Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Flynn
Callie purchases our tour tickets at the counter.
A family of four is being fitted with their bikes and helmets.
I don’t see June anywhere. Even though she’s the reason for today’s Adventures of the Muse and Minneapolis’s Richest Woman, I will wholeheartedly believe there is a God if June is not working today.
“Flynn?”
Too late.
June steps into the rundown shop, pulling her hair over her shoulder to braid it. She makes a slow inspection of my attire. There’s a limit to everyone’s confidence. This is mine.
“Nice digs. Are you buying a bike?” she asks.
“My boss wanted to take a bike tour.”
She shifts her gaze to Callie at the front desk. “Oh, that’s … interesting. Well, let’s get you fitted for a bike and helmet.”
I adjust my shorts. They hide nothing in the front and make me look like I’m wearing a soggy diaper in the back because they’re too big.
“Thanks, Tim,” June says to the guy helping the family of four. “I’ll take it from here. Sorry I’m a little late. My roommate lost her car keys and was crashing out.”
I tear my gaze from her as Callie hands me a tablet to sign away my life for the bike tour.
After I give it back to her, June nods for me to step closer, giving me a helmet.
I put it on, and her fingers graze my neck as she adjusts the strap.
My dick had better not get any ideas about an erection in these goddamn bike shorts.
Just in case, I rest my folded hands over my junk and think of Rupert’s naked backside covered in hair and a ridiculous number of moles. Anything to discourage my boner.
“How’s the muse job going today?” she asks. Her brown eyes flit from the strap to my face. Her voice is soft, like she’s intentionally trying to keep everyone else from hearing her.
“Look at me. Who wouldn’t be inspired by this?” I mumble.
She giggles. “How does that feel?”
I know she’s talking about the helmet and the strap, but all I feel is warmth and a shit-eating-grin level of happiness just being close to her. “Fine,” I say in a raspy voice before clearing my throat.
“Have you been on an e-bike before?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then go stand over there by those two kids, and I’ll walk you through it after I get your boss fitted with her helmet.”
“You really take bike tours seriously, huh?” the adolescent boy says to me.
I bite back the fuck you and opt for a screw-you smile instead. His older sister elbows him, as she should.
“Nice to see you again. We didn’t get to formally meet at the gallery. I’m June.” She shakes Callie’s hand.
“It’s my pleasure. I’m Callie.”
As my shitty luck would have it, Callie has been on an e-bike, so it’s just me and the two kids getting trained.
After we pass the quick test, June leads the group across the street to the bike lane.
The family stays in front with June, followed by Callie and me bringing up the rear. What’s the point of this?
We stop at various buildings, parks, and monuments for June to rattle off her prepared speeches on things like the history of mining and logging, a mill explosion, and the story of a bridge collapsing.
At some point she mentions Paul Bunyan and an ox.
She teaches me more history than I learned in school.
Everything she says fascinates me because she’s the one saying it.
“This is my favorite stop for spotting wildlife,” she says when we take a break along the trail in the middle of a park. “Last week, I saw an American woodcock doing its mating dance over there and a beaver by the water.”
I snort.
Everyone shifts their attention to me, so I clear my throat. “Sorry. I think a bug flew into my mouth.”
Callie nods as if I’m telling the truth, and the family just as quickly returns their attention to our trusted tour guide. But June keeps looking at me through narrowed eyes. Come on, woodcock is funny. And the fact that it does a mating dance is even funnier. Right?
“Let’s take a fifteen-minute break. Now’s a great time to use the restrooms over there if anyone needs to,” June announces, wiping the sweat from her brow.
It was only supposed to get into the 80s today, but it feels much hotter.
Callie and the family of four remove their helmets and head to the restrooms. June takes a drink, then plucks a protein bar from her crossbody bag.
“You and Callie look cute today in your matching outfits,” she says before biting into her bar.
I rarely calculate my responses to things. That’s probably one reason I’ve spent time in prison. But I like this girl so much, it's hard not to carefully weigh my words, hoping they’re the right ones to impress her.
“It was my idea,” I say with a shrug.
June covers her mouth while she laughs mid-chew. Is sarcasm her love language? God, I hope so.
“But this tour was her idea?” she asks.
I nod, removing my helmet and running my fingers through my sweaty hair. “Sure was.”
June eyes me with skepticism.
“It’s true. Just ask her.”
“Does she know we had ice cream last night?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know what flavors. I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
Again, June can’t hide her grin, but I can tell she’s trying to while staring at her protein bar before taking another bite. Making her smile is quickly becoming my new obsession. My past is filled with memories of people scolding me with my three least favorite words: that’s not funny.
I can smell the blueberries from here as June scans the park, looking anywhere but at me. My attention remains glued to her.
“Stop staring at me,” she says.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so beautiful, it’s a little unfair to everyone else.”
I think she’s blushing, but it’s hard to tell in this heat. “Stop,” she whispers, risking a glance at me.
“Not even a woodcock doing its mating dance could distract me from looking at you. A beaver is another story.” I shrug. “But the American woodcock is no match for you. So you’ll just have to deal with my staring.”
June makes a sad attempt at rolling her eyes before looking at me. She wrinkles her nose. Is she trying to look tough or serious? That’s not the way to do it. It only makes her look more irresistible.
“I meant what I said last night. No second date,” she says.
“I know. But do you still mean it today?”
She studies me in silence.
I look like an idiot. Hell, I am an idiot. But I’m also hopeful because I see the indecision on her face. Her brain is telling her one thing, but another part of her body is telling her the opposite.
“Fine,” she says begrudgingly.
I grow an inch taller, chest inflated with confidence. As the others return to ruin the moment, slowly putting their helmets on, I worm my bike to the front of the pack, right behind June.
“Teacher’s pet?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
She has no idea what a terrible student I was, but I’m eager to learn whatever she’s teaching.
After the tour, the family of four thank June and hand her a cash tip. I can’t tell for sure, but it looks like fifty bucks. Callie hangs her helmet on the handlebar of her bike and retrieves a crisp hundred-dollar bill from her wallet.
When June turns, Callie hands her the money and offers a kind smile. “Thank you for the lovely tour. You’re a delight.”
I’m sure that hundred bucks covers a tip from me as well, but I’m not the one handing it to her, so it doesn’t feel like it’s from me.
God, I hate this feeling. There’s a crumpled-up five-dollar bill in my wallet, but it’s in Callie’s belt pack since these stupid biking shorts don’t have pockets.
But what am I supposed to do? Ask for my wallet in front of June? Then pull out a measly five bucks?
“Wow, that’s very generous of you,” June says to Callie. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome. Flynn, I’m going to use the restroom before we leave.” She points toward the sign to the right of the counter.
June’s attention settles on me as she pulls the tie from her braid and combs her fingers through her hair. It’s pure torture.
“I don’t have my wallet on me. I’ll tip you on our date if it goes well.”
Her nose crinkles. “Okay, because that won’t feel weird.” She laughs.
“Now that I think about it; I don’t really want to date you. Feels like a lot of pressure.”
She deflates. “Oh. Well, then—”
“I just want to be with you.”
After a few blinks, she smiles at her feet. “Be with me?”
“Yeah.” I shrug.
“Well,” she chuckles, “you’re with me now.”
“Mmm …” I hum and grin. “Don’t I know it.”
She bites her bottom lip for a second. “Okay, so when do you want to be with me again?”
I look over her shoulder as Callie comes out of the bathroom. “Like … now. Later. Always. If I could tuck you into my pocket and take you with me, I would. But”—I pat my legs—“no pockets.”
June studies me before I’m rewarded with a slow grin. “That’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Callie peruses the bikes for sale as if she’s in the market for one, but I know she’s giving me time with June.
Time to say stupid shit.
Time to make June not want to see me again.
It’s possible the most common pickup line isn’t I want to tuck you into my pocket. But my insecurities have always stayed in my head, no need to let them out now. Yet I step closer to June, bypass my fears, and pretend I have the slightest clue what I’m doing.
“But in a good way, right?” I bite my lip like she did and peer down at her, waiting for a response.
Please say yes.
And there it is. That smile. The drug of all drugs.
“Yeah,” she whispers with a tiny nod.
Down, boy. That’s enough. Leave her wanting more.
After the pocket suggestion, what more could she possibly want? Regardless, I turn and nod at Callie, who’s probably had one eye on us the whole time.
“Thanks. We appreciate your business,” June says.
Callie flutters her fingers like the wave she gave me at the gallery when I forgot to open her car door.
I don’t wave at June. I wink. For the record, I have never winked at anyone in my life. It feels so wrong, but June’s grin is the grandest reward, so I add winking to the list of weird shit I now do because I met a girl.
Scratch that. I met the girl.
The moment we get into the car, Callie stares at me. Occasionally, I return a quick sideways glance as I drive us back to her house.
“Just say it. You’re obviously dying to say something.”
That’s all it takes to make her look away.
I feel instant regret because, despite Callie’s wealth, I might like her.
People reveal themselves even when they’re silent.
It’s the tiny facial expressions. The feeling that you have their undivided attention.
She makes me feel seen and heard. It’s a whole vibe with her that’s hard to explain.
“Nothing,” she murmurs. “I’m just happy for you.”
Happy for me? Does that mean she’s not happy for herself?
“You know, there’s nothing you could tell me I couldn’t handle,” I say.
“Believe it or not, I’m good at keeping secrets.
” I grunt a laugh. “I’ve had some really disgusting people insist I keep their secrets.
Not because I wanted to. I usually kept them because I was trying to protect someone else.
It might make it easier for me to do this muse job if I knew what has you down. ”
She keeps her attention on the road ahead of us. After a few blocks, she reaches across the console and squeezes my hand.
It’s a nice touch. I haven’t had a lot of those.