Page 46 of Throwing Shade
I was on a mission with some sexy wildcard to see vampires and rescue my friend. I’d let magic back into my life and as terrifying and overwhelming as it all was, I hadn’t felt this rejuvenated in years.
We overtook a bus, zipping into the lane in front of it, and I laughed.
All too soon, it was over. Laurent darted into a parking garage downtown and cut the engine.
The silence was almost shocking.
“Pit stop,” he said, helping me off.
“For what?” My legs were shaky and he gave me a knowing smirk.
“Information.” He took my helmet and locked it to the motorcycle with his own. “It’s freeing, isn’t it? Riding?”
I was ready with a quip about being glad I’d survived, but I paused, choosing a more honest answer. “Yeah. It’s scary, but it’s exhilarating, too.”
“That’s why it’s exhilarating.” He looked fondly at his bike, then his eyes met mine, and his smile lit up his entire face. For a moment, there was only the two of us, sharing our excitement like a giddy secret.
“The rush is out of my normal comfort zone.” I pressed the backs of my hands to my cheeks because I was blushing. “But I liked it.”
“I’m glad.” His smile widened for a second and then dropped abruptly. “Stay here.”
I blinked. Really? After having an honest-to-goodness bonding session, I got dumped outside like baggage? I jammed my sunglasses on my head. Thanks for the emotional whiplash, dude. “Oh, absolutely. Would you like something to eat while I wait? Should I wash your bike?”
“Don’t touch the bike,” he said, and I was pleased that there was a dash of uncertainty in there, like he wasn’t sure how dangerous I was or not.
Maybe the extra teeth in my smile gave it away.
I rattled the handlebars. I kind of had to at that point.
Like I was a toddler who had beeped the horn one too many times, he lifted me up and away from the motorcycle. “Stay.”
“I’m not waiting out here,” I said. “I’m paying you, remember? That means I call the shots.”
Laurent snorted and rubbed a spot on his handlebars, like I’d sullied them.
I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m coming with you.”
“Then don’t speak once we get inside,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous.” I wasn’t, but he didn’t have to be a jerk.
“You’re a sitting duck.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re being a dick. How’s that for four-letter d-words?”
“Sometimes I am a dick.” He gave a very Gallic shrug and walked to the elevator. “I’m French.”
I let him pass me, mouth agape. Could I use that in my homicide trial? In my defense, Your Honor, he was French.
“What floor?” I said, once we were inside.
“Basement.”
I shook my head. “There’s no button for that.”
He tapped his foot impatiently. “Yeah, there is.”
Groaning, I focused on the panel. I stepped forward, I stepped back, all to no avail. The button didn’t reveal itself.
