31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Kai Moreno
Double Shower Needed
Beau walks in like he owns the place and by technicality, he does.
His ego is nothing new though, leaving today’s aura carrying a different weight.
His button down is perfectly buttoned, his hair fixed with gel, and his boots freshly polished.
That’s when the scent of him hits me before he even crosses the threshold.
Whiskey. Strong, sharp, and sudden enough that I wrinkle my nose before I can stop myself.
“You know,” I say, sliding a stack of returns across the counter and pretending to check the spines, “if you are going to haunt the shop this early, you might consider a breath mint. You might look put together, but I can smell the alcohol off your skin.”
Beau gives me that wolfish grin he wears so proudly when he thinks he’s charming. “Funny you should say that.” He digs into his pocket, fishes out a little tin, and pops one onto his tongue without hesitation. “See? Problem solved.”
“Mm,” I mutter, shifting a book back into the history section. “Not sure it works that fast.” He leans against the endcap like he’s waiting on me, but his eyes are somewhere else entirely. Not the usual restless flicker either, more like he’d already made up his mind about leaving.
“I have somewhere to be at one,” he says, rolling the mint around in his cheek like punctuation. “So, do as you please until then. Then, shut down the shop as I go. I won’t dock your pay for it. I’ll even pay you more not to ask any questions.”
I straighten a crooked row of novels, dragging my finger along the spines as I count the ones still out.
Seven checked out, three overdue. I let the numbers ground me while I try my best to read him.
I don’t even know why he still allows what he calls “library rentals,” but old habits just won’t die. Not on his watch.
“Somewhere to be,” I echo, keeping my tone casual. “Just like that bike ride last night when you were supposed to head to bed? Mysterious much?”
“You don't like mysterious?” he shot back, shaping his mouth in an O.
“Sometimes,” I say, moving another book over an inch just for the excuse to look busy. “Other times, it makes me wonder why someone would smell like a distillery before breakfast.”
Beau chuckles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He adjusts his cuff, trying to be too neat for someone who is supposedly unbothered. “You worry too much, Kai.”
“Maybe,” I say as my hands keep working, sliding, straightening, counting.
But one o’clock? He’s not the type to pencil in appointments.
My mind goes straight to her. This is about Elowen.
Holy shit. He asked her out, didn’t he? Or, he stalked her again.
Jesus Christ. “You’re not going to tell me where you’re rushing off to,” I say, half a question and half a jab.
“Doesn’t matter. You have your life, I have mine.” Beau smirks, but he doesn’t take the bait. He just taps the edge of the shelf I’ve been fixing, like he owns the rhythm of the room.
“Right.” I count the last of the checked out titles, writing the number down a little harder than necessary.
“Very convincing. I don’t see why you’re being so secretive all of the sudden about her.
Last night you called me for advice. Then, back at the speakeasy you act like nothing happened.
When you say you’re off to bed, I hear your motorcycle take off.
Did you meet up with her? What did you do? ”
His eyes flicker with irritation. I can’t tell if there’s an actual reason he’s not sharing with me now.
What I do know is that the scent of whiskey isn’t coming from me.
He’s hiding nerves behind it, and nerves mean he’s going to do or has already done someone who matters.
And if it’s Elowen, why is he being so secretive?
He wants to appear stone cold, but I know he has a mushy-gushy heart under all those dark and emo clothes.
And I’ll bet every overdue title in the shop, I’m right. I slide the ledger back under the counter and give Beau a look so he knows I’m annoyed with him as well. “Alright. How about we make this interesting?”
“Interesting, how?” He raises a brow.
“A game,” I say, straightening another stack of books. “If you win, you don’t have to say where you are going. If I win, you tell me. Simple.”
Beau chuckles, shaking his head like he can’t believe I’m serious. “You really want to play games with me, right now?”
“Always,” I say. “And since you smell like whiskey, I like my chances, bestie.”
“Fine. What kind of game?” He smirks and leans his elbows on the counter.
“Trivia,” I say, already enjoying myself. “Old poets. We’ll try them rapid fire. Four questions. If you miss even one, you lose. Let’s see if you were paying attention the last time you pretended to read.”
“Pretended?” His grin sharpens. “You’re going to regret this, Kai Moreno.”
The first few questions I keep easy, just to draw him in. “Who was the poet that wrote “Ode on a Grecian Urn”?
“Keats,” he answers without hesitation.
“Correct. Who was the poet that declared, ‘I think therefore I am’?”
Beau squints. “Descartes.”
I smirk. “Philosopher, not a poet. But I’ll let it slide since I wanted both clarification and an answer.”
His jaw flexes, and I can tell he’s getting invested now. I give him another. “Which romantic poet drowned at twenty-nine?”
“Shelley.”
I click my tongue. “Look at you. A scholar when you want to be.”
Beau leans forward, eyes glinting. “One more and I win. Not looking so good for you.”
“Last question then,” I say, pretending to flip through titles on the desk. “What is the other name for, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day’?”
He rolls his eyes. “The other name?”
I smile, savoring it. “Wrong answer. It’s called “Sonnet 18”. Silly, Beau. So, by my rules, I win.”
Beau stares at me, then lets out a sharp laugh. “That feels like cheating, dumbass. My question wasn’t my final answer.”
“That’s what you said first though. I played smart,” I correct him, tapping the ledger with satisfaction. “Now, pay up. Where are you going?”
For a moment he hesitates, mint turning over in his mouth. Then he sighs, shoulders lowering like I had wrung the answer out of him. “Lunch,” he says quietly.
“With who?” I press, adding some frill to my voice.
Beau’s eyes cut away, to the window, to anything but me. His voice is low when it finally comes. “Elowen. I asked her out to lunch.”
Fucking knew it. I deserve a pour of whatever he’s been sipping on.