sample panels laid out like candy, equipment vendors handing out gloves and microfiber cloths, suspension guys talking in numbers like it’s a second language, and at least three different companies trying to convince everyone their helmet is the only one that will keep your skull safe.
There’s even a corner section for racing teams and tuning demos, screens playing lap footage on loop while people crowd in like they’re watching something sacred.
My company is… not that. We sell efficiency.
Data. Programs that plug into a bike’s sensors and translate all that chaos into something a racer or a builder can actually use, so they can understand what their bike is doing, why it’s doing it, and how to make it faster without guessing and praying.
It’s engineering dressed up as software, the kind of thing I can talk about for hours if someone asks the right questions.
It’s clean and precise and it makes sense, which is a relief in a place where everything is noise and chrome and ego.
My boss, however, has decided I’m “client facing” now, which is hilarious in the same way a house fire is.
So not at all. I’m supposed to get new clients to sign with us over the other companies here, which would be fine if my booth wasn’t basically screens, charts, and a demo setup on a folding table, while the one beside me has a cooler of beer, a bowl of branded bottle openers, and two women in matching crop tops smiling like they’ve never had a bad day in their lives.
Nine out of ten people drift toward them like it’s gravity, and I’m left standing here with my hands clammy as hell, trying to look approachable while my soul actively tries to leave my body.
I keep telling myself I’m gathering courage, that I’m building momentum, that any second now I’ll stop being the guy who wants to evaporate and turn into someone who can start conversations on purpose.
I’ve been ‘any second now’ for three hours.
My throat feels dry from smiling at strangers who don’t stop, and my brain is running through worst-case scenarios the way it always does, because anxiety loves a hobby.
Someone put me out of my misery.
I’m desperate enough that I fish my phone out of my pocket to ask Jax, of all people, for help, which is its own red flag.
My stomach drops into my ass when someone walks up before I can even pull up his contact, and I force myself to inhale, to stand straight, to look like a man who belongs behind this table and not like someone who got lost on his way to a quiet room.
I’m really not good at selling myself, or my company, or anything that requires confidence.
So when I lift my eyes to meet hers, it takes a second for my brain to catch up.
She’s standing there, full of the confidence I need: arms crossed, eyebrow arched, and her hair is up in those cute space buns I never would’ve pictured on her, the cyan twisting through them in a way that makes the buns look like they’ve got rings.
It’s stupid, the detail my mind latches onto first, but it’s also the kind of stupid that makes my chest go tight.
My jaw drops an inch before I can stop it. This is the first time I’ve run into Raine without Jax or Elias around, and the last place I expected her to appear is six hours away from home, in the middle of my personal hell, looking at me like she’s deciding what kind of problem I’m about to be.
Oh fuck.
I'm going to say something stupid.
I just know it.
“You look like you're about to hurl,” she states plainly, not exactly concerned.
I close my mouth and swallow down every thought that wants to escape my lips but shouldn't.
Think.
What should I say?
“You look like… not you.” I finally decide.
Yeah. My filter is permanently broken.
She blinks, once, twice, arches the other brow like she's surprised, and then shrugs. “It's what gets people to come to my booth. Can't exactly attract customers if I look like I'm going to punch them in the face.”
“Or when it looks like you might hurl on them,” I gesture to my empty booth, aside from her.
The corner of her lips twitch for a moment, and I wonder if maybe I said something charming.
“Yeah, probably not the best way to get someone over here.” She stares at me for a moment longer, as if she's trying to decide whether whatever she's going to say next is worth it. “Wanna go for a walk? I think you could use one, and I know I can.”
There's a moment of hesitation before I answer, too full of shock. “Uh, yeah. I could use a walk.”
I step around my table and out of my booth, realizing I just signed up for a walk alone with Raine. My filter is still broken, my thoughts extra jumbled, and my hands so clammy I could leave a handprint of sweat on anything I touch.
I'm so getting punched.
“I didn't expect to see you here. What exactly do you do for work?” She oddly strikes up the conversation, and I'm more grateful than she could ever imagine because I was about to ask her what her first pet was.
She matches my steps as we walk through the exhibition. “I think it would be easier to explain quantum physics,” I joke with an odd ease.
She almost laughs. I see it for a second, and then it's gone. “Try me.”
“Okay, but tell me when it gets too dull.”
Oddly, she never taps out as I tell her the details of everything I do. She goes as far as asking questions, questions that show she was actually listening and not just pretending to. It's surprisingly easy to talk to Raine, but I think that's just because she's making it that way.
By the time I'm done talking, we've made our way out to the garden patio, the sun hitting the flowers just right so everything looks bright and vibrant.
“Enough about my boring job. What are you doing here? I know you repair bikes, but do you also make them?”
She nods, leaning back against the rail. “Sure do. I actually like doing that more than anything.”
I think back to her own bike, the way it’s customized and entirely her. She must have made it. Her answer feels so honest, so sincere, I don't have to look into her eyes to know.
“Wow. You're really impressive, you know that?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
She looks at me like she's never been paid a compliment before, turning her gaze up to the clouds. “Hardly. You wouldn't say that to a guy in my position.”
“Yeah, I would.” The words come out before I can overthink them, and I move in beside her, fingers settling on the metal railing that’s still warm from the sun.
It hums faintly under my palms, like the building has its own pulse.
“If the guy built half of what you have, I’d probably be impressed too. ”
She glances over without turning her head, just her eyes sliding to me like she’s measuring how much of that is real. “You don’t strike me as easily impressed.”
“I’m not.” I let out a breath that sounds more like a confession than an answer. “That’s why this feels weird.”
That earns me a short laugh, soft but unguarded, like it surprised her on the way out. “You’re terrible at this.”
“At what?” I blink at her, genuinely lost.
“Talking.”
I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth, mostly because she’s right and pretending otherwise would be pathetic. “I know. I’m more of a… spreadsheet kind of guy.”
“Yeah, I saw.” She tips her chin toward the hall behind us, like she can still see my sad little setup through the walls. “Your booth looks like a math teacher’s fever dream. You trying to scare people away?”
“Worked, didn’t it?” I lift a brow, letting the tease do what my nerves can’t.
Her laugh slips out before she can stop it, low and rough in a way that hits me right in the chest. “You’re weird.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Still taking it.”
She shakes her head, pushing off the railing just enough to shift her weight, and the movement brushes her arm against mine. It’s light contact, probably accidental, except it doesn’t feel like an accident when she doesn’t move away. “You really hate these things, huh?”
“Pretty sure ‘these things’ were designed to punish introverts.”
“So why do it?”
“My boss knows I’m too polite to quit on the spot.”
She hums, and it lands almost amused as she looks me over like she’s filing that away. “Guess I should thank him for sending you… at least it gives me someone I know here.”
“Should you?” I ask it lightly, but my pulse doesn’t get the memo.
“Yeah.” Her gaze drifts out over the courtyard, and she keeps her tone casual, like she didn’t just do something kind. “You looked like you were gonna pass out back there. Felt like a mercy mission.”
“Wow.” I let my head tip back a little, like I’m bracing for the damage. “So this was pity.”
“Definitely pity.” She doesn’t even blink as she confirms it, eyes still on the distance. “You looked pale.”
“I’m pale all the time.”
“Then I guess that tracks.”
A laugh slips out of me, half offended, half impressed, and I shake my head like it’ll reset my pride. “You’re mean.”
“Honest.”
“Mean and honest.” I glance at her, letting my mouth pull into a reluctant smile. “Dangerous combo.”
She smiles faintly, still not quite looking at me. “You have no idea.”