Page 20 of Loan Wolf (Green Valley Shifters: Generations #1)

20

CLARA

G abe didn’t reply to Clara’s text, even though the app betrayed that he’d seen it.

Clara considered texting again, then decided that was too needy. It wasn’t like they had anything but a strict business arrangement. A bike loan contract with benefits.

Really good benefits.

Even a disastrous practice couldn’t negate the hum of pleasure her whole body had. She was stiff in unfamiliar places from the bike ride, the athletic sex, and the heavy meal, so that dancing felt foreign and she made rookie mistakes that Twiller rightly called her on.

Worth it , she thought, gritting her teeth as Twiller walked her through things she ought to know.

They finalized the choreography and the lighting and sound crew practiced their cues.

She was keenly aware of Trevor and Aaron in the front row, watching her every move, clapping too loudly in the empty theatre every time that she came on the stage or practiced her bow. Was it weird that they were there? Did it mean something?

She came down off the stage when Twiller finally released her from the practice, and after an awkward moment where no one was sure what to do, exchanged warm hugs with both.

“You were beautiful,” Trevor said.

“Gorgeous,” Aaron added.

“You’re going to take down the house,” Trevor said.

“They’ll love you.”

Clara thought they were trying to one-up each other, and that their praise was getting slightly out of hand. “I’m looking forward to seeing the other acts,” she said, deflecting them. “Do you know what else is going to be in the revue?”

They fell over each other to prove how well they knew the lineup. There were going to be comedy sketches, scenes from Shakespeare, musicians, other dance numbers. Clara could nod and keep the conversation flowing without really following as they walked her out of the theatre.

She was used to being flirted with and courted, but this was deeply complicated by the fact that they’d all been best friends as children…and none of them were those same children anymore. Clara desperately wanted something real, and she wanted her appreciation of their grown-up good looks to be a sign that she was the mate of one of them. Maybe both of them. They were certainly interested in her and as much as she hoped it was a genuine interest, it felt just like everyone else who found her pretty and discreet and desirable.

She thought about Gabe, tracing her shoulder with one finger and suggesting mudflap tattoos.

“Thanks for coming to see the practice,” she said, when they got to the parking lot.

“Can I give you a ride back to the hotel?” Trevor asked.

“Or I could,” Aaron offered at once. “Trevor’s truck is a junker, but I’ve got a Mustang!”

Trevor flushed and looked like he might draw knuckles on Aaron over the insult, so Clara quickly said, “I rode my bike over, but thanks! I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

She unlocked Daisy while they glared at each other, and was glad to be out on the road before they could get to their vehicles, waving sunnily behind her at them. She started towards the hotel, went a block back, and then turned in the other direction.

She expected to find Gabe’s shop closed up for the night, but to her surprise, the doors were wide open and loud punk music was playing, despite the closed sign in the window.

“Don’t you get noise complaints?” she hollered over the music and the droning sound of an industrial fan as she walked back into the shop.

Gabe was spraying the frame of a bike in the back, and he turned with a jerk and pulled off his mask.

“It’s not after quiet hours yet,” he shouted back at her. “And who the fuck cares?”

He put down the paint sprayer and turned off the fan. It slowed to a rattle, but the music was still pounding. “How was your practice?”

“Grueling,” Clara admitted. “That looks good.”

It was a silver bike and Gabe had painted black feathers twining the crossbar.

“What’s its name?” Clara asked.

“Raven,” Gabe said. “Safely unisex.” He wiped off his hands and unscrewed the tip of the air gun.

“For guys with fragile masculinity.” Clara had to giggle.

“What are you here for, Clara?” Gabe asked frankly. “Is there a problem with your bike? Do you want to trade it in for a different one?”

“No, I love Daisy,” Clara said quickly. Why was she here? What was it about Gabe that made her want to be something more than pretty and discreet ? “I want to get drunk and go skinny dipping and paint a penis on the back of the library.”

Gabe stared at her with a half smile for so long that Clara regretted her impulsive words, then he shrugged. “I’m not going to assist you in vandalism, but I’ve got some beer in the truck and I know a great place to go skinny dipping.”

He fastidiously cleaned up his painting gear before locking up the store. Clara didn’t even try to make conversation over the music. He didn’t open the truck door for her, and he didn’t open it for her when they got out of town.

“Where are we?” she wanted to know.

“Eagle Lake,” Gabe said, reaching into the back for a six pack of beer that even Clara knew was cheap.

Eagle Lake was actually smaller than Mueller’s Pond, but it was considerably less choked with weeds and far more appealing for swimming, with a gravel beach and clear water. Although it was getting dark, it was still hot. A thunderstorm was rumbling somewhere in the distance, but there was no promise of rain in the air.

Gabe popped a can open and handed it to Clara, leaning against the front of the truck with her. He left the keys in the truck and the radio tuned to a rock station.

“Oh, this is awful,” Clara couldn’t help saying. The beer was warm and tasted terrible. She swallowed it anyway, wryly mindful of Twiller’s lectures on keeping her body pure of poisons.

Gabe shrugged and took a swig. “It’s better than a punch in the dick.”

“Most things are, I imagine!” Clara had to laugh. “I’m crushed you won’t draw a penis on the library with me.”

“My graffiti days are done,” Gabe said. “I’m old and tired and responsible now.”

“You’re not any of those things,” Clara said confidently.

“Okay, maybe I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble,” he said with a chuckle.

“Maybe I want trouble,” Clara said, staring out at the water. There were no rumors about Eagle Lake granting wishes or causing transformations. She drank the beer with determination, because it was certainly nothing to savor, and Gabe handed her another. “Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the wrong thing with your life, but you’ve been doing it so long, you don’t know what else you’d do?”

“Having second thoughts about being a dancer?” Gabe asked shrewdly. He was still nursing his first beer.

“Third thoughts. Fourth thoughts. But how am I supposed to tell everyone I want to do something else when I don’t even know what it would be?” The frogs were starting to sing in the darkness and a few fireflies teased at the edges of Clara’s vision.

“You ever thought about doing a different kind of dance?” Gabe asked. “Spice it up a little? Be a stripper?”

Clara choked on the gulp she was taking. The beer was no better through her nostrils and Gabe had to pound her on the back.

“I did take a modern jazz class once,” Clara said when she could speak again. “I even performed in an Off-Broadway show. The critics panned it, and No-Mercy Twiller warned me that I could harm my reputation if I didn’t stay in my lane.”

“No-Mercy Twiller? Is that her name?”

“It’s Mercy Twiller, but yeah, that’s what they call her behind her back.”

“I kind of want to punch her,” Gabe offered.

“She studied with my mother,” Clara said, and she wasn’t sure why that choked her up. She drank the rest of the warm, terrible beer in the can she was holding. “She says I’m just like her .”

“That doesn’t mean you have to do just what she did,” Gabe pointed out.

“She died before she could reach her potential.” Clara could feel the warmth of the horrible beer in her belly and remembered that she hadn’t had anything to eat since her lunch with Gabe. She was used to eating on a strict schedule, carefully calculated nutrition with carefully measured portions. Everything had gone to pieces in Green Valley. “It was a tragedy . I have to be her legacy .”

“Bullshit.”

Clara blinked. “What?”

“Bullshit. Your mother is dead. My mother is dead. Dead mothers everywhere. That doesn’t mean we have to live our lives stapled to their graves.”

“Are you just as stuck as I am?” Clara pointed out, feeling stung. She’d wanted sympathy.

“Am I? Or do I like what I have here? I’ve been thinking about tit, and maybe I’m glad I’m tied down because I can make a lot of noise about not being content without actually having to admit that this place is okay.”

Clara stared at his profile. “But you’re dying to get out of here. See the world. Culture and art and stuff.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing things someday, but…look, it’s just a dumb bike shop, but it’s my bike shop. It wouldn’t exist without me.”

Gabe looked cross, like he hadn’t wanted to admit that.

“I think it’s great,” Clara said.

“Not as great as your name in lights in New York,” Gabe snorted.

“Which is not as great as you might think.” Clara knew she sounded bitter. “I mean…I don’t want to be un grate ful, but…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Gabe said, and Clara thought that he actually might.

“You want another beer?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m here to get drunk and go skinny dipping,” Clara said. “Bring it on.”