Free Sheltering Dunes by Radclyffe Page B

of chocolate surrounded her. Mica’s eyes were soft and warm, as open and welcoming as Flynn had ever seen them. Mica’s fingers trailed lightly down Flynn’s arm. “You looked like something was…bothering you.”
    Flynn flushed. She didn’t confide in people easily, but the unexpected tenderness in Mica’s gaze made her want to confess. She almost laughed. How had the tables turned so completely, and when did she start believing absolution might be found on earth? “I’m fine.”
    Mica shrugged and stepped back, the sliver of warmth in her eyes chilling. “Suit yourself.”
    “Sorry.”
    “For what?”
    Flynn shoved her hands in her pockets. They walked side by side to the door in silence and the gulf between them widened. Every step made Flynn panic just a little, as if she needed to get back to solid ground before she sank beneath the weight of her own memories. “I’m not usually moody.”
    “No?” Mica kept walking and didn’t look at her. “What are you usually?”
    “You ask hard questions.”
    “You like bullshit better?” Mica slowed on the narrow wooden sidewalk that led from the club to the street. She seemed to be looking around, but the dim, narrow alleyway leading to the street was empty. At the far end, people strolled by on Commercial even though it was close to midnight.
    Mica waited, her silence a challenge.
    “I don’t know what I am anymore,” Flynn said. “I like my job. Keeps me busy. I don’t think about much of anything else.” Even as she said it, Flynn saw her life for what it was—a highway to nowhere, and she was taking it as fast as she could. She was running away every bit as much as Mica seemed to be. “And no, I can do without the bullshit. I’m sorry I can’t—”
    “Look,” Mica said sharply, “forget I asked. Your business.”
    Flynn nodded. The walls were up again. Just as well. She needed the walls too. “Have you had anything to eat tonight?”
    “I’ve been busy too, you probably noticed.” Mica headed toward the street.
    “I noticed.” Flynn caught up to her. “How’s the headache?”
    “Can we leave off talking about my head and my stomach and any other part of me,” Mica grumbled. “I took a spill, I didn’t get hit by a subway train. I’ve had worse injuries dropping my bike.”
    “Harley?” Flynn pointed to Mica’s T-shirt.
    Mica grinned, pure pleasure lighting up her face. “Yeah. A sweet little classic Softail.”
    “So why were you on a bicycle this morning?”
    “I sold it.”
    Flynn heard the message in Mica’s clipped words. An off-limits topic—at least for right now. “Look, I could use something to eat. Want to stop at the Post Office and grab a sandwich?”
    “No.”
    “My treat.”
    Mica stopped in the middle of the street across from Town Hall. “Message time, Flynn. I asked you to walk me home, and if you get lucky, maybe I’ll ask you up to my room. But if I do, it’ll be on my terms because I want to get laid, not because I owe you anything.”
    “Mica,” Flynn said quietly, “you don’t owe me anything and you never will. If I offer something, it’s because I want to do it. Maybe because I’m hungry, maybe because I’d like your company.”
    “Yeah, sure. Why would you like my company?” Mica ran her hand over her chest, slowly tracing the outline of her breast until her fingers trailed down her belly and angled across her crotch. “This kind of company, I get that. But like I said, that’s not for sale.”
    Flynn blew out a breath. “Okay. We have a little problem here.”
    “No, we don’t. See you around.”
    Mica moved so fast she was halfway up the block before Flynn got her ass in gear and jogged after her. When she caught up, she said, “I don’t pay girls for sex, cash or otherwise. I don’t take girls out to dinner and expect them to sleep with me afterward. I don’t even expect a good-night kiss after taking a girl to a really good movie.”
    “Then you’re a loser,” Mica