Where just for a little while, she would make me forget.
Like she was desperate to as well.
Standing outside the bank, realization had rushed in, and all of her warnings became so blatantly clear. I’d felt like an idiot. Shea pushing back wasn’t invented to put me off, an easy excuse to shake off unwanted advances. That connection—the overwhelming awareness that gripped me every time I was in her space—the feeling I stood at the cusp of something significant just waiting to transpire. It was real. Undeniable. I could feel the attraction running on a circuit through her, the burn of desire skimming across the surface of her skin.
But below it was something even greater. Something I’d spent the last three days trying to decipher. Something I craved and feared all the same.
The thing about Shea? Good was written all over her in bold streaks and colors, and it’d gleamed from her like some kind of halo while she’d stood there holding that little girl’s hand…without portraying even an ounce of guilt or shame. I’d been the asshole who’d wanted to scream at her. To demand to know how she couldn’t have clued me in on something so important, as if she owed me an explanation. As if she owed me anything at all.
All the while my brain had sped to reorganize every idea I’d had about this girl.
She’d just looked across at me, her expression soft and pleading and filled with every I told you so that had come out of her mouth.
She didn’t have time for distractions. And she’d meant it.
And I didn’t have the capacity for that type of complication.
So I’d walked away.
What I shouldn’t have done was look back.
I should have stayed course, hopped in my car, and driven away like every instinct rippling through my body told me to do.
But no.
I’d looked back.
Back on beauty.
Back on the source of confusion that had twisted me up for weeks. Back just in time to catch the hurt I’d inflicted darken her storm, cast shadows all over her face, flickers of disappointment, and a spark of anticipated sorrow. Back on a love that my foul intentions didn’t have the power to blot out—her intense love for a little girl who looked so much like her mother it had rattled me. Back on a fierce protectiveness as Shea stood unflinchingly at her side.
Back on what for a fleeting moment I wished I could have.
Something good and pure. Something simple and right. Something beautiful and sweet.
Those kinds of thoughts were nothing but stupid and dangerous.
Because I definitely wasn’t good and nothing in my life was right, and the last thing Shea needed was someone like me waltzing in to set her world ablaze. God knew I’d burn it right into the ground.
Did it stop me from wishing to take her anyway?
Hell no.
I was pretty sure sitting here stewing in it had only made me want her more. And here I’d been foolish enough to ask her for one night. Like somehow that would answer all the questions she’d created in me.
Of course, having that taste of her sweet little body as it was pressed against the wall of her house hadn’t helped things one bit. Now I was aching to know every inch, to discover it as I peeled all the clothes from her, to expose her—layer by layer, thought by thought, touch by touch.
More.
More.
More.
Lyrik smirked across at me, glancing up from the notebook he held in his hands. “Since when did you start writing about chicks?”
Since this one decided to invade every last one of my thoughts.
“Not about a chick.”
“Really?” he challenged. He turned back to it, reading some of the shit I’d jotted down aloud.
Open telling eyes
Hide them from me
Don’t want to see
What’s impossible to have
I’ve lost sight
And I’m losing my way
Ignoring the insinuation, I leaned my head against the back of the couch and closed my eyes, picked lightly at the strings, humming softly as Lyrik read the words again and again.
“Sucks, yeah?” I said toward the ceiling.
“Nah, it’s good. Rough, but good. You’ve got something here. We just need to put some balls into it.”
Trust Lyrik to go straight for the balls.
He stood and grabbed his guitar from where it was propped on a stand near the wall, plugged it in, and strummed a few heavy chords. And it was always this way, a rhythm we picked up, music flowing free because it was just what we did.
What we’d always done.
It didn’t take long for Ash and Zee to make their way down to the basement. Neither of them said anything. They just sat down and joined in to bring this bitter, confused song to life. The progression curved and lifted and bent, an arc that became loud and hard and angry, but filled with longing, all the same.
I felt the presence on the stairs, and I glanced to the side and saw where Austin had folded himself up on a step midway. He hugged his knees to his chest, hoodie pulled up to cover his head, but his heart and mind were present, gravitating along the fringes of our little world.
This place that only belonged to us.
My fucked-up family that consisted of a bunch of guys who were just as messed up as me.
The only family I could afford.
Lyrik nodded across at me, encouraging me to dig in, to feel it in my gut as I belted out the words. Satisfaction spread across his face as he jumped in to sing the chorus, adding in his own words. Making it our own. A sound and style that was indisputably Sunder.
But this song?
This song was for her.
And it made me want and wonder and wish for a little more.
To feel something different than this.
But this?
This was the only thing I had.
I was back.
Didn’t mean to be.
Knew I shouldn’t be.
But here I was on a Friday night, climbing into the secluded horse-shoe booth with my knee bouncing a million miles a minute, crammed between my asshole friends who’d insisted I had to get out of the house. Where did they bring me? Here.
Lyrik.
Sneaky bastard.
With a lascivious grin, he adjusted his height in the booth. “Ah,” he drew out, like he was the most comfortable he’d ever been. “Love this place. So glad Anthony happened to mention it.” He elbowed me in the ribs. “Aren’t you, Baz?”
A scowl marched across my face.
He thought he had me all figured out—tapping into the source of my ailment—and he’d resolved that tossing me right back into the middle of it would be the cure. He was the one who’d suggested we come, citing some band, I knew for a fact he’d never heard of before, was supposed to be playing. He’d rallied the boys, the lot of them all too happy to oblige a repeat trip down to the riverfront where we could slip into the rustic bar and disappear into the shadows, no one paying us any mind.
No one except for the redheaded bartender who always set me off-kilter. She’d caught us the second the door swooped open, the dingy light from above hitting us like a spotlight. Her glare attacked us from behind her post, all those combative daggers shot straight at me as she wiped ferociously at the glossy bar top, like she could wipe the stain of my presence from the bar.
As I watched her sneaking peeks at us now, my gut curled in discomfort. She recognized us. I knew she did and I knew she didn’t like it. I knew she liked it even less because I had not a single reason to be here except for Shea.
It was written all over my posture, the way it tensed and bowed as my gaze slithered through the hazed glow of the massive room. Searching. Seeking. Hoping for something I shouldn’t have.
Four days ago, I’d had every intention of never seeing Shea again. I’d committed to staying away. Even my warped conscious was honest enough to know I couldn’t fuck around with a girl like her, here just long enough to mess with her heart a
nd her head before I left my mess behind.
Yet here I was and it hadn’t taken Lyrik all that much effort to convince me to come.
Because somehow Shea had managed to mess with mine.
There was no missing the way Red’s back went rigid with what I could only presume was staunch protectiveness. It happened in the same moment my lungs tripped over my breath when awareness squeezed all the air from the room. The same moment Shea appeared through the swinging double-doors that led into the kitchen, all smooth honeyed skin and a raging river of long blonde hair.
Fire and light.
I watched as her breath punched from her lungs. For a flash, her knees went weak when her attention was drawn across the room and she found me there. I got the feeling she did it every time she entered the bar, like that same curiosity that had brought me here time and time again compelled her to watch for my return.
Because Shea was hoping for something she shouldn’t have, too.
The crumpled expression that slashed lines across that gorgeous face told me she hated herself for being defenseless against it and that she’d never expected me to actually be here.
Hurt.
Hurt.
Hurt.
That emotion zinged through the stifled air like little bolts of lightning.
Hated that I was the one who was responsible for it.
She dropped her eyes to hide the vulnerability of her reaction just about as fast as they’d locked on mine. Rapidly, her shoulders lifted and fell as she studied the floor, like she was calling back her storm, gathering it up, all of that energy condensing to the size of a pinpoint.
It would only be a matter of time before it burst.
Deliberately, she lifted her face and looked at me, the quandary of emotions collected and locked down. Her sweet candied mouth tweaked in a firm set of defiance, every defense mechanism this girl had set to high power as she strutted over to our table, all long legs and slender shoulders and soft seduction.
Anticipation hardened every inch of my body.
Ash grinned at her when she stopped at our table. “Well if it isn’t Shea.”
“Yep, that’s me,” she said, clearly trying to blow off his enthusiasm, not at all interested in bar banter.
“What have you been up to, darlin’?” Apparently Ash was too dense to pick up on it or he just didn’t care.
Like he didn’t expect her to answer, he continued, “Figured there was no better place to be on a Friday night than surrounded by great music and an even prettier face. So here we are.”
That pretty face twisted up in some kind of agony, for a second those compressed emotions spilling over.
“That’s nice of you to say,” she muttered below her breath, seeking relief over her shoulder, scouring for the nearest escape route. Reluctantly, she turned back to us. “What can I get for y’all tonight? It’s happy hour and drafts are half off.”
She said it as if she hadn’t spent a night of flirting and playing just the week before, as if she didn’t recognize any of us and she didn’t know every single one of us by name.
As if she hadn’t climbed on the back of my bike and I hadn’t had her pinned against her outside wall.
Of course Zee and Lyrik sensed her discomfort. Lyrik just razzed me with a satisfied grin because the asshole seriously thought he was doing me a favor, while Zee frowned. Concern tipped his head as he studied her, eyes narrowed as he sat back in the booth. Mark had never been like that. Concerned. He didn’t give a whole lot of concern about anything but his brother and the band. Didn’t even care about himself. Maybe that’s why Zee was the complete opposite, making up for his brother’s many inadequacies.
Caring.
Caring.
Caring.
“Why don’t you just bring us all what we had last week?” Zee offered, and Shea sucked the edge of that plush, pink bottom lip between her teeth, chewed at it as she gave him a tight nod and took a step back, her glance tentative and swift as it passed over me, before she whirled around and went straight for the bar. She returned just a few minutes later, delivered the drinks as if I didn’t exist and she wanted me to remain that way.
“Thanks, darlin’,” Ash said, laying it on thick because he always did. Dude didn’t know any other way.
“Anytime,” she whispered.
When she left, Lyrik sprawled his arms out over the back of the booth, his tone all kinds of casual and directed entirely at me. “Do you want to know what I think? I think what we all need is to get laid tonight.” He patted me on the back of the head like I was a little kid. “What do you think, Baz Boy?”
My dick was definitely on board, but that was not gonna happen because somehow Shea had become the only thing I wanted, this untouchable girl the only thing I craved. I was itching to get lost in caramel eyes and to swim in honey skin. To be blinded by her light while she drowned me in her sea of dark.
I wanted to fuck and taste and explore. To skim along the fringes of sanity. To slip over the edges of it. To fall and do it without a shred of control.
Somehow I knew it was something I could only experience with her. Getting lost in wide, guileless eyes that still held a million secrets. Feeding off that sweet naivety while she owned me with clever, cunning hands.
No. The simplicity of Shea could never be mistaken for ignorance.
Instead, it was a force I wanted to plug into.
Ash lifted his shot. “I’ll drink to that. Seems I’ve hit a dry spell since I stepped foot into Georgia. We’ve been cooped up at the beach house too much and it’s cramping my style.”
Lyrik gestured with his chin toward the mass of carved, ornate wood that seemed to float in the middle of the room. “I call the redhead behind the bar. She’s just beggin’ to be broken.”
Red took that opportune time to glower in our direction as she slid beers to two guys sitting with their backs to us at the bar, her painted red lips drawn in a sneer as she stared at us from between their shoulders.
“Look at her,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “All feisty and shit.”
Laughter rippled from Ash and he downed his shot, pointed at Lyrik with the small glass still clutched in his hand. “Missin’ home and looking for a little L.A., huh?” He waved an indulgent hand around the room. “Look at all this country we have to choose from. Figured we should be taking advantage of it while we have the chance.”
Ash’s gaze skated over the nameless faces, the girls who’d gathered to watch the band. And there was no doubt about it. There were a ton of girls who screamed country, wearing short shorts and even shorter skirts, pairing them with boots that I’d had no clue I had a thing for until they’d been emblazoned in my mind with the idea of them pressing into my ass while those legs were wrapped up tight around my waist.
Lyrik’s dark eyes glinted. “Nah. Only thing I’m looking for is something that looks like that. Doesn’t matter where she comes from.”
One side of Ash’s mouth lifted in challenge. “I don’t know…I think you might have met your match with that one. Pretty sure she’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
“Can’t chew up what you can’t sink your teeth into.”
The snicker from Zee was every kind of dubious. “You guys are complete assholes.” He pointed between Ash and Lyrik. “The two of you need to come with a warning label.”
Ash stretched out his arms, all tattoos and thick muscles. “You’d think this would be enough, but they just keep coming.”
Zee shook his head. “See…asshole.”
Ash just laughed.
While the guys continued to rib each other, I sat there and sipped at my drink, my gaze trailing Shea as she steadfastly ignored me. But there was nothing stoic about it. The tension that rolled from her golden skin, eyes downcast, face shielded by a tidal wave of blonde.
Every time she passed by, it crashed against me—the turmoil radiating from her.
A building storm.
And I was the cause of it—the heat
and the chaos and the driving wind. Passing lawlessness that would only leave a path of destruction in its wake.
Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to do the right thing, to stand up and walk out of her life, because every decision I ever made was always the wrong one.
Selfish.
Selfish.
Selfish.
It chanted through me.
But this? This was a primal need.
She breezed by our table, slowing just long enough to ask if we wanted another round. Of course we did. This time it took her a little longer to return. The band had struck up, and the bar had gotten busy, a crush of bodies overflowing and scrambling to get a better view.
I didn’t care, because that meant I got to watch her from behind. Leaning up against the bar, braced on her forearms, chatting with the older rough guy who I’d learned was her uncle. His expression when he spoke with her told me he recognized her light, but in a different way— as something to protect and preserve and sustain. Tonight she had on another pair of cut-off jeans, darker this time, and the same red boots that showed off the defined cut of her legs.
My chest squeezed.
The girl had to be the best thing I’d ever seen.
Fucking stunning.
She walked back to our table and divvied out our drinks. She passed mine to me last. This time I didn’t think, I just touched. I wrapped my hand around the back of her slim wrist, silently begging her to stay at the exact same time she was pulling away. Soft skin burned against mine, her pulse a thready heave.
Unsettled eyes darted up to me, and she wrenched her hand free. I don’t have time for distractions. She razed me with the same excuse she’d been giving me for weeks—that shield cutting harsh lines into the contours of her face.
But I wanted one.
I wanted her.
She threw up more of those goddamned walls I wanted to tear down. Her spine straightened in defense as she tore herself away and left me there with my arm stretched across the table in straight-up rejection.
A sarcastic snort rang out from Lyrik as we watched her disappear into the fray. “Oh that was super smooth, dude. Like putty in your hands.”
A Stone in the Sea Page 9