Chapter Eleven
Caitlin didn’t think she’d ever been as nervous as she was the next afternoon when Shane showed up to take her to lunch. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t anything. And even if it was, he was leaving, so it still wasn’t.
Damn those butterflies.
And anything cream-filled.
And him. Definitely him. Because her lip still tingled from where he’d touched it, which only reminded her of the kiss she’d tried like hell to forget. And pretty much every moment they’d shared since.
She wanted to ask why he’d invited her, but that only suggested there was a motive, when in reality, he probably just wanted lunch. That she’d spent every waking moment thinking about him didn’t mean he’d reciprocated. It definitely didn’t mean he wanted her to drag him onto that lumpy sofa and climb on top of him. Naked. In broad daylight. That she wasn’t concerned by how her thighs, boobs, or belly would look fully exposed in the aforementioned daylight worried her more than anything.
He stared at her, and she was almost certain he’d read every filthy word of her thoughts. But instead of calling her out on that, he simply said, “I hope you’re hungry.”
She tugged at her skirt, like an extra inch could protect her from herself, then abruptly let go when she realized thinking of inches wouldn’t get her anywhere, either. At least not anywhere she needed to be.
“I might be,” she said, then wanted to kick herself because that sounded like bad flirting, and she had zero interest in flirting with him. At least not that she’d admit.
“In that case, can I buy you a milkshake?”
“Yes to the milkshake, but I can pay for myself,” she said. Because this was not a date.
His brow rose, but he didn’t argue. Which probably meant he wouldn’t and would still pay, which meant she’d have to watch him, which meant a whole new brand of trouble. It was bad enough every cell in her body clamored to climb on him. Now she felt obligated to watch his every move, which really wasn’t the hardship it should have been.
They walked the handful of blocks to the diner, his fingertips periodically touching the small of her back to navigate sidewalk traffic. The sun beamed, the mountain air the kind of fresh that belonged in a summer lemonade commercial.
“Are you going to miss the air?” she asked, desperately hoping to drag her thoughts from the gutter.
He was quiet for a moment. “There’s air in Denver.”
“And I bet it smells like exhaust.”
“Only if you stand behind a truck,” he countered.
“I’m sure it’s a bit nicer here.” Admittedly nicer even than her hometown in Wyoming. Here, birds sang. Flowers burst from every crevice, and everywhere she looked, she saw color. Back in Wyatt, summers were dry and dusty, the town sepia-toned, like the old westerns her father liked to watch from his recliner on the rare rainy day.
“It’s nice here,” Shane admitted. “But I’ve stayed here for most of my adult life, not pursuing what mattered to me, because I worried how it would make my mom and sister feel. I need to be in control of my own life, and what I want is there.”
There was absolutely no reason for his words to sting. They should have been a relief, or at minimum something to snap her away from thinking about his mouth and wanting to go back to the moment he’d touched her lips and sucked his finger.
All reasons for her to go back to the bookstore. Alone. Yet, when he held open the door to the diner, she walked in ahead of him.
They greeted the same waitress from their last visit, then he gestured for her to slide into a booth. A smaller, much more intimate booth.
He followed.
Right. Next. To. Her.
Was she supposed to acknowledge that? Or was this just normal here? She glanced around. Other people seemed to be sitting opposite one another. Granted, she had sat next to him the last time, but that was in a round booth that technically had only one long bench. This was—
“What can I get you folks?”
Caitlin asked for a milkshake and a salad. “I ate three éclairs this morning,” she explained when Shane gave her an odd look. “Your mother needs to open a bakery. In France.”
“I’ll have the usual,” he said, hiding a laugh, “but double the fries.” Then he leaned toward the waitress and said something in a low voice Caitlin didn’t quite catch.
The waitress nodded, but she didn’t look away from her pad. “Ten minutes,” she told them. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“How’s the inventory coming along?” Shane asked when the waitress left. He completely ignored Caitlin’s questioning look.
Other than a dozen boxes of sex books? And counting? Yeah, she wasn’t going there. “Almost done,” she said. “Lexi has been a big help.”
“I’m glad you hit it off.”
“Me, too, though I can’t imagine anyone not liking her.”
Shane nodded. “If only Matt would get his head out of his ass and see what he’s got in front of him.”
Caitlin didn’t know them, but she’d heard enough from Lexi that she couldn’t help but agree, though the problem was more likely a lack of admission than the lack of anything to admit. “She’d probably just cram it back in for him.”
Shane raised his brow. “Sounds like I missed one hell of a conversation.”
Yeah, he had. And way too much of it had revolved around him.
The diner was less crowded in the middle of the day, though still doing a robust business. She loved the retro feel of the place, from the black-and-white checkerboard floor to the red-and-chrome seating. Even the music was atmospheric, though it shifted oddly from songs she associated with the fifties to others from the eighties.
“The owner has specific tastes,” Shane said after Bruce Springsteen followed Chuck Berry.
“I love it here,” Caitlin said. “I’m glad it’s within walking distance.”
“You ever think of carpooling?” he asked.
“I do carpool.”
“I mean without an app.”
She shrugged. “You meet people that way.”
“I should introduce you to my sister. She’d probably love to check out your store.” He paused. “She doesn’t teach sex ed, but I’m sure there’s something else in there for her.”
Caitlin elbowed him.
Sitting on the same side had its advantages after all.
“I have a sister, too,” she said. “She didn’t want me to move.”
“Ditto.”
Their food arrived, the salad impressive for a place that served most of their food in baskets. Caitlin noted the freshly grated cheese and springy, crisp lettuce and made a mental note to return every day.
While she gawked at the unlikely bowl of awesome in front of her, Shane picked a fry off a towering mound and dipped it in his shake. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Try this.”
Caitlin stared in mock horror. “You just violated that milkshake.”
“Trust me.” He took it back, and when she opened her mouth to protest, he popped it in.
Despite being in mid-protest, she briefly closed her eyes. Salty mingled with sweet, hot and crisp with creamy and cool. There had never been a more perfect vessel for fries. “I can’t believe I’ve never tried that,” she said.
“It’ll never be as good anywhere else. It’s the milkshake.” He picked up his burger before saying, “Half those fries are yours.”
“I can’t—”
“They’re fries. Eat.”
She couldn’t believe he hadn’t suggested a way for her to burn it off. “Fine, but I’m paying.”
“Too late. It’s already on my tab.”
“You cheated,” she grumbled, finally realizing what he must have said to the waitress. “You won that round, but I get the tip.”
He’d picked up his drink and, with the glass to his mouth, started laughing. After he made what looked like a monumental effort not to spit it everywhere, she asked, “What?”
“Just say the word, sweetheart, and you’ll get the whole thing.”
…
By the next day, Caitlin had given up trying not to think about Shane. She couldn’t begin to label what was going on between them, but whatever it was, she’d never experienced anything like it. She needed to keep her distance, but at the same time, he represented a risk-free probability.
Their days were literally numbered.
She could gawk at his abs all she wanted…there was zero chance they’d go anywhere, so her heart was safe.
The rest of her was another story.
But as far as chances went, he was one worth taking. She did trust him, at least with her fears. She hated how him leaving had become one of them, but she’d face that one soon enough. Alone.
Until then, maybe she could have him, or at least his help. It made sense to ask. If they stayed in public, she’d probably avoid succumbing to the urge to fling herself on him, or the nearest horizontal surface. Not that vertical ones were out, but a girl had to be practical. Wall sex took more coordination than she gave herself credit for having.
So, wall sex aside, she could do this.
Great pep talk.
She stared at the brick station house, which, for the moment, appeared quiet. The bay doors gaped open, revealing an engine, an ambulance, and two other trucks she couldn’t readily identify. What she could see of the garage was meticulous. The vehicles gleamed, as did the floor. Her house probably wasn’t that clean under all the boxes she’d yet to unpack. Maybe she should just go home and do that. She was crazy for coming back here, and not just because last time she’d been blasted with water.
This time she wanted to ask Shane for help. The thought of doing that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, which was stupid because he’d gone out of his way to hang out with her.
For public safety.
Which totally explained the kiss.
Frustrated, she blew a stray hair out of her face. The light summer breeze immediately nudged it back in place. She had her face twisted in frustration and an oath spilling from her lips when, several feet ahead, the door to the station swung open and Shane stepped out.
“Hi,” she managed.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but the guys were organizing a betting pool over when you’d actually approach the building, and I felt honor-bound to stop—”
“I want to tackle my fear of heights,” she blurted. It was either that or ask him to remove his shirt, because surely those abs weren’t real. Maybe they were 3D printed. Because that was the obvious answer.
A long moment passed before he spoke, and she was suddenly paranoid he’d remained silent for the sole purpose of reading her thoughts. Finally, he asked, “What?”
“Riding across the bridge was thrilling—probably one of the most exciting moments of my life—but I can’t walk or drive across, and I don’t want to depend on rides from strangers to get to work.” The words came in a rush—one designed to keep her from backing out of saying them—but the silence that followed proved uncomfortable.
More so the longer he stared. “I can’t imagine they’ll be strangers long. There can only be so many Uber drivers in Dry Rock.” His words sounded careful, like he was on the verge of saying the wrong thing. Maybe he was just trying to be polite.
And she was too stupid to let it go. “You just told me yesterday to carpool,” she said.
“And you said no.”
Heat flooded her face, but she stood a little straighter and blinked back the embarrassment of his rejection. “Okay then,” she said. “I should get to the store. Thanks again for…everything.”
She turned, incapable of getting out of there fast enough. But she didn’t get anywhere. He touched her arm, stopping her in her tracks, and her mind danced back to lunch. To that awkward moment afterward where he’d stood on the stoop in front of the store and she felt sixteen again, wondering if he was going to kiss her.
He hadn’t.
Again.
She’d told herself she should still be relieved, but in the face of more disinterest, hurt edged in. Stupid, inexplicable hurt. She might be his type, air breather that she was, but she’d long established a disinterest in him. And, in the dumbest move of all time, she’d forgotten it. Some things were too good to miss, or at least made damning temptations. That had to explain why people lined up for anything limited-edition from Starbucks. Not so much why he so easily dismissed her.
Only, maybe he hadn’t. A storm waged in his eyes, drawing her in, twisting her hopes and emotions. Finally, he muttered, “Damn it, Caitlin.”
At the same time, she said, “I shouldn’t have—”
They fell into a momentary silence, his hand still on her arm, her gaze still locked with his. “I’m on a twenty-four-hour shift,” he said, dropping his hold on her without further explanation. “So how about I pick you up at eight tomorrow night?”
“At…at my house?” This sounded way too much like a date. And it would kick off way too close to her bed.
A muscle jumped in his jaw, leaving her to wonder if he’d had the same thought. “Would you like me to get you earlier from the store?”
“No,” she stammered. “Eight is fine, thanks.” Eight really sounded like a date. “But no skydiving.”
“I promise not to push you out of an airplane.”
“Okay,” she said. But was it? There were loopholes in that a person could drive a truck through, but that wasn’t what bothered her.
It was the raw intensity in his eyes.
To say nothing of the fact that she’d have to be pushed out of an airplane to ever forget it.