by Cora Kenborn
I hold in a chuckle at the mental image of Shiloh raising a middle finger, refined, but with enough country girl left in her to mean business. Changing the subject would be the smart thing to do. However, when it comes to Shiloh, no one has ever accused me of being smart.
“Did she say anything else?”
“Why?” The lines in Taryn’s forehead deepen.
“No reason. Just making conversation.”
Lie.
It’s her fault for bringing her up in the first place. Damn, that’s another lie. Shiloh has been on my mind since the minute we walked in. Hell, since I woke up. I can’t allow old feelings to resurface. I’ve fed off the person she was when she left, but now she seems different. It’s fucking with my head.
“No, she didn’t say anything else.” The right side of Taryn’s mouth twitches, and I fight a sigh. “She’s still the two-faced bitch she was in high school.”
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people with selective memories.
“You were just like her.”
Her half-lidded eyes blaze with bitterness just before her attention focuses over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil herself.”
Turning around, I follow her gaze, and my stomach twists at the same time the blood rushes to my pants. They’re standing together just inside the doorway. His hand is pressed to the small of her back and she’s not doing a damn thing about it.
Frankie and Shiloh.
I don’t know what stripper’s closet she shopped in before coming here, but I want to thank them on my knees for existing. The kind of dress she’s wearing makes boys want to be men, and men want to be single. It’s tight in all the right places and short enough to make a man instantly hard. I don’t know whether to jump over the booth and punch Frankie or fuck Shiloh on the table to prove a point.
My choice is made the minute Frankie sees me. He nods in my direction and pushes a panic-stricken Shiloh toward our table. As soon as they arrive, I grab Frankie’s arm and jerk him away from her.
“You aren’t supposed to be in a bar.”
Shit. When the hell did I get out of the booth?
Frankie takes everything in stride as I come unraveled. “You’re right. Good thing I’m in a restaurant. This dive serves food too.” Bracing a hand on the edge of the table, he picks up one of my fries and grins. “And I’m eighteen.”
“You brought her here?” I hiss, motioning toward Shiloh. “Whose side are you on?”
“Her?” Shiloh’s hands immediately go to her waist and she pops a hip out for emphasis. “Her is standing right here, you jackass. It’s a public place. I have just as much right to be here as you do.” She holds my stare in a showdown that has my dick hardening by the second. “If you’ll excuse me, Frankie, I’ll wait for you by the bar.” Turning on her sky-high fuck-me heels, Shiloh stomps off, her gorgeous ass swaying as she makes her way to the other end of the bar.
I’ve always wanted to watch Shiloh come. But I have to say, watching her go isn’t so bad.
Apparently, I’m not as subtle with my appreciation of Shiloh’s assets as I think I am.
“For once, the bitch has a point,” Taryn snarls, slamming her glass down and sliding across the vinyl length of the booth. “When you decide to put your eyes back in your head, call me. I’m going home with my friends.”
I give her a half-hearted protest, but she’s already across the room talking shit about me.
Frankie chuckles and slides in her newly vacated spot. “Are you calmed down from that show you put on earlier?”
“Fuck off, junior.”
“Shiloh’s not that bad. A little uptown for my blood, but she’s not the evil bitch you go on and on about.”
My response is automatic. “Don’t touch her.”
Frankie smiles. “What do you care? You hate her…remember?”
“I don’t care about her. I care about you and the center, and I don’t want to see her wreck either one.”
“Don’t worry about me, boss. I can take care of myself,” he says with an annoying wink. As quickly as his eyes brighten with amusement, they harden just as fast as he stares toward the bar. “Check it out. Looks like we’ve both been cockblocked.”
My body goes rigid as I follow his line of sight. Some frat boy is sitting way too close to Shiloh, pushing a fruity-looking drink toward her. After she shakes her head no, I can hear him ask her to dance, and every muscle in my neck tenses until they almost snap. I know this plotline. I played the starring role back in high school, so I fully expect her to tell him to fuck off. However, white noise fills my head as she slides a glance my way, smiles, and places her hand in his.
Sometimes I have dreams where shit is happening around me but I can’t do anything about it because my body won’t move. Like my arms and legs are encased in quicksand or something. That’s how I feel watching this asshole’s hands lower by the minute to Shiloh’s ass.
“Might as well put those away.”
“Put what away?”
Discarding the paper from his plastic straw, Frankie taps my tightly curled fists with it. “These things. You got no claim to go bustin’ up faces. You’re with Taryn, remember? Plus, you’ve already told Shiloh to go to hell.”
“Maybe I want some company while I’m there.”
Frankie just shakes his head and plows through the rest of my cold fries over the next two songs. I can’t take my eyes off her. I shouldn’t care. Whoever grinds their dick into Shiloh West should be the least of my concerns. My focus should be calming Taryn down so everything doesn’t blow up in my face.
Should. Could. Would. But don’t.
My head is messed up. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on how I feel about her, she does something so out of character I’m left blindsided, sitting in a booth and fighting an eighteen-year-old for soggy fries.
Actually, it’s not out of character. She’s watching me watch her as she drags her nails along the back of that asshole’s neck. She’s putting on a one-woman show meant to drive me insane, and it’s working. The closer their bodies press together, the more I sweat.
I can’t take any more. Slamming my hand on the table, I slide across the seat. “Fuck this.”
Before I can clear the booth, a conversation behind me catches my attention. I turn to see two guys, who look just like the douchebag groping Shiloh, watching the same scene on the dancefloor.
The one facing me nods toward Shiloh. “Did you see how messed up her face got?”
An instinct to defend her hits me, and I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but his friend cuts me off.
“Yeah, man, I almost didn’t believe it was actually the Shiloh West until Kevin pulled up that picture of her. She used to be hot, but yeah, that’s just nasty, man.”
My blood boils.
The guy facing me slugs back his drink. “I’d still fuck her though. I mean, I’d make her put a bag over her head, but there’s nothing wrong with her pussy.”
Did I say my blood’s boiling? I’m about to shit pure lava.
They stop to high-five each other, giving me a moment to decide if I should kill them now or wait and run them over with my car.
“I can’t believe you bet Kevin fifty dollars he couldn’t get a picture of her face.”
No, no, no, no.
“Do you know how much money that shit will go for?” He laughs and lifts his drink toward the dancefloor. “Besides, looks like he’s gonna get a picture and a piece of ass tonight.”
I’m out of my seat and halfway across the room before I register Frankie’s even speaking.
“Hey, boss, where are ya going?”
Ignoring him, I tear across the dance floor. I have no idea what I’m doing or why I’m even doing it as I reach in between them and shove his shoulder. Shocked, he stumbles backward, his fall broken only by the pissed off couple behind him.
“What the hell, man? You got a problem?” He looks stupid—just like all the other assholes Shiloh dated in high sch
ool, which makes me want to punch him even more. His face is red as hell, probably because he knows he’s about to get his ass handed to him.
I take a step forward. “Yeah, I got a problem—you.” Glancing down, I see his phone sitting on the floor, cued up to the camera app. Filled with rage, I give it a swift kick and watch it fly across the wooden floor and crash across the far wall.
“Hey,” he yells, getting in my face like he’s actually going to do something about it. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Let’s call it even.”
“For what?”
“For you being a general dickhead. Get out of here before I break something else.”
As if she even gives a shit, Shiloh jumps in between us and presses a palm against each of us. “Cary, stop!”
Like that’s going to stop me from kicking his ass.
He stares at me like he’s not sure if I’m serious or not. To prove my point, I push Shiloh behind me and shove his shoulder. “You want a picture, motherfucker? Take mine. Then I’ll give you a permanent reminder of the day I kicked your asshole halfway up your throat.”
That does it.
Raising his hands, he shakes his head at Shiloh and backs off the dance floor. “You’re not worth this bullshit.”
In my attempt to prevent a scene, that’s exactly what I’ve created. Even though the music keeps playing, no one is talking and every eye is on us. Everyone’s source of entertainment has become the disgraced model and the chump who, once again, is throwing fists over her.
The smart thing to do would be to turn around and walk away. However, when it comes to Shiloh, what I should do is never what happens.
Turning around, I grab her around the waist and tug her against me. It’s the first time in seven years I’ve held her this close. I can’t decide if it’s like drowning in a nightmare or finally coming home, but either way, all the air is sucked out of the room, leaving me to only breathe her.
Rain and sunshine.
“Cary, what are you doing?”
I don’t know what to tell her. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing, but we can’t just high-five and walk off the dance floor like nothing happened. My fingers slide across the indentations in her hips and come to rest in the same spot on her lower back that Frankie touched when they first walked in.
“Damage control. Are you gonna argue with me all night or maybe try to be helpful for once?” I wait for her inevitable sarcasm, but instead, she inhales a heavy breath and wraps her arms around my neck. True to Shiloh form, though, what’s seen isn’t always what’s felt, because what’s felt are sharp-ass nails digging into the sensitive skin at the base of my skull.
“Why did you do that?” she says, breaking our silent standoff.
“Shy, he’s an asshole.”
She fights a smirk. “You got all that from watching us across the bar?”
“You talk a lot of shit considering the company you keep, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Frankie? Frankie’s just a—wait, are you jealous?”
I don’t appreciate what she’s insinuating. Sliding a hand up her bare back, I weave it through her mass of blonde curls and tilt her head back. “Of Frankie and you? Give me a break.” I tighten my fingers, her gasp spurring me on. “Yeah, he has no car, and you’re banned from being within twenty feet of one. I think I’ll be all right.”
The thing I always found most sexy about Shiloh still hasn’t changed in seven years. She could never be intimidated. Not by me or anyone else. So I honestly shouldn’t be surprised when she reaches behind her, pries her hair out of my grasp, and slams her fuck-me heel onto my toe.
“Ouch! Jesus, Shiloh!”
“Was that necessary? Do you feel better about yourself?” She holds my stare, putting space in between us.
“Wait, I—”
“You know what, Cary? Go fuck yourself.”
I’m not sure if I’m driven by lust, obligation, or revenge, but instead of letting her go, I blurt out the one thing I shouldn’t. “He was going to take a picture of your scar and post it on the internet.”
Coming to a dead stop, Shiloh’s hands fist by her side. “No.”
“I heard his friends laughing about it.” Disobeying everything my brain is telling me to do, my feet move toward her, and before I can stop them, my hands are on her shoulders, pulling her against me. Something resembling my name rumbles in her throat as she tries to pull away, but I hold firm.
As activity in the bar resumes, she manages to jerk free and run to a side exit that leads to the overflow parking lot. The door barely slams behind her before I fling it back open, ready for a fight.
“Oh my God, really? What the hell do you want from me?” She spins around with mascara running down her cheeks and shoves me in the middle of my chest. Unfortunately for her, I’m too quick and grab both of her wrist, pulling her roughly against me.
“Are you going to dance with me or what?”
Twelve
Shiloh
He glares at me, his body pressed up against mine with no room to spare. “Are you going to dance with me or what?”
“No.” I can’t breathe. I can barely speak. Dancing is definitely out of the question.
“Why?”
How about because the girl who never gave a shit about anything suddenly gives a shit about everything? How about because the bubble I’ve been living in for years has finally popped, flashing a light on what I’ve become—what people think of me? How about because you treat me like the scum of the Earth one minute, then save me from humiliation the next?
Instead of saying all that, I shrug. “Carrick, I saw you at prom, remember? You can’t dance for shit.”
I expect to see impatience in his eyes, but instead, I’m met with impassive darkness. “It’s Cary. And teach me, then.”
The loaded words hang in the air as the space between us collapses. I can’t open myself up to more exposure or hidden agendas. However, I can’t seem to look away from his hypnotic stare.
“Why do you care?”
“Maybe because at the very least you owe me the dance you screwed me out of at prom.”
Every rush of blood in my body pools south as he wraps my hands around his neck and settles his arms around my waist. For a moment we stand motionless, and I wonder what music he hears in his head that I don’t.
Then I hear it.
The faint, sinful beat that slowly gets louder and louder until his hands guide me in a gentle sway. The song is suggestive, indecent, and designed for sex.
Pony by Ginuwine.
I glance up, my jaw dropping. “To this?”
Cary nods, a wicked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
I sigh. “Fine.”
Although my fingers are shaking, I move my hands from his neck and clasp them onto his hips. Giving them a wiggle, I glance up, thankful that clouds have darkened the moonlight. They’ve casted a shadow over his face, preventing me from having to look him in the eye. “You have to loosen up and roll your hips with the beat of the music like this.”
As the sexy beats continue to play in the background, Cary just stands there. His body is straight as a board, his pelvis locked as if it’s been poured in plaster. It’s beyond awkward, and insulting as hell. I’m so hot I can barely stand up, and he looks like he’s writing a grocery list.
“Cary?”
“Hmmm?” He raises an eyebrow, staring over my head as if he’s a million miles away.
Grunting, I drop my hands in frustration. “This is hopeless. I’m just going home, all right? Happy prom.”
Before I can take a step, an inked arm snakes around my waist and yanks me against his solid chest. “You mean like this?” Cary expertly rolls his hips and grinds against me so hard my vision blurs. Brushing his lips against my temple, he slides his hands around my waist to my lower back, and I gasp as his fingers widen and squeeze my ass cheeks. As our bodies press closer and sway to the music, he turns us both around and slams me against the
brick wall. His hands cover mine and presses my palms against the bricks above my head, his hard erection rubbing against me until I think I’m going to die. I hate myself for the lusty moan he makes me give him.
Where in the hell did he learn to dance like this? Screw modeling, I need to open up a dance studio and have every man in America sign up. Because any man who can blow a woman’s mind on the dance floor, can rock her world in bed.
I’m pressed against the wall, my back scraping the rough brick, but I’m so turned on I don’t care. Still grinding as the song comes to a close, Cary’s mouth trails up my throat. His lips hover so closely against mine that with every exhale, they touch.
But he doesn’t kiss me.
Instead, he rakes those full lips across my cheek, down my neck, then up to my ear.
“Shiloh?” he groans, his lip ring clanging against my hoop earring.
“Yes?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
Blood is rushing through my head at such a frenzied speed, I think I may pass out. “Anything.”
“Be at the center at six instead of seven. The toilets need bleaching.” Smirking, he pulls away, one hand still pressed against the bricks, his cock hard against my stomach.
“When did you learn to dance?”
That’s it? That’s all I have to say? How about, “What the fuck was that all about?” or maybe, “How can you go home to Taryn after dry humping me?” But no, all my brain can come up with is to ask him about his newly found rhythm.
Cary is already halfway across the parking lot before he stops and glances over his shoulder. The clouds move away, causing the moon to spotlight the tight muscles in his jaw. “When people are ashamed of you, it kind of motivates you to prove them wrong.”
My mouth drops open, but no words come out. I want to tell him I’m not that same girl he once knew, but it’d be a lie. I’m absolutely still that girl. I left that girl, and I’ve come back that girl. The only thing that’s changed about me is my bank account and my freedom.
I watch helplessly as Cary gets in his old black Mustang and revs the engine, leaving skid marks in the parking lot.