Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,26

their color contrasting behind the thick tangle of his dark hair. I swallowed hard and nodded.

“Where?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You go where I say you go for the next month.”

“I know that,” I countered. “I was just curious.”

“Yeah, well, around here – curiosity killed the cat. Remember that, Zaychik.”

He was different now than he had been back at his house. Harder somehow, like he had something to prove, and maybe he did.

“C’mere,” he ordered, and his tone had gentled. I went to him and he guided me to the front door of the salvage yard’s building and pushed it open.

I went through and he stopped me, a hand on my shoulder. A brunette woman looked up from behind the counter and smiled.

“Hi, Mav,” she said. “Who’s this?”

“Little Bird meet my little zaychik. Marisol, this is Little Bird. Your personal shopper today.”

Little Bird laughed as Mav held out a big wad of bills past me over the counter to her. She took the money and slid off her stool.

“What’re we shopping for?” she asked him and he gave her that crooked smile that tended to make my heart skip a beat. The back of my neck prickled with jealousy and I frowned.

I had better not be getting attached after only one night. That would be crazy of me to do!

“Road gear, head to the toy store and get her outfitted for at least a couple to three weeks. Also, get her some regular shit to wear. Whatever she wants.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, bypassing his generosity in favor of the bigger picture which was a likely cross-country trip.

“Later,” Mav said. He raised his eyebrows at Little Bird who swept her jacket off a peg as she came around the counter.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said with a warm smile and I nodded. I knew better than to argue.

The great mountain of a man that sometimes rode with Mav on his Eastern Washington trips got up and limped around the low wall. Little Bird went to him happily, and they shared a kiss that would have had my abuela screaming at them in a string of Spanish about being obscene in front of the children. That in and of itself made me smile.

“Be careful. Call me if you run into any trouble,” he grunted like he wasn’t happy about it and let her go.

“Always,” she said softly and turned and raised her sleek dark eyebrows at me.

I gave a careful nod, took a drink from my steel tumbler, and followed her out the front door. Mav looked up from his phone as I went to pass and caught me by my arm. He leaned in and brushed my lips with his. I blinked a little in surprise and he winked with a slightly promising curve to his lips – a promise for later.

I softened. He was this strange dichotomy of hot and cold, all sharp jagged edges with a gentle, soft touch.

“Stick with Little Bird. She’ll get you everything you need, then come back here,” he ordered.

“Your wish is my command,” I said lightly and followed her out the front door.

She smiled.

“Is he always like that?” I asked.

“Mm-hm. You get used to it.”

“Be nice if I knew where we were going,” I said.

“Now, or what you’re getting the gear for?”

“Both?”

She laughed and hit the key fob, the lights flashing on a nearby 4Runner, the locks giving a soft thump as they disengaged.

We went shopping, she explained things – except where the fuck I was meant to be going. I tried to play it cool and gain some trust before I asked again.

Our first stop was the Harley-Davidson store in Renton. A bubbly blonde woman was happy to pour me into all the skin-tight leather I could want.

While I tried things on, Little Bird explained how she had learned some things the same way I was now from a woman named Dahlia.

I liked Little Bird. She was… nonthreatening. Nice, in that way that said she hadn’t gone through a whole lot of shit to make her hard yet. That, or she was one of those people who could do that thing where they never got hard from life. I wasn’t one of those people, and I sometimes seriously envied the ones that so effortlessly were able to forgive or forget and live their life happy without the burden of shame I felt every day.

“What’s Dahlia like?” I asked, in part to keep her talking but mostly to keep her