Page 7 of The Muse
“Thank you.” Mrs. Rawlings sips her wine and inspects the art on display.
The front door chimes, and a young woman steps inside, removing her bike helmet. Her long, dark hair hangs over one shoulder in a messy braid. She lights up when she sees Savvy.
“Hey, June.” Savvy perches on the stool behind the counter. “Restroom break?”
“Yep,” she says as her gaze snags on me, but I immediately look away while standing a little straighter and running a hand through my thick hair, which could use a trim.
“How many do you have?” Savvy asks.
“Uh, six,” June says, setting her helmet on the counter. On the back of her shirt is a tire logo withBilly's Bike Tours.
I sneak a glance at her, and she quickly looks away.
When she disappears around the corner, Savvy eyes me for a second with a grin.
June returns and puts on her helmet. “Thanks,” she says, shifting her attention to me so quickly I can’t avert my gaze before she catches me ogling her. And then it just sticks. She doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
I’m not sure what’s happening. I can actually feel my heart in my chest. She makes me sweat.
“Didn’t know Minneapolis had bike tours,” I say as if I need to take one.
This girl’s smile is so damn sexy. I definitely need a bike tour.
“Well, now you do,” she says, before biting her bottom lip.
Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings have me by the balls. I’m not the guy who says stupid shit and blows kisses to women old enough to be my mom. And I’m not this awkward with women. But I’m out of my element, standing among expensive, ugly art while having my composure rattled even more by a random girl in biking shorts, wearing a mischievous smile as if I’m the butt of a joke. Don’t ask me why I find it so sexy. I just do.
Her unwavering, brown-eyed gaze bleeds confidence one minute, but then she glances away like she’s blushing. All I know is she’s mesmerizing. It’s unfair to those of us who didn’t win the gene pool lottery. Even the tiny scar above her lip adds to her mysteriousness. It makes her look like she’s been throughsomething. And the way she unhurriedly floats from one side of the room to the other has me in a stupid trance. I once stayed with a family who fostered a sixteen-year-old girl. She always looked calm and unbothered no matter the circumstances, just like June.
As if June knows she’s too cool for me, she fastens her helmet and eyes Savvy. “Thank you, Savvy.”
“Wait!” The word spews from my mouth like someone punched me in the gut.
June leans her back against the door to nudge it open, gaze on me.
This girl is so beautiful. My mouth dries up, and I feel Savvy and Callie staring at me as though I’m on the verge of saying something important. Every second of silence feels like ten. Yeah, I’m actually sweating through my shirt.
“Cat got your tongue?” June says.
No. A cat has never had my tongue. I’m the guy who has the first and last word with everything, even if it lands me in trouble.
With her, the words are slow, but they’re coming. Almost there?—
June laughs. “Time’s up. Gotta go.” She turns and waves to a group of people climbing onto their e-bikes across the street.
“That was brutal,” Savvy says, wrinkling her nose while Callie cocks her head, studying me.
“Here it is.” A young dude with his hair in a ponytail and round wire glasses holds up a framed painting of the back of a little boy sitting on a park bench feeding ducks.
“That shade of gold frame makes the sun’s reflection on the water pop,” Savvy says.
Callie nods and wipes a tear from her eye. I can’t imagine what kind of painting would make me cry. Does money make people irrationally emotional about stupid stuff?
Ponytail dude sets it on the table behind the counter and slides foam over the glass, then cardboard corner protectors onto the frame. He shrink-wraps it and places it in a box with more padding before handing it to me as Callie taps her credit card. My eyes bug out at the number of zeros. Am I in charge of carrying a painting worth more money than I make in a year?
“Thank you, Mrs. Rawlings. I hope you enjoy it,” Savvy says. “It was nice meeting you, Flynn.”
“Thank you,” I say louder than necessary to make sure I get points for good manners.
