Chapter 7 #4
“I’m not actually sad and lonely, you know. Quite the opposite. It’s my house that gets lonely. When I’m not there to fill it with my joyful, happy presence.” What am I saying?
“Honestly, I probably socialize too much. Lots of random people in and out of my life.” The words geyser out of me against my will.
Shayne leans forward and grabs my shoulders, shaking me lightly. “Paige, relax. I don’t think you’re sad or lonely. But I do think we’re both tired, so if you don’t mind, let’s get out of here.”
I nod, too embarrassed to speak. When I’m nervous, I start sputtering, and words spill out before I’ve had a second to figure out if they’re the right words. You can imagine how well that went over when I was trying to make new friends every time I had to start a new school.
Shayne opens the passenger door. “Hey, it’s my coat—I forgot I gave this to you,” he says, putting it on. “I’m sure it prefers being wrapped around a beautiful, freezing, naked woman, but I’ll have to do now.”
My face instantly flames, and I’m thankful it’s too dark for him to see. I’ve swallowed a thousand butterflies. He makes me feel like I’m seventeen again; a bumbling, hormonal idiot.
“You have a weird sense of humor for such a—” I’m about to say ‘disgustingly gorgeous man’ but stop myself just in time.
“Such a what?” He asks, his dark eyes glittering. How do eyes glitter in the near pitch black?
I swallow, my mouth watering. I want to lean over and kiss him so badly, and I’m sure it’s written all over my face. He would taste like whiskey and smell like an evergreen forest. His mouth is curved into a slight smile, and I know he’s waiting for me to say something ridiculous.
“Nothing. I just keep expecting you to be the strong, silent type. You’re surprising is all.”
We lock eyes for a moment, and every single atom in my body is screaming for me to drag him over the gear shift by his fleece. His eyes flick down to my mouth for a split second, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
But instead of kissing him, I dig in my purse for my phone and queue up a trusty driving playlist that will hopefully fill the silence enough because I’m a coward. The opening notes of Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street” sound as I back out of the parking lot.
The mist has transitioned to a heavy fog, so I take the winding road down into the canyon extra carefully.
Deer regularly dart into the road at this time of night.
I glance quickly at Shayne to see if he’s sleeping.
He’s leaning against the door jamb with his eyes closed.
He’s angled himself diagonally in the passenger seat to make more room for his long frame, and he looks cramped.
“I used to play the saxophone,” Shayne says, clearly still awake.
“See, exactly my point. You’re almost too full of surprises.”
“You’re the one blasting Baker Street. I figured you were a sax fan.”
“Oh, I’m a huge sax fan. I’m just surprised that was your instrument of choice. Don’t you people usually play the banjo?”
“You people?” he asks, his hand against his chest in mock outrage. The pose looks completely unnatural on him, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You know. Backwoodsy horse types. Sitting around a campfire types. Cowboy types.”
“You could have stopped at backwoodsy horse types. You have a very surprising view of ‘my people’ considering your best friend is one of them.”
“She’s a horse person against her will. If she had it her way, Jo would be in some fancy city, dreaming up fancy houses.”
Shayne is quiet for a minute, and I’m worried I’ve offended him. “You know I’m kidding, right? The saxophone is a badass instrument. So are horse people.”
“Horse people are badass instruments,” Shayne says, chuckling. His laugh is quickly becoming one of my favorite sounds.
We’re quiet for the rest of the way. We pass the road that would take us to my house, and a large part of me wishes I was bold enough to make the turn.
Yes, we danced tonight. Yes, we have low-level flirty banter.
But no overtly romantic gestures have been exchanged.
After everything that’s happened with John, I don’t feel like I can just put myself out there unless I know for certain.
Also, he’s drunk and I am not a creepazoid.
By the time we pull up to the cabin, which thankfully isn’t as far off the main road as Jo’s house, it’s almost midnight, and I’m exhausted.
Shayne disentangles himself from the passenger seat with only a few grunts and groans.
He does a full body stretch when he gets out of the car, and I’m treated to another glimpse of his stomach muscles.
It takes every last ounce of my remaining strength not to lean over, grab him by the waistband and pull him back to me.
Shayne bends down and gives me a sleepy smile. “Thanks for the ride, Banshee.” He gives the roof a couple of knuckle taps before turning to enter the cabin. No backwards glance. No second thoughts.
I’m so glad I didn’t attempt to seduce him. The knuckle tap on the roof? That’ll be 10 points in the platonic column, Alex.