Chapter 18
chapter
eighteen
SHAY
C was intimidatingly attractive. I wasn’t sure how else to describe it. Graham had been handsome in a good-boy way. Everything about this guy radiated power—though there was a slight lift to his lips, a softness that dulled the edge of him, like he’d wrapped a blade in fabric so I could hold it.
He kicked off the wall.
Fuck.
I remembered he’d been tall at Tropes, but even in the four-inch heels my sister had forced on me, he still towered. Tattoos snaked from the charcoal-gray sleeve of his suit, down his wrists and over his hands.
Big hands.
That were…dusted in some white powder? Weird.
More tattoos clawed their way up the side of his neck, and they gave his suit a sawtooth edge, like the fabric was barely restraining the power of him.
There was something about him that screamed jock, too, like he could have played water polo or some equally posh sport in college. Those boys all had the same unseriousness—which seemed like it should be at odds with the subtle hum of something dark vibrating off him.
But, nonetheless, it was there in the playful pout of his lips.
And his body definitely belonged to an athlete.
He tilted his head, something unreadable in his eyes, and I realized I’d been staring.
I swallowed. “Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand to him. His eyes sharpened, amused.
He took my hand in his, shaking it. “Calder.”
Calder.
The sound fit him, the sharp C and the way the R seemed to disappear into a growl.
He was grown. My sister’s words echoed in my head. He was only a few years older than my ex, but there was something infinitely more mature about him. Grounded.
He didn’t look overdressed or uncomfortable in a suit. Like this was just how he got out of bed.
Calder stepped closer, not letting go of my hand.
“Do you have a name? Or should I call you Maniac?”
Need to know you can fit all of me, my little Maniac.
I blinked, trying to repress Void’s words.
“Oh, um…” Shit. “Yes. It’s Shay, actually. Short for Asherah.” Not sure why I told him that, as I spent the majority of my time pretending my mother hadn’t given me a name that also belonged to a millennia-old long-forgotten goddess and divine feminine counterpart to Yahweh.
“Asherah.” He repeated my name in a growl that settled in my bones. “It suits you.”
I stared into his deep, midnight-blue eyes, and for the first time I didn’t hate my name.
Then I quickly realized I was still holding his hand. I tore mine away with so much force that I stumbled backward. He steadied me with a hand at my waist.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t apologize.” His grip tightened slightly at my hip. “It’s my job to make you comfortable.”
I froze, suddenly flushed. I was a bundle of fucking nerves, and instead of making me feel bad about it, he took them as something he had to overcome. That…was unexpectedly hot.
“I look forward to getting you out of your head,” he said, and shot me a crooked and dazzling white smile. His tongue pressed against his canine, like he was teasing me.
My gut did a somersault.
“Ready?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?”
The right side of his mouth curved. “For dinner.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
Calder’s hand found my lower back, ushering me through the door. He careened me through the waiting crowd, angling his body so they were blocked. The hostess noticed him and picked up two menus, pulling a book out of the bookshelf behind her. The shelf opened up into a speakeasy-style restaurant.
It was dark save for candlelight—real candlelight. Skinny, tapered candles dripped ghostly white wax from wall sconces and flickered against matte-black walls. In the center of each table was a cascade of melted candles.
The room felt soft, secret.
Calder’s hand was a hot weight on my lower back, melting through two layers of fabric. He kept his body between mine and the restaurant, fingers pressing against my lower back whenever he wanted me to change direction.
By the time we reached the table, my teeth were tingling like I’d just eaten too much sugar.
His hand left my back and I instantly—insanely—missed it.
He pulled out a chair for me.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the black velvet wingback. Hushed conversation and the occasional plink of silverware were our ambiance.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”
Calder didn’t immediately pick up the menu. He sat still, gaze on me, attention fixed. My gut did another flip.
“Can I get you any drinks to start?” A waitress appeared out of thin air. “Or do you need some time?”
He didn’t take his eyes off me when he answered. “We need time.”
I couldn’t look away from him. His gaze made me feel like when I was nineteen and first tried tequila.
Heady.
Reckless.
The room dulled into something soft and diffused, my blood warm and thick like melted caramel.
His eyes were an intense dark blue that bordered on black, but in contrast, his irises had bright, almost white striations. Like ice cracking.
Oh, shit. His mouth was moving. He was speaking.
“I’m sorry, what?” Focus, Shay. You’ve managed conversation without serious injury before.
He smiled a half smile that settled like warm butter in my gut. “I asked if you were hungry.”
“Starving,” I answered truthfully.
“Good.”
His words slid rough and delicious inside me, abrading my blood. Until I was breathless just from the way it rumbled low in his throat, like I’d deeply pleased him.
His hand slid to the menu, still keeping his eyes on me. “They do a killer pot roast.”
“I don’t eat—”
“Meat,” he finished for me. “Everything here is vegan or vegetarian. If you’re not into faux meat, their butternut squash soup is pretty fucking great.”
“Oh, that does sound—” Wait. “How did you know I don’t eat meat?”
Calder tensed, his jaw tightened, and for a moment I would have sworn he looked nervous. But then he smiled, a slow, confident thing that made a dimple pop in his right cheek.
Whoa.
“Never know with first dates,” he said. “Figure better safe than sorry.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s nice.”
Another half smile, this time pinching his deep blue eyes.
“Did you play water polo?” I blurted.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms overhead, still with the fucking eye contact, lips curled, like my question had charmed him.
His hands came to the back of his head, casual. “I rowed.”
Of course.
It was, like, the poshest of activities outside of hunting men for sport.
“You have the look about you,” I said in explanation.
“Look?” The slightly offended arch of his brow had me smiling, but the waiter came over again, saving me from having to answer.
“Ready?” she asked.
He waited for my answer. In that moment I knew if I said no, he would accept it. He would sit here for ten hours and let me stutter through questions.
“Maybe pot roast,” I said, picking up the leather-bound menu.
Oh.
Shit.
I tried to school my features at the prices. A meal here could easily halve my paycheck. While Calder ordered, I searched for the cheapest thing on the menu. It was still over a hundred dollars. Was the salad dipped in gold?
Calder finished and the waitress turned to me, waiting.
I ordered the ridiculously overpriced arugula-and-pear salad, handing her the menu. No sooner had she left than Calder leaned forward, arms crossed on the table.
“I thought you were hungry?” Candlelight flickered across the question in his arched brow, casting his jaw and cheekbones in sharp chiaroscuro.
“I…” I fiddled with the napkin in my lap. “I guess not.”
His gaze sharpened into something intense. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He stood up, placing the soft black napkin on the table. I watched him walk away, until he disappeared into the shadows of the restaurant.
It wasn’t that my job didn’t pay well, but I had a bunch of student loans, and academia wasn’t exactly known for being lucrative.
And this would severely eat into my book budget.
I wrung my hands, pressing my thumb into my palm over and over again. Grateful I could hide the nervous habit under the table.
I felt like I needed to have questions prepared for when he returned. How did you get into accounting? What are your hobbies? Why are you looking for random sex with a stranger?
Less than two minutes later, he sat back down.
“Sorry about that.” The stone in his countenance had vanished, replaced again by that jock-like unseriousness. He picked up the black napkin, eyes sparkling with something playful.
That damn eye contact.
“So…no strings attached, strictly casual?” He repeated my profile like a question, and I nodded. “Why?”
I wasn’t sure of the proper way to answer that question. Telling him my last relationship was so bad I didn’t trust myself in another seemed like a bit much for night one.
I shrugged. “Just what works for my life right now.”
He nodded, like that was a perfectly acceptable answer.
“Tell me exactly what you want to happen tonight,” he said—no, commanded. It galvanized my spine, and some deep core part of me sparked online, urging me to give in to the authority in his voice.
At the same time, another part of me refused to give in so easily.
“You read my profile,” I said. “You know what I want.”
My response seemed to embolden him. He leaned forward. Smiling. That dimple popping again. Eyes blade sharp. Hungry.
“What you want requires trust. We haven’t even received our appetizers.”
I took a drink. “I’m not some shrinking violet.”
Calder laughed, adjusting the napkin in his lap. When he spoke, it was under his breath. “Yeah. I know.” Before I could speak on that, his blue gaze flashed back to mine, guarded. “You need to be careful, Shay.”
I ignored the way he said my name, all rough-edged. The promise in it. Instead, I reached for my water, bringing the cool glass to my lips.
“It’s a bit early to be ordering me around,” I said. “Like you said, we haven’t even received our appetizers.”