Chapter 8 #4
Shayne laughs again, his head tossed back against the rocker. Even his neck is beautiful.
When he’s done laughing, his eyes find mine and hold them. There is an undeniable kernel of heat in them. I would never describe myself as a lip biter but…here I am, drawing my lower lip into my mouth in a way that I hope makes him want to close the inches between us.
“I didn’t see you coming, Banshee. I had…expectations of what my time here would entail but…” he pauses, and I’m on the edge of my seat. Finish that sentence or I am going to cut you, sir. “I think you might complicate things for me.” His voice. God his voice. The timbre of it undoes me.
All of the blood in my body relocates to my face. Yes, please dear God, yes. I am so ready to be complicated by you.
Just then, Gordy jumps to his feet, barking his head off and hauling ass down the porch steps. A jackrabbit flies in the other direction. I handle this, of course, by screaming and leaping to my feet, affectively popping the sex bubble that was growing between us.
“Gordy! You bastard! You scared the shit out of me!” My heart, for the fourth or fifth time today, is lodged securely in my throat. I am going to find myself in an early grave at this rate.
“I didn’t realize how late it was,” Shayne says, standing up and clearing our wine glasses. He moves to take them inside, cueing the swan song that will end our evening. My heart sinks. Whatever moment we were having—or about to have—has been flatlined by an unreliable hound dog.
When he comes back to the porch, my brain scrabbles at ways to keep him here for just a moment longer. Then it hits me. Ask him about the book! A weak suggestion, but I’ll take it.
“Hey, did you ever get a chance to start reading Rebecca?” I ask, hoping he’ll take the bait and sit back down on the rocker next to me.
“I did—I started it the night I bought it.” He doesn’t sit back down, but he leans back against the railing. I’ll take it.
“Thoughts?”
“Maxim is a creep. She deserves better.”
“You’re not wrong. You said it was your sister’s favorite book, right? Tell me about your sister. Does she still live in Idaho?”
This line of questioning has the opposite effect than what I was hoping for as Shayne’s face takes on a pained look, his dark brows creasing. I’ve breached a sensitive subject. For a while, the only sound on the porch is the rockers creaking against the wooden slates.
“My younger sister, Lila. She loved that book. I can see why now—she….she had a passionate personality. Loved drama. She was convinced she’d been born in the wrong century.
” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck.
Worry settles in my stomach. Whatever Shayne is about to reveal, it’s not going to be good.
“She’s been gone six years now,” Shayne continues, his voice heavy with sadness.
“She would have been twenty-eight on Friday.” Well, that explains his mood in the bar the other night.
My heart aches, and I wish I knew how to comfort him.
Losing a sister at any age is a tragedy but at twenty-two?
I can’t even imagine what that level of loss must feel like.
“Shayne, I’m so sorry. She sounds like someone I’d have enjoyed meeting.”
“Yeah, she was pretty remarkable. I miss her every day. She deserved better, too.” I want to ask him what he means by that, but he stands back up, rubbing his palms against his thighs as if he were brushing away the memories.
“I better head out. Work starts early.” He spins on his heels slowly, his boots clacking softly down the porch steps.
I follow him to the edge of the steps, hating that our night is ending on such a sad note. I watch as his back retreats into the darkness, and battle the urge to yell out, Stay here! Sleep here with me! Instead I blurt out the next thing that comes into my head.
“I’m finally taller than you from this angle.” You’re scraping the flipping bottom of the barrel with that one, Paige, says Mind-Nana.
Shayne turns slowly an eyebrow cocked in question. He must think I have the maturity of a toddler.
“I didn’t realize that was something you were aiming for.”
“You stole my thunder. I’m used to being the tallest around here. Jo is 5’5 and Andy is 5’9…but only if he’s wearing boots. Don’t tell him I told you that.”
“You’re what, 5’10? That’s not even that tall,” Shayne says, his lips quirking into a smile. There’s still hope for me.
“How. Dare. You. My whole identity is tied to being tall.” I fling my hand to my forehead in mock outrage.
“Ah, well, you only have to wait a few short months to reclaim the crown. Sleep well, Banshee.” Ouch, that stings. I don’t want to think of Shayne leaving. Especially before we’ve had a chance to fully explore whatever…this is.
I stand at the porch steps, watching the taillights of Shayne’s truck until they disappear around the bend.
Tonight sealed the deal for me. There was a second back there when our eyes locked and I knew he wanted me. Maybe it doesn’t hold a candle to my own hunger for him, but it’s something. I just have to figure out a way to bring whatever is simmering to the surface.