Shameless (Loving Fallon Book 1)

by Delecroix, Cassandra

  I’m suddenly shoved face first into my locker door with no warning, and pain explodes across my forehead and nose. I quickly spin around to deflect another attack and find Camilla standing there with several other girls flanking her side.

  All the commotion in the hallway abruptly quiets as all eyes turn on us.

  Camilla aggressively steps forward, looking down her nose at me. “You think you can just move here and take what’s mine?” she demands in a tone that radiates superiority.

  I stand my ground, not the least bit scared of her. I’ve faced far meaner and bigger adversaries than this superficial, spoiled brat. “From what I hear, he was never fully yours to begin with,” I say with a smirk.

  She inhales sharply, her pretty face darkening. “Listen here, you little bitch. You have no idea who you’re messing with. I can make you, and I can break you,” she threatens.

  I’m not one to be bullied, so I drop my backpack on the floor and step closer to her as I laugh off her threat. “You, break me? Try it, bitch.” I might have to put up with Catherine’s bullshit, but I won’t take it from anyone here at this school.

  Camilla leans forward, refusing to back down, her face mere inches from my own. “Oh, I’ll do more than break you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born,” she hisses as her blue eyes glitter with contempt.

  “Do your worst, but it still won’t erase every single hot and sweaty moment from his mind,” I taunt.

  Camilla’s hand shoots out, slapping me across the face, and I immediately taste blood inside my mouth. I strike back before she can defend herself, hitting her harder than she’d hit me. She lets out a yelp and stands there, frozen. It’s clear she hadn’t really expected me to retaliate. I watch as she calmly brushes her hair out of her eyes, fury flaring across her pretty features.

  I lick the cut on my lip, enjoying this little showdown. Anytime I can prove that my shorter height doesn’t hinder me, and that I am very capable of defending myself, it gives me great satisfaction. I couldn’t defend myself as a little kid, but I sure as hell can now.

  “Where’s your threats now?” I mock.

  She throws herself at me, her long nails raking across my scalp. I’m not a hair-puller, and I ignore the pain as I slam my fist into her side. Camilla grunts and falls backwards, bringing me with her as we hit the floor. In the back of my mind, I can hear shouting, but I ignore it as I concentrate on keeping Camilla from clawing my eyes out. Her fist cuffs me good on the chin, and I roll her over onto her back. I grab a handful of her hair, getting a good grip, and I slam the back of her head against the floor. She snarls and swings at me as a pair of arms wrap around my waist. I’m physically pulled off Camilla, and I struggle until I became aware that it’s a male teacher, not a student. I quickly stop resisting.

  Camilla is cursing as a teacher pulls her to her feet. Her long, blonde hair is a mess, and her left eye is beginning to swell as she glares at me. The male teacher tightens his grip on her as she tries to take a threatening step towards me. “This isn’t over,” she warns.

  I calmly smile. “Bring it.”

  ~*~

  By the time I leave the principal’s office, I am very much regretting my actions earlier. Not because of Camilla, she’d deserved it, and I’d enjoyed the fight. It’s just bad to have on my record, and I am extremely lucky we both are walking away from our altercation with just one day’s suspension.

  Fights are nothing new to me, and there’s a darker side of me that enjoys them. I know that violence isn’t the answer to my problems, but if someone comes at me, I have no problem defending myself and hitting back. I’m going to have to find a way to tame that urge of mine. One more fight with Camilla, and I’m toast here at this school. I can’t afford to be expelled. The only positive thing to come of this morning is Catherine hadn’t picked up the phone when the principal had tried calling. She’s probably sleeping, and I’m relieved that I won’t have to deal with her.

  When I exit the school office, I find Nick leaning lazily against the hallway wall, waiting for me. He straightens and slips his hands in his jeans pockets, his slate eyes meeting mine. “Was it worth it?”

  “No,” I say sourly. I’m not in the mood for this conversation, and I turn and begin walking down the hall.

  Nick falls into step beside me. “What’s the verdict?”

  “I can come back tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take you home,” he offers.

  I pause after we enter the lobby, and I turn to face him. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He gives me one of his unblinking stares. “I’m already late for class, cutting the rest of the hour won’t matter.”

  “I’m not going home, but thanks for the offer.” I start walking again as I adjust my backpack over my shoulder.

  Nick catches up to me. “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere that she’s not,” I mutter under my breath, thinking of Catherine. I pass through the metal detectors and exit the school. Nick’s determined today, and I can’t figure out why.

  “I take it you’re referring to your aunt?”

  I breathe in the fresh air as I make my way down the steps, ignoring Nick. I have no intention of explaining my rocky relationship with my aunt to him.

  “You work tonight?”

  “Yes,” I grit out, wishing he’d just go away.

  “Are you going to be able to cover that up?” he asks deliberately.

  His question throws me, and I pause to look at him questioningly.

  Nick motions to my face. “You’re turning purple along your cheek and down by your lower lip,” he explains.

  I reach up and touch the tender areas. I’d forgotten about them, and I wince as my finger makes contact with bruised skin. “I’ll have to buy some makeup,” I mutter. Damn it. It’s a waste to spend money on something that I’m probably never going to use again.

  Nick cocks his head, his eyes roaming over my features. “You never wear any, do you? All I’ve ever noticed is that shiny stuff you always have on your lips.”

  I blink at his statement, amazed that he’d even notice my lack of makeup or the ever present lip gloss coating my lips. A smile slowly curves my lips. “The shiny stuff is called lip gloss, and no, I don’t bother with makeup.”

  “Why not?” he asks with honest curiosity.

  “I have more important things to worry about.”

  “Like avoiding your aunt,” he states, his eyes watchful now.

  Refusing to go there with him, I start walking briskly down the sidewalk. I can sense Nick lazily following behind me. Maybe if I act like he’s not there, he’ll just go away.

  “This way,” I hear Nick say.

  I’d just turned off to follow the sidewalk that leads away from the school, and I glance back at him to see that he’s motioning towards the parking lot. I shake my head, giving him a stubborn look. “I can take care of myself.”

  “So I’ve noticed. C’mon, we’ll hit up a store and get you some makeup,” he suggests.

  His persistence has me studying him. I have no idea why he’s putting so much effort into me, unless he’s trying to get in my pants. Kind of an odd way to get there, though. Most guys are pretty bold about what they want. Either way, I really do need to track down some makeup before my shift tonight.

  For the first time, I take note of the way his dark gray shirt hugs his lean, yet muscular chest. I can’t deny it, he’s pretty fine to look at. Why am I standing here turning down a ride from someone as good-looking as him? “Did you bring your motorcycle?” I ask.

  “And if I did?” he asks as his eyes immediately sharpen.

  His answer has me grinning, and I ignore the pain as the cut along my inner lip stings. “Okay, I’m in,” I tell him.

  He snorts. “So that’s how it is.”

  “Yep.”

  Nick shakes his head, and we walk towards the parking lot. When we reach where he’d parked his motorcycle, he straddles it and waits for me. I slip my backpack straps
securely over my shoulders and climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. The motorcycle thunders to life, and then we’re flying out of the parking lot and down the street.

  I close my eyes, enjoying the ride as my mind drifts. I hadn’t had a chance to see Blake today, not that I was looking for him or anything. Still, I can’t help but wonder what he thinks about the fight. I wince inwardly, because now that I think about it, it’s kind of humiliating to get in a fight over a guy that’s not even mine. He’s not hers, either, a little voice in my mind whispers.

  Knowing that I need to stop thinking about him, I mentally start going through my jeans pockets and my backpack, trying to calculate how much money I have on me. I don’t have much, but it should cover a tube of concealer.

  Nick pulls into a store parking lot a short time later, and we go inside. I look around for the cosmetics department, and Nick silently follows. When I find it, I stare at all the different kinds of makeup lining three entire aisles. I typically buy lip gloss—the cheap flavored kind—not real makeup.

  “Something wrong?” Nick asks when I continue to stand there, looking uncertain.

  “I don’t know what to buy,” I confess.

  He studies me, and his lip quirks. “You really are lost, aren’t you?”

  My eyes narrow. “Think you can do better?” I challenge.

  “Hell no. I don’t know jackshit about women stuff.”

  “Then shut up.” I walk away from him and begin strolling down the nearest aisle, looking for anything that says concealer.

  In the end, I cave and ask for a saleswoman’s help, and I walk out of the store with concealer that matches my skin tone, and a new tube of lip gloss.

  Nick pauses by his motorcycle and looks at me expectantly. “Where to next?”

  I carefully tuck my purchases in the small compartment on the front of my backpack. “What time is it?”

  “I think the clock inside said nine-thirty.”

  It’s still way too early to be going to Catherine’s. I’d prefer to go back when I’m certain that she’s left the house for the day. “You can just leave me here. I can find something to do to waste my time,” I tell him. I can just wander around the shops or something. Sounds boring, but it’s better than having to deal with Catherine.

  Nick’s eyes drop to the front pocket on my backpack. “Do you even know how to put that shit on?” he asks, referring to the concealer.

  “It can’t be that hard, can it?”

  He seems to hesitate before saying, “If my dad’s not home, we can hang at my place and you can experiment with it.”

  I wonder if he’s hoping to get laid. He’s pretty sexy to look at. In fact, both Nick and Blake have similar builds, but Nick is just a tad taller by an inch or so. If it weren’t for the fight earlier with Camilla, I probably would have been looking for a good time too.

  “Look, if it were any other day, I’d probably be up for a little fun, but I’m not in the mood,” I say lightly.

  Realization flashes in Nick’s gaze, and he promptly scowls at me. “You thought I was asking you for a screw?”

  I shift my backpack on my shoulder. “Weren’t you?”

  “What kind of guys have you been hanging around?” he asks, looking completely offended.

  “The kind that want just a screw,” I reply dryly.

  His eyes narrow. “Like Blake,” he states grimly.

  I don’t bother denying it.

  “Fallon, I’m trying to be your friend.”

  “Friend?” I echo.

  “I think you need one more than a boyfriend or a fuckbuddy.”

  A laugh bursts out of me. Boyfriend or fuckbuddy? I’ve never had either. Usually one fuck is all most guys want, because they don’t want it to mean anything if they come back for more. My laughter fades when I see that Nick is staring hard at me, and he’s not looking the slightest bit entertained.

  “You’re serious,” I say slowly.

  He’s broodingly silent.

  Oh shit. “I didn’t mean to laugh in your face,” I say sincerely. “It’s just that I’ve never had a friend, and no one ever sticks around after sex, so it just—” I clamp my lips shut. I’d just said too much.

  Nick is now somber. “So it’s like that for you.”

  His expression pisses me off. “I don’t need your pity,” I snap. Instead of waiting for his reply, I turn on my heel and start walking away.

  Nick grabs my arm before I can get very far, spinning me back around to face him. “Do I look like the type that would pity or look down on you? Does it look like I surround myself with friends? I’m just as alone as you are, Fallon,” he says flatly. Then he curses under his breath and looks away, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  His admission has my anger fading. Now he’s the one who feels that too much has been said. I’m beginning to think that we are a lot alike in some ways.

  We’re both awkwardly silent until Nick finally breaks it. “You want to hang at my place or not?”

  I really want to lighten the mood, so I look up at him hopefully. “Can I drive?”

  “No.”

  We walk back to his motorcycle and climb on. I’m more than a little curious to see where Nick lives, so I watch with interest as we drive through the city, and then towards the poorer areas of town. We cross the railroad tracks and begin seeing smaller houses and trailer homes scattered here and there. He eventually turns onto a gravel road, and trees surround both sides of us until we reach a turnoff, and then we’re speeding down yet another gravel road. It’s not until we approach a bend in the road that we come upon a trailer home hidden in a secluded area.

  He slows the motorcycle, and I study his home. His car is parked out front, but there doesn’t seem to be any other vehicles around. Nick pulls the motorcycle closer to the trailer and cuts the engine.

  I slide off and look around. The white trailer is long and narrow, like your average trailer home. Wooden stairs with railings lead up to the door, and only a few windows line the front. It looks lonely and old. There’s nothing on the outside of the home to warm it up, and no effort has been made to make it look welcoming.

  “It’s not much, but it’s home,” Nick says simply without shame.

  I’m the very last person that would ever judge him. “I don’t have one,” I say as I hold his gaze.

  We stare at each other for a moment, and then he nods and walks up the stairs, unlocking the door. We enter the trailer, and once more, I look around with unconcealed interest.

  The kitchen is to the right, and it’s small with old, brown linoleum that is peeling, and dark cupboards that have seen better days hover over the cracked counter tops. All of the kitchen appliances are an old cream-color, and it’s obvious nothing has been updated in a very long time. A small table sits directly in front of a window, and it is completely bare except for a few unopened bills that have been tossed upon it.

  To the left is the living room, and shaggy, multi-colored carpet covers the floor, and against the wall is a comfortable looking couch. A flat-screen TV is attached to the opposite wall, and the room is bare of any décor. Curtains cover the main window in the living room, and another window faces the backyard. Beyond the living room is a narrow hall that leads to the bedrooms.

  “Hungry?” Nick asks, breaking the silence.

  My attention shifts back to him, and his question has me recalling that I’d skipped breakfast this morning because I had woken up late. “A little,” I admit.

  “I’ll make something. Go play with that makeup of yours. Bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left.”

  I wander down the hall and turn on the light in the bathroom. After closing myself inside, I look around. It’s small and has the ugliest wallpaper I’ve ever seen. It’s green with some weird gold, paisley design. The curtain over the window is a thick cream, and a few men’s products lie upon the counter next to the sink.

  For the first time, I inspect my face in the medicine cabinet’s mirror
. Nick’s right, I am starting to bruise in a few places. With a soft sigh, I retrieve the plastic bag from my backpack and dump out the concealer and lip gloss onto the counter. Then I pocket the lip gloss before throwing the plastic bag in the garbage.

  It’s not long before I grow frustrated as I experiment with the makeup. I can’t seem to blend the edges with my skin tone, and I can see where I’d applied it. I wash my face to start over, and around the fourth try, it looks halfway decent. It’s the best I’ve managed yet, so I decide it’s not worth messing with any further.

  A knock on the bathroom door startles me. “Food’s ready,” Nick says.

  After peering one more time at my reflection, I pocket the concealer and walk back to the kitchen. The trailer smells of eggs and bacon. Nick motions for me to sit at the small table, and I sink down into a chair, seeing a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Containers of butter and jelly have been set beside my plate along with a blunt-tipped knife.

  Nick lowers himself into the opposite chair, his own plate piled high with food.

  I pick up my fork. “Thank you,” I murmur.

  He just nods and starts eating.

  We’re both quiet, and the comfortable silence is broken only when Nick pushes aside his empty plate. “So, you and Blake, huh?”

  I finish chewing the bacon in my mouth before replying. “It was just a onetime thing.”

  He leans back in his chair, arms lazily folding across his chest. “Camilla’s pretty territorial over him,” he comments.

  “So I found out.”

  “She’s going to make your life a living hell at school,” he warns.

  “It’s hell anyway.”

  Nick doesn’t say anything, and I finish eating and help him clear the table. As he rinses the dishes and neatly stacks them in the sink, I wipe the table with a damp paper towel. After I’m finished, I toss it in the garbage and turn on him. “Can I see your room?” I ask.