Sasha
Zane’s black flowers stared at me. Or maybe I was staring at them. Since I had two eyes and all they had were a bunch of petals, I guess, logically, I was the one who could stare. Oddly, though, it didn’t feel like it.
I’d been so filled with nervous energy after his departure that I had almost immediately cleaned the whole shop. The. Whole. Shop. I’m not talking just a quick sweep and wipe down, I’m talking a full-on dusting, glass cleaning, wall washing extravaganza. I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t that David wouldn’t appreciate it—oh boy was he going to freak in the morning—but it made me all sweaty. I had to put my hair up in a bun just to keep it from sticking to my neck. Even when it cooled off in the evening, I still wasn’t getting much relief from the open door.
But the place looked immaculate. I probably should have taken a photo of it to send to David; it looked that good. Usually, in my downtime at the shop, I liked to study up or think about my treatise. But somehow the topic of it, normally so thrilling to me, didn’t strike the same cord today. I’d tried sifting through my notes, figuring out what direction I was going to take the paper in next, but it hadn’t worked.
Everything in me was so fixed on listening for the return of Zane that I would end up tapping a pen on the counter and watching the door. Generally, it was easy for me to retreat into my mind, my body merely the chalice that held it, but I’d had the most curious sensation of being trapped in my body. Each of my cells seemed almost to tingle and remind me they were there. My fingers itched. My breathing was conscious and slow.
In short, I was going mad.
So cleaning had taken priority over studying. My body being busy was the only thing that allowed me peace. I can’t stress enough how strange of an occurrence that was for me. I’d never been the type of person who got physically antsy. I could get mentally jumpy, sure, but just because my brain was going into hyperdrive didn’t mean that the rest of me had to. But something was different today, and I didn’t entirely dislike it.
From an objective point of view, what happened would seem possibly unpleasant. It wasn’t. It was like live wires were running under my skin, and I was so excited that my smile threatened to jump right off my face. My productivity put me in a good mood too, so when Zane finally walked back through my door, I was beaming.
It was just before seven p.m., probably only a couple of minutes until I was due to cash out and lock up. But I hadn't worried that he wasn’t coming back. Something about our earlier interaction had made it clear to me that he was going to come back for his flowers. And for me.
Now if I could only figure out what I was going to do with all that.
“I’m sorry that I’m cutting it so close,” he said, the honeyed thistle of his voice sliding over my skin.
I shook my head, a smile still spread across my face. “That’s okay. I knew you’d come back.”
He sauntered into the shop and approached me, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. I assessed his appearance again. He still looked every bit as hot as he had before. His hair was a little more messed up, and the shadow of stubble on his face had gotten a bit darker, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that I hadn’t just built up his sex appeal in my memory. It was way too easy to do that.
His eyes were different this time, though. It could have been tiredness. It probably was. But something a little heavier appeared to have slipped in between the lust and amusement he’d shown me before. I wished I could read him a bit better. It was frustrating that he was so shut down that I couldn’t even tell whether he was tired or if something had happened since I saw him last.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
I blinked and sharply snapped back to reality. I hadn’t realized just how lost in his gaze I’d become.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’m really good at reading people.”
He cocked an eyebrow, his handsome face regarding mine with caution. “And what do you see that’s so interesting?”
I shrugged. “That’s the thing. You’re incredibly hard to read. Hence the staring.”
He was looming over me from the other side of the counter, his gaze hard on mine. Most people, when they found out that I could tell a lot of what they were thinking from their face and tone of voice, did everything in their power to avoid me afterward. They wouldn’t look directly at me. Even in conversation, people’s eyes slid up to my forehead in order to avoid making eye contact, as if I could see into their soul.
I couldn’t see into anyone’s soul. That some people feared such a superpower said more to me about the kind of individual they were than anything I could have ever gathered from their expressions.
But not Zane. He was a challenge. And I was no match for it. Defeat had never tasted so sweet. Yes, it was frustrating not being able to read him, but it gave me a sense of freedom and made the prospect of figuring him out so much sweeter—like unwrapping a present.
“I’m going to go get your flowers,” I announced when I realized that I’d started staring at him again.
He cracked a smile. “Probably a good idea.” He’d been staring too.
I went into the back and grabbed the bouquet of carefully painted roses that I’d put on a separate shelf. I’d never spent so much time and effort on one bouquet. They looked absolutely beautiful, if a bit gothic, and I hoped dearly that he would like them.
His expression when I came out still betrayed nothing. It wasn’t that his face was a blank slate—even that could say something. It was just that the expressions he made seemed not to compute in my brainbox. He was smiling at me now, his eyes immediately landing on the flowers. His smile grew.
“I love them,” he said as I placed them on the counter in front of him.
“I’m glad!” I was more than just glad. I was downright pleased as punch. If he had hated them, we’d have trouble. Especially since I’d spent longer on them than I had any business doing.
His wallet in hand, he asked for the price. We exchanged money and receipt without really taking our eyes off each other. Inside, I was panicking a little. Now that he had his flowers, did that mean I wouldn’t ever get to see him again? It seemed such an odd thing to think that someone I’d spent the whole day practically obsessing over would just be gone from my life in a flash like that. If he didn’t ask for my number, should I ask for his? What if he was just being nice to me, but he thought I was a complete bobble head from all the staring? What if he thought I was nice and hot but he had a girlfriend at home? It was so difficult to tell!
“Do you live here?” I blurted out. My third fear: what if he was just a tourist?
His lips twitched at the edges, but he kept a relatively neutral expression. “Yes. Not in the quarter, but fairly close by.”
I nodded. “But you haven’t lived here all your life?” I pondered.
He shook his head. “Neither have you.”
Both of us had the wrong accents. His had no southern twang. It was practically movie star Californian. Mine, I’d been told, was a little bit lilted from growing up on the East coast.
“I grew up in Maine,” I explained. “My mom moved here for work a few years ago, and I came along to study at the university.”
“My story’s a bit similar, though not quite.” He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing tonight?”
Jolted, I blinked. “You mean when I finally get home after being held up at my shop by a late customer?” I asked cheekily. “Just working on my dissertation.”
“An intellectual,” he observes, his voice smoky and sensual. “And what’s your dissertation on?”
I had a hard time containing my excitement anytime the topic of my research came up. My eyes brightened. “I intend to prove that Neanderthals were horrified by violence, as opposed to the almost animalistic acceptance of it that they are so often charged with.”
“Interesting,” he said. And I didn’t get the feeling he was lying. “I would have pegged you as more of a psych girl than an anthropology one.”
I smiled. “There’s room enough for both of them in my life as far as I’m concerned. And in my treatise.”
“Well I’d hate to get in the way of your research,” he said, eyes glinting, “but I think I’m going to have to.”
My heart beat an erratic tattoo on the back of my ribs, which was more or less what it had been doing anytime I thought about this moment throughout the day. I hadn’t expected him to ask me out tonight, though. I had work to do. My paper wasn’t going to write itself.
That being said...I decided I would at least find out what he had in mind.
“And what do you mean by that?”
The room was suddenly at least five degrees hotter. I wondered if his stare actually gave off heat or if it just felt like it did. In my mind he was Clark Kent, trying out his laser beams on me. Melting through my defenses. In real life, he didn’t even need a superpower to do so.
“You’re too hot to be alone tonight. Come for a ride with me.”
It wasn’t a question. There was no inflection in his voice. It was a command, plain and simple.
Now, I wasn’t the type that liked to be told what to do. By anyone. It wasn’t something that often happened since most people knew me well enough to know that I both hated it and wouldn’t listen anyway. If someone told me to do something that I thought was a good idea I might go along with it, but if I had a better idea it wouldn’t have mattered if the President himself told me to do something—I’d just skirt around what he asked for and do my own thing. Not stubborn, necessarily, but self-assured. Okay, maybe a little stubborn.
But something about Zane’s command didn’t hit me in the way that others had in the past. I wasn’t put off by it. On the contrary, I was put on. Turned on. All kinds of on. It was like I was a hallway and somebody had just run down it and flipped on the dozens of light switches lining my walls. Did that make sense? I couldn’t tell. My mind was mush.
“I can’t.” In the interest of ignoring the malfunctioning of one of my most common personality traits, I decided to act as if his command had been unfavorable. “I have way too much to do.”
God, he was so hot. And I could tell he wasn’t going to give up. My words hadn’t so much as chipped a tiny crack in his confident and easy smile. “Can’t or won’t?”
This too, oddly enough, wasn’t quite asked like a question. He already seemed to know the answer. It was neither. I could, and I would go with him. He had already decided for me. Oh God, I was in trouble. I should have hated that. I should have immediately tossed something at him and told him to get out. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Because he brought something alive in me that I couldn’t ignore, and I didn’t think it was one-sided, either. I hoped not, at least.
It was a strange and wonderful opportunity that I wouldn’t likely get again anytime soon. There were a few grad students that I chatted to on campus who had made it clear they’d be interested in dating me. None had gotten the nerve up yet, but that was for the best. I respected the passion that guys like Daniel and Brad had for their work. It was the same passion that I had. But I needed something different from someone else. I needed something new. Otherwise, it would be just like going out with myself.
“What exactly does going on a ride with you entail?” I asked cockily, angling my hip to the side and resting my hand on it. I wanted to embody attitude. I’d seen it a million times—emulating it wasn’t difficult. I wasn’t feeling very cocky inside, though. I was a big pile of melted ice cream. Vanilla, most likely.
He leaned ever so slightly toward me, a tell. He wasn’t leaving here without me. The knowledge sent a thrill through me. Being wanted by a man so goddamn beautiful was something that I wasn’t used to. It made me arch my back a little, drawing his attention to my chest. I was enjoying this little game we were playing. I wished I got to play it more often.
“Depends on what you want, flower girl.”
So I had some choice in the matter. “I want to go home and write my thesis.” It was a test. I wanted to see how far his cockiness extended. How far he was willing to drive me. How well he could see through me.
“No, you don’t.” He could see me very well, apparently.
I shrugged and laughed. “Worth a try.”
He grinned back. “I promise I don’t bite. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
Oh, I had everything to be afraid of, but I wasn’t feeling fear. I was more scared at the idea of getting on a motorbike—which was presumably the ride he was offering—than I was of anything he would do. I was most afraid of what I might do.
“Well scoot out for a minute while I get locked up,” I finally said, waving a hand toward the front door.
He obliged, his large frame exiting the shop and finally giving me time to breathe. I went to the door and closed it, sliding the lock into place and watching as he lit a cigarette while he leaned on the opposite alley wall. He smiled at me through the orange glow, and I immediately turned back to the cash register, my heart pounding.
Jeez, when was the last time I got laid? Was that happening tonight? Was that what I’d just agreed to? I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom, leaving it on speaker on the counter as I bagged up the change and bills and did my final balancing for the evening.
“Hey honey,” she answered. “Everything okay?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, Mom, all’s well.” I cleared my throat. “I, uh, won’t be home right away. I’ve got a date tonight.”
“A date?” Her voice nearly squealed with excitement. “I didn’t know you had a boy in your life! Who is he? Is he from school?
Cringing, I said, “No, he’s a customer.” I wasn’t really sure how my mom would react to me going out with a guy like Zane. I was twenty-six, a grown woman, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was asking to break curfew on a school night. I was only living with my mom because it made sense financially for school, but sometimes I still expected them to police me like I was there against my will.
“Well, that’s nice. What are you going to do?”
I took a breath. “He’s going to take me for a ride on his bike,” I said. “I don’t really know what else.”
My mother never ceased to surprise me. “Oh! A biker! How wonderful! You’ll have to tell me everything when you get home.” Her voice turned dreamy. “I dated a biker once upon a time. They don’t make very good boyfriends, but it was a lot of fun.”
I stifled a laugh with a cough. “I hope you told Dad that.”
She chuckled in reply. “No, I didn’t. Though he wouldn’t have minded. He knew that he was the only one for me.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially as if he was around. “But between you and me, honey, I sometimes wish he’d bought a motorcycle. Would have spiced things up a bit if you know—”
“Mom!” I interrupted. “Please don’t make me feel sick before I go on my date.”
She snickered. “Well, just be safe. Are you wearing jeans?”
“Yes. And I’ve got a hoodie.”
“You wore jeans and a hoodie to work? Very chic, darling. They’ll be writing features on you in fashion magazines soon enough.” Her dry ribbing of my wardrobe was something I was used to. She often lamented how it was a shame that I had such a nice body and “hid” it with comfortable clothes, while she had the body of an old woman and could only wish to wear the kinds of things I could get away with if I wanted to.
“Thanks for the support, Mom. I’ll see you later.”
“I love you, honey!” The brightness returned to her tone, and I rolled my eyes.
“Love you too, Mom.”