Page 134 of Shade
Shade raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head when he eyes my hair and its madness. “Why are you walking funny?”
I don’t want to tell him about the maybe-infected ass cheek from the cactus just yet. “I have a major wedgie. And I’m wearing a thong. You’d think it’s supposed to be up there but you know, it’s like way up there.”
It takes Shade a minute, his laughter echoing through the street and then comes his cocky side, and he smirks. “I could help you out.”
“Nope. Got it. Where’s this taco shop you’re supposed to meet this “Gnarly” dude at? I’m starving.”
Shade shakes his head, laughing, nodding up the street for me to follow him. “Gnarlyisn’t his name. It’s Gary. It’s his magazine.” When I’m beside him, he watches me as we’re walking. “It’s not really a meeting either. He just wants to ask a couple questions for an article he’s doing on Gnarly West Street Tour.”
I keep step with him, well, try to. Goddamn my ass is burning, and I’m sweating in my jeans and it’s causing them to rub against my maybe-infected ass cheek. “What’s the Gnarly West Street Tour?”
“It’s what is sounds like.” His voice brightens a little, and I can tell he’s excited about it. “A freestyle show in the streets. Paris was the first location it took place, but now we’ll be doing pop up shows in cities. We’re gonna start here in Santa Monica and work our way north.” He nods and points to a green building with red brick on the bottom. “We’re meeting him there.”
I read the sign on the top of the building. Tacos Por Favor. Though it looks like a recipe for food poisoning, it’s actually some of the best street tacos I’ve ever had. I keep to myself as Gary and Shade talk about bikes, and he conducts his interview about “nothing” personal as Shade not so politely puts it when they begin.
He basically says, “You ask me personal questions and I’ll leave.”
He’s not kidding either. In Paris, I watched him walk away from a reporter midinterview because they mentioned Rhya.
Thankfully for his sake, Gary keeps it about freestyle riding and why Shade enjoys it so much. I’m beginning to understand it myself. Freestyle riding was invented by motocross racers who just wanted to have fun and be themselves and ride free from sponsors and performing. Remember why they were riding in the first place.
Much like anything, it’s evolved since then into actual events where they’re scored based on their performance, and I know why so many of the riders are now getting out of the sport.
We’re walking on the pier after his interview, eating ice cream when Shade motions to the pilings under the pier. “Rhya and I used to come down here. I don’t think I’ve been down here in years.”
My heart jumps into my throat. He’s yet to mention her until now, and I’m almost afraid to say any more. “Do you want to talk about her?”
The uneasiness in his face soars, but he has his sunglasses on so I can’t tell other than the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker than it did before. “There’s nothing to say. She’s dead. There are some cool shops up here. Let’s go in them.”
He’s smiling now, but I can tell it’s a front, him begging me not to pry.
So I don’t.
The moment we start wandering inside of the shops, women recognize him, and I feel bad for him. His life is no longer his own, and I’m witnessing a completely different side of him. I used to see the cocky side, the winks, the smile, the way he presented himself. Only now, I notice when they approach, he tenses, a vulnerability displayed you wouldn’t exactly expect from him. But it’s there.
When the group of girls leave, Shade nods for me to follow him up the street. “Let’s get out of here.” And then he frowns. “Hold my hand.”
“Why?”
“Like you don’t want to.” He snorts and then lifts his chin a fraction of an inch. “Maybe if I’m holding hands with you, they’ll leave me alone?”
He’s got a point, and who wouldn’t want to hold hands with Shade Sawyer?
Guess what?
It doesn’t work. Women still approach him, and every single time his eyes drift to mine, like he’s waiting for me to stop them, only I’m not sure what to do so I stand back and let them have their moment while he signs whatever it is they push at him. Usually their tits.
“You knew that wasn’t going to work,” I say, smiling at him when they leave.
He runs a hand through his hair and he starts walking again. “Yeah, but it got you to hold my hand, didn’t it?”
I follow him. “Do you like it when people come up to you in the street like that?”
“No, not really,” he answers truthfully, with a curt shrug. “It’s part of the game.”
“You shouldn’t have to do things you don’t want to do,” I note, feeling bad for him.
“Doesn’t really work like that though,” he snorts. We’re walking and then suddenly he stops and gives a nod to the Ferris wheel. “It’s really fuckin’ weird being here now.”
