Chapter 6
Fawnie
I spent the last three days playing the ‘will he text me, or was he bullshitting me’ game with myself.
Constantly. It shouldn’t matter, it’s not like we’re planning a date or anything.
It’s not like he sees me as anything other than an annoyance.
But still… I can’t stop thinking about his eyes.
And lips. I know he’d call it bullshit hero worship and say I was blinded by some sense of obligation or gratitude.
But I felt it. I felt something between us.
I’ve tried distracting myself with reading, long walks, going for drives, and checking out the local thrift and antique shops.
It’s all the stuff I love doing, but it hasn’t helped settle me one bit.
I was invited over for dinner at Dad’s and Rita’s last night.
I went, but I think they both could tell there was something bothering me.
I couldn’t just straight up blurt out a confession about how badly I’d disobeyed and how I’d very nearly messed everything all up.
I don’t think the events were connected, but in the middle of dinner, my phone dinged. I checked the text under the table so I wouldn’t be rude. Thankfully, Justice was telling some wild story about how he wants to take up parkour, so no one was really paying attention to me.
I could disguise my huge smile about the most clinical text I’ve ever received because Dad was trying to laugh off everything Justice was saying in hopes that none of it was real, and Rita was laughing along, probably sending up every motherly hope that ever existed that her son please not start jumping off of things and getting into even more trouble.
There was a date and a time from an unknown number. Unknown, but not blocked. That was all.
I immediately replied that it worked for me.
Annnnddddd I’ve had zero chill ever since.
I spent the day baking cookies. Every kind of cookie. I’ve made so many batches that I’ve lost track. I know it’s insane. Thankfully, I have a small freezer here, and I can take whatever doesn’t get eaten to the clubhouse.
The text said eleven. He was specific about it being at night and not morning.
If it was anyone else, I’d tell them to come at a regular time.
Maybe I’d joke about booty calls, but something about booty calls and Shadow makes my cheeks flush.
I’m not worried about being alone with him, I trust him.
But even if I didn’t, there’s usually someone in the tattoo shop until midnight.
I don’t know how someone can ride across town, park where I don’t hear their bike pull up, and walk so silently up two flights of metal stairs that their footsteps ghost on the treads, and knock on the door, exactly at eleven.
I pull it open immediately. I’m not into hiding any of my emotions. I don’t have a good face for it. If Shadow realizes within ten seconds that I’ve been anticipating this so damn badly that I’ve reduced myself to a half pathetic ball of eager nerves, is that such a terrible thing?
I expect a leather clad, surly biker who has maybe left his helmet on, or stuffed a ballcap on low. A black hoodie under a leather jacket. Maybe just one or the other. Worn-in jeans, big biker boots—the whole lot.
What I get is Shadow in a black button-up shirt, black pants, and a tailored jacket. He might be wearing a pair of shitkickers, but from the ankles upwards he’s red carpet material.
My jaw pretty much meets the ground.
“H-hey.” I try to make that come out normal, but of course I choke-hiccup in the middle of it.
A slow, wicked grin spreads across Shadow’s face.
I’m not sure if it’s my response to him dressed up that’s amusing him, or because he realizes the effect he’s having on me.
I thought he was handsome before, but that suit?
It fits like it was tailored to him. It’s entirely black, and god, it all looks good on him.
So good that I lose my breath entirely, along with my ability to say anything else.
I didn’t want to overdress, so I’m wearing a plain black pleated skirt with only one waist chain attached to the belt. I paired it with a long sleeve black shirt that I tucked in, and went for very minimal makeup and jewelry.
I swallow thickly, trying to pretend like I can’t feel my pulse everywhere but where it should be and that my stomach isn’t flipping in crazy excited circles.
“I- do you want to come in?” I don’t know what else to say. How am I supposed to be normal right now?
He waves his free hand down the length of his suit. “I thought I’d dress for the occasion.”
“Cookies?” I choke out stupidly.
“A fancy clown show.” I look up and see that his other hand is clutching the string of a number of helium-filled balloons.
Even if Dad hadn’t warned me, I’ve figured out by now that it’s easier for Shadow to be mean. He hides who he really is behind a massive wall of sarcasm and dry, biting humor.
I reach out and tangle my hand around all the balloon strings so they don’t go floating off into the night. “I like these better than flowers. Thanks.”
I step back, tugging the balloons in with me. I let them go immediately, and they float straight up into the ceiling.
The door opens from the kitchen, since the apartment’s living room faces the street. The kitchen backs the alley and the two small bedrooms look out over the side of the next brick building between.
Shadow shuts the door behind him. He raises a brow when he notes the approximate one zillion plates of cookies that are practically drowning the kitchen.
I lift a shoulder in what I hope is a casual shrug. “I really like baking?” It would be better if it didn’t come out sounding like a question.
Shadow, bless him, can’t keep his straight, grumpy face going. His lips twitch. “Mmm. And a glass of milk to match? Warm milk?”
“I can make you warm milk. Or coffee. Or tea.”
“Woof,” he barks at me, but it’s not as unfriendly as he means it to be.
“You mean, because I’m like a trained dog?
” It takes a lot to offend me. I’m not sure there’s anything this particular man could do or say that I wouldn’t forgive.
I expected there’d be a good amount of assholery to cover how uncomfortable he is with coming here.
“Or are you implying that you need to be leashed? Or collared and petted?”
Okay, I probably shouldn’t have gone there.
My cheeks are so hot that I know they have to be scarlet, and my nipples are going to slash out of this bra.
Even worse, I no longer feel my pulse in all the wrong spots.
It’s been completely obliterated by the insistent throbbing at thoughts of doing extremely kinky things with this tall, jacked, deliciously sinful and off limits man.
I’d ask what the hell is wrong with me, but I already know the answer. Visual stimulation on top of five years of dreaming slash hero worship. Yes. I’ll admit it.
I point to the round wooden table with the matching oak chairs. “Do you want to sit down?”
He stares at me like I’m doubly insane for dropping that so casually after flat out saying what I did. Whatever. He was the one who barked at me. At least I didn’t start purring in response.
“Would you like it better if I just left?”
My lips part in horror. “Not at all! I was looking forward to this.” I might as well be blunt. It’s clear that I have no shame.
“That makes one of us.”
“I’m glad you came, even if you didn’t want to.”
“How could I resist cookies and forced company?”
I back up against the counter and cross my arms. “What kind of tea do you like?”
“The best kind would be none at all.”
“Coffee?”
“I think I’ll take the glass of warm milk.”
“Can I heat it in the microwave?” The stove is entirely covered with plates.
“I prefer it simmered with the utmost care and attention on the burner in a cast iron pot, so I get my daily dose of iron.”
I roll my eyes. “Coffee it is. Let me guess. You like it black as your soul?”
He stalks across the kitchen, pulls out a chair and drops down into it.
He’s casual about it, seemingly annoyed with his clenched jaw and flinty, narrowed eyes, but I don’t miss the way he holds himself away from the chair’s back and keeps himself rigid.
Like it would hurt for him to relax for a moment.
“With a bit of cream. Because I have a baby stomach and it will burn otherwise.”
I don’t bother to bite back my smile and start adding a filter and grounds to the maker. I buy good coffee. I’m a bit of a snob. Try as he might, I think this stuff will be impossible for him to hate.
My hands start shaking a little as I scoop in the grounds. I can feel Shadow’s hot gaze on my back.
I know that logically I didn’t talk him into staying.
He didn’t leave because where would he go?
He was being dramatic. He might have taken a bus ride or even a short trip somewhere, but where?
Does he have anywhere else? Would he have gone to such extreme lengths to truly abandon everything because of me?
No. That doesn’t make sense. He didn’t cave or give me an inch. Well, maybe. Maybe I did wear him down.
Maybe some secret, lonely part of him wants this. Doesn’t everyone crave some form of acceptance or even the smallest amount of friendship and love?
He has those things. The club. My dad. He has friends. He has work. A life. It’s not valueless. There’s probably nothing that even needs to be fixed. What he was saying was true. I can’t insert myself into his life and start trying to pay back a debt that he doesn’t even think exists.
I get the coffee brewing and turn around slowly, hoping my thoughts aren’t reflected on my face. “Can I get you a cookie or two?”
“Would now be a bad time to tell you that I’m allergic to sugar?”
I snort. “As if. I have hard things I want to say, and you’ll need something to do with your hands, so humor me and pick a few.”
“Surprise me,” he drawls with forced boredom.