11. Shane
Chapter 11
Shane
I can’t stop staring as Kaycia tells me about the plans for her upcoming exhibition and describes the gallery where it’s to be held. Listening to her talk about her art is hypnotic. I got lost in our conversation a couple of nights ago watching her flit around the apartment pointing out the inspiration and features. I’m curious to see the ones she tells me about that are already at the gallery. She lights up from within as she lays out her plans for the exhibition and explains what she’s struggling with to complete the pieces she showed me the other night.
The waitress pours the cool white wine, but I barely notice her as Kaycia sips a taste, then nods her approval. When the waitress leaves, she smiles and holds out her glass for a toast.
“To new friends in new cities,” she toasts.
“To hopefully more than friends, and serendipitous escape attempts by rogue canvases,” I retort.
“I’ll drink to that.” Her eyes are sparkling in the dim light, staring over her wine glass as she takes a sip, watching me do the same. She’s gorgeous tonight, her long hair hanging loose around her bare shoulders and over the tiny straps of her floral dress.
What is it about sundresses that makes me go nuts? Is there some spell cast whenever a woman slips one on that immediately makes me imagine taking it back off?
Shaking my head, I take another sip of wine and watch her skim the menu. She’s wearing more makeup than I’ve seen on her before, her eyes more defined, her lips as red as her dress. She’s beautiful when she’s covered in paint, barefooted in overalls, but tonight I can’t stop staring. She’s fucking stunning.
Shit, I’ve got it bad.
I scrub my hand over the nape of my neck as I flick my eyes between my own menu and her face. I catch her doing the same and we smile when we catch each other.
“See something you’d like?” the waitress asks, suddenly back in my periphery. She’s waited on me before when I’ve eaten at the bar alone. She seems amused that I have a date tonight.
“I definitely do,” I answer, eyes not leaving Kaycia’s. The flush across her cheeks and chest makes my stomach twist, not unpleasantly.
The waitress stifles a small laugh, patiently waiting to see if I’ll order.
“Same,” Kaycia answers in a breathy voice. Clearing her throat, she orders and I follow suit. The waitress winks at me when I hand her the menus, shaking her head as she walks away to place the order.
Two glasses of wine and half a plate of truffle and parmesan fries down and the conversation has turned from flirting and innuendos to more personal topics. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date where I actually care about the outcome, or that isn’t just about getting laid, that I’ve let down my guard a bit, dangerous as it may be.
“How did you get into motorcycles?” Kaycia asks.
“My dad rides. He gave me a dirt bike when I was a kid and taught me how to do the repairs on it. I fell in love with them. It was a natural move to make it a career,” I answer. “You can’t beat the freedom of the open road with the wind on your cheeks.” I involuntarily close my eyes, thinking of running through the woods as my wolf. Motorcycles are the closest thing I can get to that feeling in this form.
“You don’t worry about crashing?”
I chuckle. “It takes a lot to hurt me. Don’t you worry.” She doesn’t know how quickly a shifter can heal. Laying down my bike isn’t as serious for me as it would be for a human.
“Speaking of,” she says, taking a sip of wine, then gesturing toward my left arm. “What happened there?”
I rub my palm over the scar, unable to tell her the truth of the cause. “An accident when I was a kid. I didn’t get stitches like I should have, which is why it scarred like this.”
“Hmm…” she hums. “Does it hurt?”
Not physically , I think, but reply, “Not anymore.” Kaycia reaches across the table and gently strokes the scarred indentation with her first two fingers, sending a shiver over me. Pulling her hand back, she changes the subject, continuing to tread a bit close to my past for comfort. “Do you have siblings?”
“I did. I mean, I do. A brother and sister, both younger. But I don’t really have a relationship with my family anymore.” I hope the vague answer will encourage her to change the subject.
“None of them? I’m sorry, that must be hard,” she answers, a sad smile taking the place of her earlier joy. “I don’t know about siblings though, I’m an only child.”
“Tell me about your family.” I take the out and turn the conversation away from me. “You told me things are a bit strained?”
“Yeah”—she grimaces and takes another sip—“they mean well. But they’re so focused on security and being practical that I think they’ve forgotten what it’s like to dream. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not naive, I know money is a necessary evil and being safe and secure are important. But when you’re so focused on that, I think you miss out on opportunities to really live. To explore what might be a better fit. Does that make sense? Ugh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“It makes sense. And I like your rambling.”
Kaycia chuckles, toying with the edge of her plate with a wistful look. “It’s been hard. I don’t think it’s in my nature to disobey. I’ve always played by the rules and did what was expected.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re a good girl?” I let my lips quirk up as she blushes and squirms in her seat. When she bites her lower lip, I have to stifle a groan.
“Moving here was the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done. I wish I could say I never looked back, but when things are hard, or lonely, or I feel homesick, I sometimes think they were right. But things are looking up.” She raises her eyes to meet mine.
“Oh?” I press with a grin.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ve sold a few pieces, I’ve found a gallery and I have this exhibition on the horizon, and—” She pauses, a wicked smile twinkling in her eyes. “My hot neighbor asked me out.”
“And how do you see that going?”
“Well, he seems really nice despite his bad boy looks, even if he’s a little reticent. But if it doesn’t work out all his friends are pretty hot, too.”
“Oh, I see how it is! You’re using me to get to my hot friends. Waitress, check please!” I tease as she giggles, but when we both stop laughing the little thread of tension stretched between us goes taut, pulling from my gut as I study her face. When she licks her lower lip and pulls it between her teeth my breath hitches, and I have to adjust myself discretely under the table.
“I hope it goes well,” Kaycia murmurs, her foot sliding up my calf.
“Me, too,” I answer, a hunger surging through me that I know won’t be sated at dinner.
After our meals and a shared cheesecake slice for dessert—one that Kaycia took full advantage of licking from her fork to my combined delight and misery—we walk back out the sweet-scented green archway and onto the sidewalk, heading to the bar. It’s nearly nine o’clock. Max’s band will be on in about half an hour, so we stroll hand in hand without rushing. It’s nice to have someone to just be with. Kaycia seems content to hold my hand and walk, at ease with the silence.
“Have you been to this bookstore yet?” I ask, passing the window of the little used bookshop where the store cat hisses at me through the glass.
“No, but he doesn’t seem to be a fan of yours.” She laughs, looking through the window at the stacks. “We’ll have to come check it out sometime. I’ll protect you from the guard kitty.”
I huff a little laugh, then gesture across the street to the roll-up door of the garage. “There’s my place.” The sign overhead that marks my shop—SM Moto Works—is softly illuminated.
“Oh! It really is close to the galleries, isn’t it? I don’t usually come down this street. I never realized.”
“Thought I was just using a line on you?”
“Well… maybe? I’m still new here, you can’t expect me to know where everything is,” she confesses, bumping my arm with her bare shoulder.
“It’s fine. You’ll have to stop in one day. You can ride home with me.” I nudge her in return. I’ll get her on the back of my bike sooner or later. She trembles a little, and I can’t tell if it’s in jest or real fear of riding on a motorcycle—the night’s too warm for her to actually be cold.
“We’ll see. Oh! Is this where we’re going?”
We are a few doors down from the little bar where Jamila serves drinks and Max is playing tonight. The neon sign announcing Lovely Lucy’s with the outline of a vintage cowgirl adorns the front, beckoning people to the light. A line trails down the street a few couples deep, but I usher Kaycia toward the door guy. I know Rodrigo, both from Jamila and working on his classic chopper. I never wait in line.
“Wait,” Kaycia murmurs, pulling me to a stop under the awning of the neighboring building.
In the shadow of the storefront, I can easily see her with my sharp wolf vision, but with her human eyesight, it must seem much darker. She glances up at me through her lashes, pulling me closer by the front of my tee until her back is pressed against the door and I’m almost flush against her.
“I wanted to thank you for a lovely dinner before we’re with everyone.”
Instinctively, my hands go to her waist, pulling her hips tight to mine.
“Oh yeah?” I whisper, running my nose against her jawline so she shivers as she grinds against me. There’s no questioning the cause this time.
“Yeah.” She exhales her answer and then our mouths collide. She’s sweet like cheesecake and wine, and her fingers are tangled in my shirt holding me tight to her as she gasps against my lips. It’s all I can do to keep from lifting her up or running my hands under the hem of her dress.
“Why are we going to this show tonight?” I murmur against her lips, drawing a little breathy giggle from her.
“For you to support your friends. For me to make friends. To dance! Don’t worry, we have all night,” she answers, giggling again as I groan and press my forehead to hers. The tension eases slightly, and we step apart, straightening ourselves. She wipes at my lips with her thumb to remove any lipstick that might have marked me. Her lips look perfect, albeit swollen from our kisses. I nip at the pad of her thumb, earning a satisfying little yelp and flirtatious giggle.
I wrap my arm around her, squeezing her hip, and pull her from the shadows. “All right, let’s go.”