by Harper Sloan
Nate's body shakes with silent laughter.
"No, silly. That's gross. At least, if you're going to sell your body, be a high-end whore and not the kind who stands on corners. Plus, that's illegal in Georgia, and I'm not letting my best friend move to a state that allows it."
This time Nate jars my body when he starts roaring with laughter. He's the kind of person who laughs with every part of their being, and with him holding me tight, my head keeps bouncing against him as he continues.
"She wasn't even that funny," I drone, trying to get off his lap--again. "Seriously, can you let me go? I feel better really. Or I did until your laughing started making me feel like I would be motion sick."
"Just another second," he answers with a smile, his eyes doing the laughing he stopped vocalizing.
I open my mouth to argue, but close it when my front door bursts open, slamming against the wall behind it with so much force that it doesn't bounce back because the doorknob is stuck in the drywall. I blink in confusion at the door, then over at the fuming man standing in the doorway with his fists clenched and his body tense, and then back at my door.
"You're going to fix that," I tell Shane halfheartedly. What is he even doing here? And why the heck is he so angry?
He stomps into the apartment. I look over at Ember to see her smiling like a star-struck teenager with not one ounce of the confusion I feel on her pretty face. I look at Nate next to see him without any hint of the carefree humor he had just moments before. He looks almost ... smug? No, that's not it. He's looking up at Shane with something that appears to be real close to a dare written all over his face. When I turn to regard Shane, though, I'm shocked at the venomous ire he's giving his best friend.
What the heck is going on here?
MY PHONE STARTS RINGING THE second I step out of the shower. I ignore it and continue drying off, taking my time with my mind on a whole lot of everything. I didn't sleep for shit last night. It didn't have anything to do with being unable to sleep because I was awake and everything to do with wanting the company of the woman I could still smell on my sheets. I can't remember the last time I slept as fucking good as I did when she was here with me, and like it or not, I wanted to experience it every time she wasn't here. It's been like that for two damn weeks. If she wasn't here or I wasn't at her place, I couldn't sleep.
After knotting the towel around my hips, I walk into my room and over to the ropes that I had avoided putting away. We've used them so much that they're becoming a permanent fixture to my room. Their reminder today only taunting me with the memory of Nikki's body as she comes apart at my hand. With a sigh, I pick up the ropes, determined to take control over my cravings. Wrapping them up with care, I tuck them back into the drawer on my nightstand. The second my hand pushes the drawer closed, my phone goes off again. With a sigh of annoyance, I walk around my bed to where my phone is charging on the other nightstand.
"What's up?" I greet after seeing the caller on the display.
"It's Nikki," Nate answers, the normal playfulness that he seems to carry around with him completely gone. While it's not abnormal for him to get like this when work is on his mind, something in his tone makes me stand a little straighter.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Fuck, man, I don't know. Em just called me in a panic after Nikki sent her a text. I was right around the corner, so I rushed back home. After handing me Quinnie, she was out the door quicker than I could blink. Luckily, my mom was on her way over already, so when she got there, I left her to watch the baby and I'm on my way to Nikki's place."
"Is she hurt?" I blurt as I rush into my closet, not even looking at what I'm grabbing.
"Don't know. Like I said, Em didn't give me much. I called her when I left the house, and she just said Nikki won't talk to her. That she just keeps crying. Fuck, Shane, I've seen that girl upset before, but she's never had trouble telling Em what was wrong. It's not like her to just fucking shut down."
My adrenaline spikes and I start to move on autopilot. I tell Nate I'll be there and hang up before he has a chance to say much of anything. The only thing on my mind is the woman who hasn't left my thoughts once in two weeks. Longer than that, if I'm honest. I don't even pay attention to the clothes I'm pulling on, jamming my feet into my shoes before grabbing my wallet and keys, my phone still held tight in my palm.
As I reach for the front door, my phone rings again, causing my heart to race and my breath to come in short pants. When I see my sister's name on the screen, I feel a little relief knowing it isn't Nate calling me back with more shit. Unfortunately, I know I can't just ignore the call. Libby worries and won't stop calling until I answer. Always and without fail. Doesn't matter what time of the day it is or what I could be doing, she won't stop until she gets me.
"Libs," I say in lieu of a greeting, slamming my front door and locking it without thought.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, 1mon petit ange." It takes a Herculean effort to keep the panic from my voice, not wanting to freak her out. The same panic I haven't felt in a long fucking time--not since our mom got sick did I feel this helpless worry. I hate it. Hated it then and I really fucking hate it now. It's a big part of my control issues--according to the head doctors, that is.
"Who exactly do you think you're talking to, Shane?" she snaps. She hates when I keep things from her, too. Just like when I ignore her calls, keeping her in the dark never fails to piss her off. If I had been of sound mind, I would've been more careful to keep her from knowing I was agitated.
"Liberty," I stress.
"Don't Liberty me, mister. You sound like an animal. All growly and stuff. Don't lie to me and tell me you're fine."
"Growly isn't a thing."
"It is so a thing."
"Liberty."
"Shane."
I drop into my car and pinch the bridge of my nose before starting the engine and reversing out of my driveway with my phone between my shoulder and my ear. I love my sister, I do, but right now, I don't have the patience. Normally, she would have me smiling and feeling nothing but a break in the normal manic way I worry about mapping out every minute of my day to avoid surprises. Fuck, I hate surprises. Until recently, there has never been another person who could calm the beast of control that drives me.
But, today, all I'm worried about is Nikki.
All I can think of is that she needs me.
All I want is to get her in my arms and let the feeling of her heartbeat against mine reassure me that she's okay.
All I feel is worry for her, and anger that she didn't fucking call me. How fucked up is that for all the talk I had about this not being more than our dangerous game?
"Je t'aime, petit ange," I tell her, working hard to keep my voice calm as I recite the phrase I've always used with her. I love you, little angel.
"I love you back. As far as I can see and then some. Even when you're being annoying and keeping something from me."
"I met someone," I confess, knowing deep down that I mean those words more than my sister could ever understand. "I met someone, and right now, she needs me. You caught me on the way out the door. Nothing's wrong; I'm just in a rush to get there."
"Is she okay?" she whispers, all that sass and fire doused.
I don't answer. How can I? I wasn't the one she called to her aid. "I don't know, Libby. I really don't know."
I picture my sister's face in my mind, needing something else to focus on other than the unknown I'm rushing to. She's the feminine version of me, so similar in looks that we could pass as twins. Dark hair, dark eyes, and strong features. However, she's delicate where I'm not. Petite to my much taller and bulkier build. When she worries, she frowns and looks like a mad Tinker Bell. When I worry, I break shit and look like a monster. Her whole face scrunches up with her concern in the most adorable way, and mine gets Hulk-like in rage. Control isn't the beast she took from our childhood--worry is.
"Look, Lib, I'll text you later, okay? Just let me
get over there, reassure myself that she's okay, and then take care of whatever is wrong. I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Okay, Shane, but I want to meet her," she responds, clearly not happy about the time I'm asking for her to give me.
"Give me until tomorrow and I'll make it happen, okay?" And fuck me, but that isn't a lie. I actually want them to meet. The two of them are going to get along like long-lost friends. Liberty is impossible not to love--unless you're a bitch like Lacey--and Nikki doesn't even have to try for people to want to spend more time with her. She's infectious and fool on anyone who thinks she can be kept at arm's length. Including me. The fact I want them to get to know each other--something I didn't allow Lacey the privilege of for almost a whole year of dating--hits me right in the center of my denial.
Fake, my ass.
"Don't just tell me that and think you can pretend you didn't later on. You always keep the girls in your life from me."
I gruff out a laugh past the burn in my throat. "What girls, Libs?"
"Okay, not girls as in plural. But when you were dating your last girlfriend, I didn't meet her for forever. I don't want to meet this one months or even years from now because you have some weird phobia about me getting attached."
"It wasn't that long," I pause, rolling to a stop at a red light and narrowing my eyes. "And I don't have a fucking phobia!"
"Shane, I mean it. I want to meet the woman whose got my big strong brother acting so out of character."
"Dammit, Liberty. I told you that you will. I promise. Is that good enough?" She doesn't say anything; her silence thick and I know she doesn't believe me. Funny thing is, any other girl and she wouldn't be wrong but not Nikki. I meant what I said; I want them to meet. Probably more than Liberty does. "She's different, Libs. Take it at that and let me go so I can get to her."
A girly-as-fuck squeal comes over the line, and I roll my eyes, thankful for the reprieve from my thoughts because I'm not ready to figure out why Nikki is changing all my carefully constructed rules and plans.
"I'll call you tomorrow," I tell her. We say our goodbyes, and she lets me off the phone without any more arguments.
Living less than ten minutes from her apartment complex, I pull in the second I disconnect the call from Liberty. All it takes is seeing Nate's truck parked like he rushed in for my breathing to start coming in shallow pants again. By the time I race up her steps two at a time, I feel like my skin is too tight. I see the same neighbor who always seems to be out here, glaring at me from his doorway the same way he always does when we find each other together on the landing. The fear I've had for Nikki since Nate's call, the inability to keep my composure, the anger that something could have hurt her ... all of it pours through me, and I can only imagine I look nothing short of savage as I hold his gaze. The seedy looking motherfucker down the hall startles before backing into his apartment and shutting the door quickly. There isn't a chance in hell I'll be able to calm down until I know she's okay, not with this much shit roaring through me. Fucking hopeless. That's what I feel like right now.
My heavy steps to her door echo around me, filling my mind with their thumps. I reach out, grab her doorknob, and open her door with a quick burst of strength. I stand in the doorway with my fists clenched as I scan her small living room area. I'm not sure what I expected to find when I got here, but Nikki curled into my best friend's arms while he holds her was damn sure not one of them. I'm vaguely aware of Ember standing in the middle of the living room, but I can't look away from the woman with tear-stained cheeks and red eyes blinking up at me.
"You're going to fix that," she whispers with no real heat behind her demand.
I march into the room, more tension sliding into my body with each step. Nikki looks from Ember to Nate, and finally, up at me again. I don't move even though my hands are itching to take her from him and feel her against me. Instead, I let Nate know how I feel about finding my woman in his arms by focusing my cold, hard anger directly at him.
"Shane?" Nikki questions meekly, her voice shaking.
"Get out of his lap, cherie." When she doesn't move, my chest fills with air as my control splinters even more. "Now!" I bark, still not looking away from Nate's eyes.
"I've been trying!" she yells, wiggling and trying to get up.
Nate, the asshole, just arches his brow, cocks his head, and throws down his challenge silently. One I have no doubt he planned the second he called me. He doesn't know the details of my relationship with Nikki, but I played right into his hand. He had no reason to doubt the relationship we've been portraying, but he's not stupid. I've been single for a long damn time, refusing to get close to another woman since my breakup with Lacey until now. I'm not stupid, and neither is he. It's his fucked-up way of forcing me to see things around me even if he didn't know I was resisting the pull before now.
When she finally stands, almost falling from his lap when he continued to make her work for it without help, he leans back against the couch and puts his hands behind his head. Not looking away from me. I shake my head, stepping closer to him and leaning down. He's not a small man, but sitting on her couch the way he is and with me standing, I've got the upper hand.
"I see you holding her again, and I'll fucking rip your arms from your body. Friend or not, Nate."
He looks smug. Yeah, I played right into his hands, and I couldn't care less.
"It's like that?" he asks after a beat of silence.
"It's past that," I counter, the truth to my words settling deep.
"Understood." He nods, leans to the side, and looks past me. "Em, you know what to do, baby."
Not willing to give Nate any more of my time with his shit, I turn to Nikki. She's standing with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach--protectively--and I fucking hate it. Her face is blotchy, red, and swollen from her tears--hitting something deep inside me that no one has ever penetrated. Her mascara making her tears run black as a few slip free, only highlight her blue eyes more. Only, they're dull, void of the normal bright happiness that is always there. It's completely gone. Right then, the rest of the mess inside me shifts, and I know I won't leave here today until I get it back where it belongs. The madness inside me no longer without cause, it's focused on protecting and healing whatever is causing her turmoil.
"Come here," I stress calmly, holding her gaze.
She shakes her head, her arms tightening around her. I make myself a promise, right then and there, to do whatever it takes never to see this strong and caring woman like this again. Fuck the rules.
"Nicole." I throw my weight into that one word, hoping to reach another part of her--the part that submits to me every time I've asked her to--just by saying her name in the same tone I use in the bedroom. The one that makes it clear she doesn't want to pick this moment to test the waters by denying what I'm demanding of her.
She moves, her feet shuffling. I tune everything out around us, ignoring the sounds of Ember moving around Nikki's apartment. Ignoring the gaze of my good friend. My eyes only for the woman who I need to reassure myself is okay more than I need my next breath. The one I'm hoping needs my touch as much as I need hers--even if she hasn't come to the same conclusion as I have.
"Hi," she whispers a moment later, her arms still holding herself protectively as she looks up at me.
I scan her face, the small cut from when she bumped her head a few weeks ago just a memory. The redness from Lacey's fist long since faded, luckily though, it had never been bad enough that some makeup couldn't cover it. My gaze drops, taking in every inch of her. When I'm satisfied she isn't harmed physically, I allow myself to take a deep breath and close my eyes as some of the tension leaves my body. Some, not all. A tiny fraction of my sanity returns--again, some, not all--and when I open them again and see her beautiful but sad face looking up at me with a hint of worry, I let go. Years of learning how to hide my feelings from others falls away. Decades of needing to keep surprises from popping up around me no longer important. At this moment, I
'm just a man looking at the woman twisting him up in knots, not even bothered by it in the least.
She jumps when I move, but when my arms settle around her body, she melts into my hold. She wiggles her arms out from between our bodies. I don't make it easy on her, not willing to loosen my hold, but when she gets them free and wraps them around my back, clenching my shirt tight in her small hands, I relax for the first time since Nate called me. Her heartbeat races against me. I dip my head, press my lips to her cotton covered shoulder, and continue holding her in silence, just breathing her in.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice muffled against my chest. "Shane," she continues when I don't answer or release her.
I don't want her out of my arms, but I can't just stand here holding her all day, either. I give a little slack but keep my arms circled around her body. She blinks up at me. Fuck, she's perfect. Even looking like she does now, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm not," she lies pointlessly, seeing that her eyes are still full of unshed tears.
"You aren't?" Fuck me, but my lips twitch. How she has the ability to knock me to my knees one second, and in the next breath, make me forget anything and everything ... except how much I enjoy this unpredictable beauty.
"Nope. My eyes are just sweating."
"Nikki," I groan, powerless to her charms as my body relaxes even further, and a small grin pulls at my mouth.
"I'm okay," she says immediately, without probing for the reassurance I can feel with her this close.
"I know that now. Tell me what happened."
A million different scenarios had been pinging around in my mind since Nate's cryptic call, but the last thing I had anticipated was everything she's telling me. On top of my concern for her feelings, I feel nothing but fucking guilt for the part I played in what happened to put her in this position in the first place. All because we were playing that dangerous fucking game.
"I really am okay, Shane. I just had a little trouble processing it all," she assures me.
"I'm sorry." I hold her gaze, wanting her to see the sincerity in my words. I leave the rest hanging between us ... I'm sorry for putting her in that position just to put on a show for my ex. It didn't feel right when Lacey started her shit that night, but I let Nikki take the lead, ready to jump in if she needed me--which she never did. It's easy to look back now and play the what-if game by saying I should have stepped in even if she could take care of herself.