Shane (Damage Control #4)

by Jo Raven

  There’s a knot lodged in my throat. I look around for Shane, but I can’t see him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Jesse—”

  “Why?” Jesse asks. “I wanna hear it. Why did you think it was okay to force something on me although I told you many times I wasn’t interested?”

  Oh God. I shrug, although my heart is pounding, and heat is spreading on my face. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Everyone’s staring at me. I swear, even the music has died down and the noise faded, leaving me in the frigging spotlight.

  “JJ,” Amber whispers, putting a hand on his bicep, a faded leather bracelet hanging from her wrist. “It’s okay.”

  “You treated me like a thing,” Jesse says, not tearing his gaze from me. An amulet in the shape of an animal—a lion—hangs around his neck. “That wasn’t fucking okay.”

  God, he’s right. It wasn’t. Having him now in front of me, I see more clearly. See what I did to him. To them. What I almost destroyed on a whim, and all my protests, all my childish tantrums and complaints about everyone in the group shunning me sound so stupid and pathetic.

  “I’m so frigging sorry,” I whisper.

  Guilt is choking me. I want the earth to open and swallow me whole. Seeing them together like that... So in love. So perfect together. Now that I know, that I realize… Christ.

  “Cassie,” Amber starts, “this isn’t—”

  “I really am. Sorry, that is.” I blow out a breath and wish my martini was here already for some liquid courage and to give me something to do with my hands. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true. Jesse Lee…” I gulp. “I’d take it back if I could.”

  Amber exchanges a look with Jesse, then starts again. “But the thing is—”

  “And you, Amber.” I want to get it all out before they sidetrack me and before my courage deserts me. “I apologize, I just… wasn’t thinking straight. I thought I was protecting you from Jesse Lee. I thought he was…”

  “I was what?” he mutters.

  I shake my head. How do I explain? Where to begin? How I thought that for him sex was not important, much less a mere kiss. That I thought I was protecting her when in fact I was hurting her. Hurting them both.

  That I was desperate to catch Shane’s eye, and I thought it worked, but it turns out it didn’t. He never seemed to even notice, or care.

  How embarrassing. How demeaning. How frigging stupid, Cass.

  God, I wish I could turn back time. Not just to that wedding reception, but much earlier in my life.

  “You thought I was what?” Jesse insists, demanding to know.

  He has every right. He is my judge, and my jury, and my victim all in one, and the least I can do is tell the truth.

  “I thought you were like me,” I whisper, turning my face away, my eyes burning.

  A hush falls around us.

  “I thought that you were just like me,” I say again and stand up to go, because telling the truth is damn hard, and if I speak the words I can’t stay here with these people any longer. “That you were a loser like me, Jesse, and I was wrong.”

  Turning blindly, I stumble between the tables and the chairs and the people, my only thought to get out, to get away from the awful truth:

  Jesse may have worked as a prostitute once, but the cheap whore is me.

  ***

  I stagger out of the bar as quickly as my heels allow me without faceplanting and pull my coat closed over my breasts and my short dress. What was I thinking, dressing like this?

  Shane. I thought Shane would be here, but it’s not like he has ever shown any interest in my body, so that’s pretty lame. Then again, I usually dress like this when I go out. I like having men’s attention. It makes me feel powerful. Desirable.

  Wanted.

  Talk about a night of self-revelations.

  And crap, I’m here without a car. Shifting from foot to foot, I look for a cab. I don’t want to be caught by Manon or Ev and dragged back inside.

  What the heck did I just say to Jesse Lee and Amber? Jesus on a pogo stick. I was like a train wreck, spewing out whatever went through my head, and as we’ve already established, my thought process isn’t always to be trusted.

  Jesse Lee is a case in point.

  Oh God, did I just tell Amber I was trying to protect her from her boyfriend by kissing him? I mean, I did think that at the time, but it doesn’t necessarily mean either of them will appreciate the sentiment.

  Plus I told Jesse Lee I thought he was a loser.

  Someone please kill me. A hundred years on my knees doing penance won’t take the sting out of that one, will they?

  Why can’t I control my big mouth? Why do I have to say whatever comes to my mind? Yes, it was the truth, and no, it doesn’t make it any better.

  Ugh. At least since the kiss fiasco, I’ve grown better at controlling my impulses. Heck, I haven’t kissed anyone since then. Haven’t slept with anyone.

  Jesus.

  I bet Manon hasn’t realized and thinks I’m the same as I was, sampling boys, taking home a different guy every night.

  But I haven’t. I can’t. What happened—how I misjudged things—was a shock to my system. Realizing not everyone thinks like me, not everyone kisses for no real reason, that sex can’t fix everything, and then…

  Shane.

  I’d hoped he’d see me, that I’d get a reaction out of him—and he did see me. Only his reaction wasn’t what I expected. Not exactly sure what I’d expected, to be honest, but maybe something like anger. Jealousy. Some strong emotion that would finally tell me how he feels.

  About me.

  Stupid, I know. One more stupid thing on my list of stupid things. But yeah, he didn’t yell at me, or Jesse, didn’t stomp away to drown his sorrow in booze. He didn’t even blink. Didn’t change his attitude.

  Except maybe he grew a little more distant. A little colder.

  But maybe it’s all in my mind, because like I said, he didn’t shut me out like the others did, and anyway, he’s not the most open of people to begin with.

  Yeah. Ha. Open. Not a word that would characterize Shane. And yet… Yet he’s always made me feel good, and safe, like it’s okay to be myself when I’m with him.

  So it makes somehow perfect sense that instead of waiting for a cab to take me home, I start walking in the direction of Shane’s place, on my high heels, in my skimpy clothes with my long coat flapping around my legs, and the night closing around me.

  No idea what I’ll do when I’m there, but at least for now I have a goal, where before I had nothing.

  ***

  Shane’s apartment isn’t far from Halo. I’ve never been inside, but Seth pointed out the building to me once, when we were driving by. It’s easy to remember it because of the huge neon “Pizzeria d’Angelo” sign flashing up front.

  Easy to remember despite the memories the name brings back. My older brother, Angel. My childhood, before the mess that followed. Before Angel left us. Before Dad left, too, unable to cope, and Mom started going out every night and staying out, not coming home before dawn, then stumbling through the door drunk, with her lipstick smeared and her clothes askew.

  Old memories, vague and hazy, tinged with happiness, and then fear and sorrow. I loved my brother. He was my anchor and my best friend, until he left to join the Marines and returned a changed man. I was too young to understand then what he was going through, and now that I do, what difference does it make?

  Shaking my head at the direction my thoughts are taking, I walk briskly past the pizzeria and reach the entrance of the building. The lit panel of the intercom winks at me, and I trail my finger down the names until I find it.

  Shane Tucker.

  A smile tugs on my lips as I press the buzzer. What will he say when I show up at his door? Will he smile back? Come to think of it, I can’t remember ever seeing him smiling outright. Grinning? Never.

  Frowning a little at this realization, I lean into the buzzer, but nothing happens. No buz
zing me inside, no reply.

  Crap. I should have asked Seth why Shane wasn’t at Halo tonight, but I was distracted, so nervous I could have crawled right out of my skin.

  I buzz again and shiver with cold.

  Come on, Shane. Let me in.

  Disappointed, I turn to go, when the intercom clicks, letting out scratchy static, halting me in my tracks. Cautiously I turn back around.

  “Shane?” I lean close to the panel. “It’s me, Cassie.”

  A beat of silence, broken by the static.

  Then the door unlocks.

  The happy feeling returns as I push it open and enter the dimness. Yeah, baby. Not sure why I’m so happy—maybe it’s because I’m out of the biting cold, or that something in this crappy evening is going right.

  The fact I’m about to visit Shane’s place, see where he lives, see him… My smile widens as I wander further inside, trailing my fingertips over the wall. Yeah, that thought makes me happy.

  An out-of-order sign hangs on the elevator door, but even the fact I have to climb up three floors doesn’t faze me. Slipping off my high heels, I step lightly on the steps and start my climb up.

  The building is old, the banister of the staircase stained, and the steps narrow. The light at the first landing is out, and I curse softly as I fish in my purse for my cell phone. Once I have it out, shedding light on the steps, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Not so fond of the dark, especially in unfamiliar old buildings.

  I reach his landing, and one of the two doors is half open, yellow light spilling in a narrow strip. I knock and push it wide open to enter.

  “Shane?”

  He’s standing right inside, dressed in black draw-string pants and a white T-shirt, his long dark hair wet, dripping on the thin fabric.

  “Sorry, didn’t know you were in the shower,” I mutter, struck, like every time, by how frigging handsome he is, how hot, and good God, the mental image of him in the shower makes my mouth go dry. Warm water sluicing down those broad shoulders, down that muscular chest, its planes and lines visible through his clothes….

  He closes the door behind me, locks and pulls on two bolts, then turns and heads into the small living room.

  Taking that as an invitation, I saunter after him, checking out his pad. It looks tiny, the only window giving out toward the main street, and I head there, twitching the curtain aside to look out. Yes, right below us moves Friday evening traffic, sluggish and colorful, the headlights of the cars and the lit shop front windows looking somehow festive from up here.

  “You didn’t come to Halo,” I say as I turn and examine the rest of the room—the worn rug, the low table laden with dirty mugs, dishes and books. A large drawing pad is set against the wall. The sofa looks like it used to be green once upon a time, but now it’s a faded green-gray with lighter patches.

  Shane is sprawled on it, legs spread, hands lax at his sides, dark ink swirling from his wrists up the underside of his arms. He lets his head fall back on the backrest, dark eyes narrowed to slits.

  Watching me. Saying nothing.

  “Nice place,” I try again. “Cozy.”

  He closes his eyes. “Why are you here, Cassie?”

  A little stung, I move away from the window. “Am I interrupting something?”

  I mean, he hasn’t even offered me a seat. Then again, what did I expect? It’s Shane. So like every time, I pretend he did and stalk over to him. No choice. The only seat is the sofa, and his eyes snap open when I sink down beside him.

  “Why didn’t you come to Halo? I was hoping to see you there. I talked to Jesse and Amber.” I nudge him with my elbow. “You missed my penitence and—”

  He jerks sideways, away from my touch. “Don’t.”

  I blink. “What?” He never seemed to mind these small touches before. “What’s going on with you, Shane?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Anyway.” Frustrated, not sure what I’m doing, only that I need to tell someone who won’t judge me, “I told Jesse Lee and Amber why I did what I did, apologized, and left. Not sure it made any difference.”

  “And why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you kiss Jesse?”

  Oh, right. Let’s rehash the whole sordid tale, shall we? “I thought he didn’t care one way or another.”

  “For kissing?”

  “For intimacy. For sex. Like me. I mean, it’s just a physical thing. Two bodies rubbing together. It’s only skin-deep.”

  “So sex means nothing to you?”

  Weird how this got him talking. Can’t remember the last time I heard Shane string so many words together. His dark, almond-shaped eyes are intent on me, and man, those are some damn pretty eyes. I know girls who’d kill for such long lashes.

  “Not really, no.” I cock my head at him. “Why, does it mean something to you?”

  “No. Fuck no.” He shakes his head vehemently.

  Okay… Glad we cleared that up. Strange, though. I’ve never seen Shane with a girl—well, apart from me, and we’re just friendly. Nothing more.

  Not from lack of wanting on my part, of course, but he never looked interested. I’d think being casual about sex would mean being with a different girl every night, fucking her brains out, then moving on.

  But I really don’t know much about Shane, or what he does when he isn’t shooting pool with me.

  And all this deep thinking has made me thirsty.

  “I know what we need.” I stand up, smooth my short skirt down, and hey, is it me or did his eyes just flick to my legs? Hey, a girl can dream. “How about a drink?”

  ***

  Yeah, the vodka hit just the spot. I grab the bottle from the low table and wave it at Shane. “Another?”

  He lifts his glass, and I pour some more, then put it down and reach for the soda to mix it with. He knocks the pure vodka back before I even lift the can.

  Whoa.

  Worse still is the fact he looks sober. His expression is as guarded as always, those pretty eyes flat like dark water.

  “How about we play a game?” I pour myself another drink and take a sip, my back finally loosening.

  “Game?”

  “Yeah.” I reach up, take out my hair tie and shake out my long hair, and I catch his gaze on me again. Crap, I can’t tell if he’s drawn to me or is just waiting for my reply. “Like truth or dare, or—”

  “I don’t play games.” He slams his glass on the table and stands up, unfolding that long, muscular body, and Christ, is it my fault I want to lick my lips in appreciation?

  Or lick him, every inch of exposed, smooth skin. Then undress him and lick some more.

  “Not true” I say absently. “You play pool with me sometimes.”

  He hesitates, then crosses over to window and draws the curtains shut. “That’s different.”

  I study his broad back, the way his waist dips in to narrow hips and a sexy, strong ass. “Not really. You do it for fun.”

  “In pool I control everything. It’s my skill that sinks those balls, not luck.” He turns back toward me, but his gaze is bent inward. “I like that.”

  Curling up on the sofa, still in my long coat, I nod. That makes sense about him. I’ve felt that before, that he’s happiest when nothing surprises him, when he has control. He even has his long hair in a ponytail when he plays and rolls his sleeves up. Leaves nothing to chance.

  “Okay then. No games.” With a sigh, I lean over the side and grab his drawing pad. “What have we here?”

  “Cassie.”

  “Are they your drawings? May I see?” I wait, conscious of the fact that six months ago I’d just have opened it and looked without asking.

  He sighs, pushes back long strands from his face. He looks very tired, I realize with a start. Maybe it’s the way the lamplight falls on him, but I see dark circles under his eyes, and did he lose weight? Can’t remember his cheeks so hollow before.

  “They aren’t very good,” he says at last and comes to
take the drawing pad away.

  Aww. Pouting, I curl up again, lay my head on the armrest. “I bet they are. Saw some of your designs at the tattoo shop. They’re awesome.”

  “You liked them?”

  Why does he sound so shocked? “Of course I did.” I pat the sofa next to me. “Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

  A soft snort escapes him. “You’ve taken over my fucking couch.”

  “Language, young man.” I lift a hand, wag a finger at him. “And I don’t take up that much space.” I pat the cushion again. “Look.”

  He finally sinks down beside me. My knee is touching his thigh, heat seeping through the contact. Feels nice. He’s so close I can see the fine dark stubble on his jaw, the softness of his mouth, the way his nostrils flare, and the shine of his silver dreamcatcher earring through his black hair.

  We’ve never been anywhere alone like this. Never sat side by side. And oh boy, he’s even better looking from up close.

  So not fair, when he’s not interested in sleeping with me at all.

  Gah.

  I’ve been trying to convince myself he looks at me, that there’s a spark of interest in his gaze that means he wants more from me, but then it’s gone again, and I’m left wondering if I’m losing my mind.

  “Let’s watch something, then, if you don’t want to play games.” I make a grab for the remote on the coffee table. “Any preference?”

  He shrugs. “Whatever. I’ll probably just fall asleep.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I say, sticking my tongue out in concentration as I flip through the channels. “Betcha you can’t sleep through this.”

  And I put on the Walking Dead.

  Chapter Three

  Shane

  Not sure what the fuck’s going on. Cassie’s here, in my apartment, in my personal space, her knee pressing into my thigh, her long blond hair trailing over my arm, warm and ticklish. I should be freaking out, but strangely I’m not.

  She’s sort of familiar, from all the time we’ve spent together at Halo. Although, I realize, I don’t really know her. Lots of hours spent over pool and with so much noise we could barely hear each other talk—which was fine by me.

  Now, though… Now I wish I knew more about her. And I wish she was wearing a longer skirt, because her long legs are curled on the cushions, and if I let my gaze trail up her pale thighs, under the tiny skirt, I think I can see the sky-blue lace of her panties and…