Cake. Lauren Dane

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      Chapter Two

      It wasn’t until she’d gone that he realized he’d forgotten to give her the tickets for his show. Or even let her know he had a show coming up.

      He stalked back to his workroom, pausing for a cigarette after he was sure all his welding supplies were shut off.

      French. One of his small indulgences. He slid one from the pack and the scent of the Turkish tobacco rose. Distinctive. Connected to his work.

      He loved the act of tapping the edge against his lighter. The ritual of putting it between his lips, the flick of the lighter and that first rush of nicotine into his system.

      Yes. He knew they were bad for him. His dentist told him so every six months. His doctor told him so. He’d cut back to two or three a day. Almost always while he worked.

      The light was good, he thought as he smoked, looking at the flames of metal. The color was also just right. Nearly bronze in places.

      He smiled as he thought of how Wren had understood nearly immediately that he’d been creating flames. Intuitive, that one.

      He really didn’t need to have tea. He’d known exactly what needed to be done next. But more and more often as their friendship had grown, he found himself delaying her departure to spend time with her.

      Gregori picked up one of his hammers and moved to his worktable where several sheets of metal he’d cut earlier that day sat. He worked, still thinking of her, of the way she’d teased him and of how he’d teased her back.

      It wasn’t that he never flirted. He was rather shameless about flirting, as it happened. He loved women. Came by that love honestly as he got it from his father. He flirted as easily as he breathed.

      But with her it was different. She wasn’t world-weary. Wasn’t a social climber. She flirted back but it was…not pure, no, he was quite sure Wren Davis knew what she was doing. It lacked artifice. Which made her dangerous.

      The artist, named after a bird, who delivered packages and envelopes to pay for art school. He stubbed the cigarette out, exhaling the last of the smoke from his body as he thought of her.

      Long and tall. She moved as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she planned to do once she arrived. She often had her hair braided, held back from her face, exposing that beauty so easily.

      Freckles danced over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, bold and bright blue, took in the world all around her. Gregori always got the feeling she weighed, accepted, approved or rejected things as she went.

      She wore jeans a lot, though in the summer she’d worn shorts. She had lovely legs. Powerful, probably from bicycling up and down the hills in downtown. He liked the warm days because she wore T-shirts and tank tops, exposing the outline of some seriously gorgeous breasts.

      Glasses often perched on her nose. He wondered why she hadn’t gotten the surgery to fix her eyesight. Glasses worked for her in any case, though he wondered how they affected her when she worked on her animation for long hours at a time.

      Art school. He scoffed as he began to pound the metal, shaping it, giving it texture. He’d gotten a few peeks at her work. She had a lot of talent. She didn’t need art school.

      Wren was vibrant and clever and certainly one of the best parts of his day when she stopped in. A constant in a world he knew was filled with mostly temporary people and experiences.

      He blew out a breath and fell back into his work. He’d deal with the tickets the next day.

      Wren found her friends already seated in a booth near the back windows of the tavern. They waved, calling her name as she made her way through the already burgeoning Friday night crowd.

      The music was loud, but not so loud she couldn’t hear Kelsey tell her they’d just ordered her a margarita.

      “Yay.” She shimmied from her coat and ordered tacos when the server came back with her margarita. She sipped it happily, leaning forward to listen to Kelsey talk about her new boyfriend—apparently now ex-boyfriend—and the way he’d sprung on her that he lived in his mom’s garage.

      “He tried to say it was all right because it has its own entrance. I wasn’t impressed because she came in to do laundry when we were about two minutes away from pants being off.”

      “Well, at least when you smell Tide the next time, you’ll have happy thoughts.”

      Kelsey took a drink. “Not only does he live in his mom’s basement, but he tried to get me to see if Gregori could get us into Fixe.”

      Fixe was Seattle’s hottest nightclub. Gregori knew the owner so he hung out there from time to time.