3. Shane
Chapter 3
Shane
“W anna grab a drink tonight? Jamila’s off and wants to get out of the house,” Raquel asks, packing sockets back into their places at the end of the day. I glance over my shoulder, still scrubbing my hands in the garage sink, in time to catch her wry grin. I know exactly what’s coming out of her mouth next. “Maybe you can invite that cute neighbor you’ve been pining over?”
Raquel De La Rosa is my only employee and a close friend—another lone shifter in the city. Lucky for her, her animal side is far easier to slip into in the urban environment unnoticed, even if she’s been known to cause trouble in her mischievous raccoon form. Her partner, Jamila Wilks, is human. They’ve been together for years, and Jamila has become unfazed by our kind. Raquel shares my affinity for motorcycles and stumbled across me when I was opening the shop. After circling one another and sniffing out our animal sides, she admitted she was hoping for a job. The rest is history. She and Jamila are as close to a pack or a family as I have now. Jamila works at a collection of low-key bars all run by the same hospitality management company, and Raquel sometimes drags me with her to hang out at them when J’s tending bar. Otherwise, we try to have drinks or grill on the rooftop of one of our buildings once or twice a week.
“I don’t feel like going out,” I reply, receiving a dramatic eye roll and a muttered, “Surprise, surprise,” from Raquel. I ignore her and add, “But you’re welcome to come over to my place. We can order takeout. I’ll call Max to join.” I finish locking the metal rollup door and close the office just as she’s ready to flip the lights off.
“Sounds good—we’ll be over in an hour.”
Waving goodbye as Raquel revs her bike and darts into traffic, I text Max, another stray shifter I’ve befriended since living in the city. He works in one of the high rises downtown as a graphic designer by day and plays gigs around town at night, so his hours are all over the place and I never know if he’ll join us. Before I hop on my bike, I take a mental inventory of the inside of my fridge and decide to head to the corner store once I get home. I should have plenty of time before Raquel and Jamila make it over.
Balancing a case of beer in one hand and my helmet, mail, and keys in the other, I climb the stairs to our landing. Soft music filters from under the door of Kaycia’s apartment when I reach our landing, folksy and melancholy. It’s been a little over a week since we formally reintroduced ourselves and I haven’t seen her since. I hesitate for a moment, considering whether I should knock and ask her to join us. Glancing down at my greasy jeans and sweaty tee, I decide to wait until I’ve washed off the grime from my work day, heading into my apartment alone. I deposit the case of beer in the fridge, shed my clothes, and turn on the hot water for a quick shower. Maybe I’ll pop over once I’m dressed.
Steam drifts from the open bathroom door as I dry off and wrap a thick cotton towel around my waist. Just as I start to wipe the fog off my mirror, a sharp knock at the door echoes through the loft, surprising me.
Damn. Raquel made good time today , I think, before shouting through the quiet apartment, “Come on in!” My wardrobe is across the loft near my bed, so as I stroll out of the bathroom in only my towel I chuckle, remarking, “Couldn’t wait to see me again, huh, Quel?”
“Oh, shit—I’m sorry!” a woman squeaks.
I freeze when I come face to face with Kaycia. I can’t fight the urge to inhale deeply, her scent heavy in the humid air.
Well, this is unexpected.
I let a slow smile spread across my face when her cheeks flush and her eyes drift down my chest, then lower to the knot of my towel before they widen and snap back to my face.
“Hey, neighbor. Need something?”
Good. I sound in control.
My thundering heart and the flip-flopping heat in my belly say otherwise, but my voice remains steady.
“I am so sorry, Shane!” She stutters and covers her face with her hands. “You said come in! I didn’t know you’d be indisposed. I just—” She trails off, tossing her hands in the air helplessly, as she turns her back to me.
I hold in a laugh, but as she turns, I realize she’s wearing nothing under her paint-splattered, cut-off denim overalls, the curve of the side of her breast revealed when she moved. I exhale forcefully and avert my eyes.
Control, Shane. Control.
“It’s no problem. I thought you were someone else. What’s up?” I ask again, making my way toward my wardrobe to grab something to put on, trying to maintain a casual tone. I definitely need more than a towel between us.
“Someone you walk around naked in front of?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder when she hears the wardrobe door click shut. She quickly looks away again, but I catch the barest hint of a smile.
“Kaycia?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you need me for something?”
“Oh! Yeah! Sorry, the heat is melting my brain. I think my air conditioner is broken. I tried maintenance but no one is answering. I wasn’t sure if you were having any issues?” Now that I’m wearing jeans, I toss the towel in the bathroom and stand beside her, pulling my t-shirt over my head. I fight a grin when I catch her eyes flick over my body, now fully clothed.
“Everything’s working fine here—but let me come over and look for you. If I can’t figure it out you can hang out here until Martin answers. Give me just a minute.” I grab my phone from the counter and text Raquel to come in when she gets here, then shove it in my back pocket and follow Kaycia to her apartment.
Entering Kaycia’s place is like walking into a jungle. No wonder she’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat—the A/C is definitely on the fritz. But it’s more than just the warmth; almost every spare surface is covered in plants, just like her balcony. It’s like she’s living in an artfully designed terrarium. I stand for a moment admiring the comforting lushness, such a contrast to the cool brick and iron of my own loft. When I look past the greenery, I spy her artwork. Bold colors and gold leaf outline human figures woven into skies at various times of day. The half-finished painting on the easel is an indigo night full of golden stars that causes me to struggle to pull my eyes away, trapped by the longing for a clear night sky.
“Are these yours?” I ask in awe. I cringe inwardly— of course, they’re hers, you idiot . The canvas with my fingerprints from a week ago is propped next to the easel making me smile at the memory.
“They are! I’ve got just a few more to complete before I have enough for the exhibition,” she replies, fanning herself where she stands beside me. “This one has been giving me trouble, but I’ll figure it out.”
“They’re beautiful,” I tell her. I’m not just saying it either. Something mystical leaps from the canvas and, though I would never have thought I’d say it, moves me. “Who’s your muse?”
“Anything beautiful really, but mostly nature. Goddesses, flowers, the sky.” She shrugs and smiles up at me despite the sweltering temperature. “Or at least the skies I used to see. I’m not from a big city. We used to be able to see all the constellations on clear nights. My dad liked to point them out to me when I was little. Some of my other pieces are brighter. I painted one inspired by the wildflowers I missed this spring. I miss them almost as much as the stars.”
“I miss them, too.”
Shit, shut up.
I clear my throat and change the subject. “So, the A/C?” I look around, turning my attention toward the thermostat and closet where the unit is housed and away from the memory of open skies.