Chapter 5

DANE

Julian tossed his long gray coat over the barstool beside him, looking like he'd walked off a magazine shoot as usual.

"How come you're behind the bar tonight?"

"Busy night."

"I help out when I can." I poured him a double, no ice, and he tapped his card like always — Julian insisted on paying full price and over-tipping my staff no matter how many times I told him it wasn't necessary.

We'd gone to business school together; he'd made it all the way to the top of an investment firm while I'd dropped out after my bachelor's.

He dressed like money even back when neither of us had two nickels to rub together.

Lately the success just looked hollow on him.

"How's Lena?"

He shrugged and drank. "Fine, I guess." Then, quieter: "I think she's frustrated with me."

"Trying to bring some adventure back into it, and all I feel is fatigue and guilt."

"Guess the expiration date's nearing."

"You used to be crazy about her."

"I was a fool who fell for a pretty face." He caught my look. "We have nothing in common, Dane."

"She's a party girl."

"I'm a bitter old man." Something like fear flickered behind his eyes before he waved it off. "Enough about me."

"Business thriving?"

"Can't complain. Turnaround's up thirty-five percent from last year."

He whistled. "Branching out?"

"No."

"Just glad we're stable." I poured him water alongside the whiskey — he was in the mood to get drunk, and I'd thank myself tomorrow.

"Zero ambition, Dane. Nil."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I keep telling you, ambition's what drives you forward." He paused, frowning at the shelves behind me. "Hm."

"Maybe your approach is better, actually. Less ambition, more... peace."

That might have been the first time he'd ever agreed with me on this.

Whatever was happening with Lena had gotten further under his skin than he wanted to admit.

A customer saved me from responding, and by the time I got back to him, he'd moved on.

"And your love life, big man? No woman warming your bed?"

My mind went, stupidly, straight to Wren, asleep upstairs at that exact moment. The hesitation was enough for Julian.

"Do tell. Distract me."

"It's nothing like that."

He squinted at me the way he always did when he was reading someone — half of why he was as rich as he was.

"But something's going on."

I leaned on the counter, lowering my voice. "A young Rare called Wren comes by sometimes, looking for work."

"I let her do chores for a burger." Saying it out loud made it feel more real than I was ready for.

"Homeless?"

I nodded. "She's upstairs now. I haven't touched her and never will."

"She was about to go into heat — it was my guestroom or an underground heat club."

"Apparently shelter bouncers get a commission for delivering first-heat Rares to clubs."

Julian's mouth curled in disgust. "That's vile. Do the police know?"

"Probably. Doesn't seem like anyone's doing anything about it."

"Figures." He wrinkled his nose. "You're going to smell her. Maybe hear her. Ten days, Dane."

"It's already started. I'll manage. Can't put her on the street."

"Is she pretty?"

"She's nineteen, Julian."

"Lena was twenty when we met."

I gave him a look.

He'd just told me his relationship was falling apart over how little they had in common — was the age gap part of that?

He lifted both hands. "Okay. No need to rub it in."

"She just needs somewhere to stay. I won't take advantage of her. I can't."

"Of course not. But she came to you, right? Maybe because she likes you."

"She came because it was me, rape, or freezing to death, and I'd fed her burgers for free."

"That's all." Julian winced. "Poor kid," he said, then softened. "She's lucky, though."

"You're probably the only Prime in the county who wouldn't use her."

"And you would?"

"If I liked her, I might try convincing her."

"That's not the same as heat rape."

"You're right. It's not. Give me one more."

I poured him a second double — I'd cut him off at four if it came to it.

If I liked her, I might try convincing her. Julian had never gone long without someone; I'd lost count of his girlfriends years ago.

Me, I found people for a night easily enough, and it never meant anything after.

I hadn't thought about a relationship — let alone a mate — in years.

"Don't you want to sit over here with me a while?" He glanced around the quieting pub.

"Tell me more about the nineteen-year-old in heat."

"No, Julian. I feel bad enough that I can smell her. I'm not talking about her like that."

He nodded, sighed, and by his second double his eyes had gone glassy. "You've always been better than me, Dane."

"You shouldn't be alone. You need someone to take care of, or you're just useless and sad."

I poured myself a drink and sat down beside him.

With Julian I could be honest, same as he'd always been with me. "I'm still struggling with it."

"You're healthy. Recovered. Still get the nightmares?"

"Rarely, not in a long time."

"So what's stopping you? Don't say the scars — I won't believe you."

"That was it, at first."

"And now?"

"I don't know."

"I do. Habit. Fear of rejection. Fear of change. Fear."

"Don't hold back on my account," I muttered into my glass.

"I won't walk on eggshells for you." He laughed at his own joke, then sobered.

"Are you giving me advice so you feel better about your own shit?"

"Yes. And it's working."

I finished my whiskey and waved Gus over for a lager — one more, then bed.

Not smart to get drunk with Wren upstairs. "Going to break up with Lena?"

"Maybe. You going to start dating again?"

"Maybe."

"We could team up. Like the old days."

I snorted. "Something tells me that wouldn't work anymore." He punched my shoulder, wobbling on the stool.

No more drinks for him tonight. "You're still a catch, Dane."

"Sure. Want food? The whiskey's catching up to you."

"Bacon burger."

* * *

It was past one when I climbed the stairs to my apartment, sober, having poured Julian into a cab an hour earlier.

I opened the door, toed off one shoe, and froze.

A muffled moan through the guestroom door. Then another — long, guttural.

I took off my other shoe as quietly as I could, like being quiet would make me less of an intruder in my own hallway.

Her sounds followed me through my whole routine. I brushed my teeth without looking at the mirror.

Changed in the dark like the dark would help.

It didn't — every wall in this place was thinner than I wanted tonight.

In the shower, I came after only a few strokes, imagining I could still hear her over the water.

I stood there long after, forehead against the tile, letting the water run cold.

Drying off, I noticed a second towel hanging lower on the rack. Without thinking, I pulled it to my face.

It smelled like her.

I told myself to put it back, to go to bed, to be decent about this.

Instead I sat on the edge of my mattress and did it again with her face in my mind, sobbing into the towel when I came, barely catching the mess in my hand.

I sat there afterward in the dark, elbows on my knees, feeling like the worst kind of hypocrite.

I'd told Julian I'd never touch her. I meant it. I still meant it.

Meaning it didn't stop my body from unraveling over the scent of a towel like some love-starved kid instead of a grown man who owned a building and paid his taxes on time.

Julian had been right — this was going to be difficult. I just hoped I deserved her trust.

Hers, and whatever was left of my own.

Sleep came in fits, tangled up with the memory of her smile at lunch and the sound of her through the door, and I woke more tired than I'd gone to bed.