Shallow Page 15

  As I expect, her eyes drop then widen as she scans what I have to offer. I fight the urge to give it a few strokes just to fuck with her.

  “You’re naked,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yeah, see, that seems to be the problem here, Shy.”

  “Problem?”

  “I told you, we have house rules around here. The first one is that if you’re in the locker room while someone else is naked and showering, you’d better be naked and showering too.” I don’t realize I’m moving until she takes a step backward, her palms shooting out in front of her in battle ready stance.

  “I’m not taking my clothes off, Cary.”

  “Fair enough.” I stalk her like prey, guiding her into a useless half-circle until she realizes too late she’s backed against the chipped blue shower tile. “I’ll do it for you.”

  The stream of water from the shower head rains down on her, drenching her light green shirt and white shorts until they’re plastered to her body. I started this game, but I didn’t think this far ahead. I had no intention of taking her right here against the locker room wall, but when opportunity knocks, I’m sure as hell gonna open the door and shove my cock inside it.

  Bracing one palm on the wall beside her ear, I lean in while trailing my knuckles down the hollow of her neck.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hisses.

  “Your body doesn’t seem to agree with your mouth.” I nod to where she has automatically leaned forward and closed the remaining space between us.

  “I want you to get out of my way.”

  “You didn’t come in here looking for me?”

  When Shiloh bites her lip and turns her head, I push her even more. “Tell me you didn’t come after me, hoping to find me like this, and I’ll let you go.”

  She’s still staring below my hips, her jaw ticking with either restrained anger or explosive desire. Knowing Shiloh, it’s both, and I’m dying to turn up the heat and watch her burn.

  “I didn’t come here to find you or your dick. Now let me go.”

  “You’re a goddamn liar, and a bad one at that.”

  “Excuse me?” She whips her head around, her long hair, now dark and heavy with water, slapping the tile behind her.

  “Want to know how I know?” Grabbing the base of my shaft, I give it a few leisurely pumps as she watches. “Because you can’t look me in the eye when you say it. You’re staring at my cock like you want your hand to be around it instead of mine. Is that it, Shy? Is that what you want?”

  She refuses to speak, but her slackened jaw and heavy breathing do it for her. This has always been phase two of my plan, and I’m sure as hell not gonna let an opportunity like this slip away.

  “Have you ever touched a pierced cock before, Shiloh?”

  When she shakes her head, I slide my hand away from the slick tile beside her ear and unbutton the tiny pearl buttons on the front of her shirt. Guiding her hand to my cock, I rub the pad of her thumb over the steel bar running down the underside of the head. It twitches under her touch, and she tries to pull away, but there’s no way I’m letting her go.

  I’ve never had to battle so much against my own restraint as I run her hand along my length and close her fingers around it. With my hand covering hers, I lead her in a slow rhythm that doubles my vision.

  “Cary,” she moans, her eyelids fluttering as I increase the pace.

  “That’s it, don’t stop,” I growl, my blood rushing through my veins at a frenzied speed. Coherent thought goes out the window as I shove my hand under her bra and squeeze her breast.

  Jesus Christ, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. I’m supposed to be in control, but Shiloh’s jerking me off so hard on her own I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. Incoherent words mixed with curses and moans fill my ears, and I know they’re all coming from me.

  Before I can form another thought, my balls tighten and an electrical shock zigzags across the base of my spine. I’ve lost control. I’m going to come on her terms.

  Goddamn it, she did it again.

  As my cock thickens and pulses in her hand, hot anger blazes through me. Opening an eye, I catch the half smile on her face like she owns the fucking world.

  Not today, sweetheart.

  With a guttural growl, I pull her hand off my dick and grip the back of her neck.

  “What the hell?” She blinks a few times, knocked out of her lustful trance.

  “This isn’t the Shiloh Show anymore, sweetheart. I decide who’s worth coming for and who’s not. Guess where you fall?” I sound like an asshole, but it’s all I can think of to say. As usual, she’s topped me from the bottom.

  Shiloh’s hands slip off the wet shower tile as she inches away. “Stay the hell away from me.” Holding her tattered shirt together, she grabs my towel and runs out of the locker room.

  Once she’s gone, I pound my fist into the tile, the crack I hear pissing me off even more. I’ll let her calm down, and then I’ll apologize. Not for what I did. I’d do it again, and I will.

  But for losing control.

  Control is everything, and I can’t let her take it from me again.

  Twenty

  Shiloh

  “I decide who’s worth coming for and who’s not. Guess where you fall?”

  Cary’s words fill my head as I huddle in the corner of the pool house, crying. I’m not sure why I’m here of all places after what just happened. I suppose it’s almost poetic. Don’t people always return to the scene of their crime?

  I just wanted to make sure he was all right. Damn it, I was trying to do the right thing for once. I never expected to find him naked with everything on display.

  I wanted him. God, I wanted him.

  What will happen tomorrow when I walk into the center and have to look him in the eye? I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach it. What will I even say?

  Although he never said the words, once insecurity takes over, its voice speaks louder than logic. It lies and tells me that Cary pushed me away because of my scar. It’s my penance for a thousand lifetimes. Because the moment a lie is spoken, ugly brands your soul and defines your destiny forever.

  * * *

  Seven Years Ago

  June – Graduation

  Most people have themed parties or family vacations for their graduation celebration. Not me. I’m spending graduation night in a private party so exclusive an invitation is harder to get than a seat at the Oscars.

  Dropping the plastic straw, I notice there’s still white residue littering my square vanity mirror. Before Taryn can reach for it, I lick my finger and swipe it across the dust, rubbing it across my gums.

  Waste not, want not. Isn’t that what the poor people say?

  “Damn, Shiloh!” she snaps. “Do you have to be so fucking greedy?”

  “Yes. Also, you drunks are out of vodka.” I lift their last bottle and turn it upside down. Three dribbles fall out as I let it crash to the counter and shatter.

  Fuck it. I don’t clean this place.

  Taryn smirks. “Obviously, we need more.”

  “Well, let’s see,” I say, counting every point off on my fingers. “One, we’re all underage. Two, I’m high, you’re high, he’s high and drunk, and that one over there probably has more vodka in his veins than blood. Any more suggestions?”

  Ross bumps my shoulder. “Come with me. I have something for you.”

  Sober me would know better, but high me accepts his hand and follows him down the stairs into the living room. Once we’re alone, he pulls me close and lifts my hand. Opening my palm, he presses two twist tied baggies that contain a shit ton of white powder inside each one.

  “What’s this?”

  “Call it your graduation present. I’ll unwrap both of you later.” Giving me a wink that makes my skin crawl, he reaches inside my shirt and tucks the bags between my breasts. “Now, let’s go get that vodka.” Slurring, he holds up a set of keys I immediately recognize.

  I’m not thril
led he’s made me a drug mule, but at the moment I’m more concerned with protecting what’s mine—specifically my brand new Mercedes.

  Knowing it’s pointless, I jump and swat at the keyring he dangles over my head anyway. “Give me my keys, Ross. Stop screwing around.”

  He laughs and shakes them even higher. “Not until you agree to drive to the liquor store. I’ve got a fake ID, but you’re the only one who hasn’t been drinking.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m not driving.”

  “You’re a goddamn West. No one is going to pull over a West. Jesus, will you stop being such a fucking pussy?”

  I glare at him. “Will you stop being such a fucking dick? I’m not driving.”

  Luckily, all the drugs and booze hit him at once, tilting him off balance enough for me to knock the keys out of his hand. We both bend down to make a grab for them, but I reach them first, taking the opportunity to give him my special graduation present.

  My knee in his balls.

  “Get the fuck out of my house, asshole,” I yell, running toward the front door.

  God, I need air.

  “Where the hell are you going? he groans, bent over and shielding his nuts thirty seconds too late.

  “Anywhere you’re not!”

  “Get vodka while you’re there.”

  “Eat shit!” I flip him off before slamming the door. I’m mad. I’m fed up. I’m crying for no reason and pissed at myself for expecting more from friends I hate.

  Stifling a curse as I stub my toe, I glance down and laugh. I ran out of the house so fast I forgot to put on shoes, but I’m not going back in. I don’t care if I have to run around the neighborhood barefooted and bare-assed; I can’t be here with them anymore.

  Happy fucking graduation.

  Tightening my fists, I feel a sharp bite against my palm and remember I’m still holding my keys. Making a split-second decision, I run down the front steps and around a tall line of bushes when a firm hand grabs my upper arm and swings me around.

  “Carrick?” I blink a few times as his face comes into focus. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You’ve been crying.” His dark hair is tousled and draped over his eyes as he scans my face. I can’t decide if it’s comfort or pity I feel as he brushes his knuckle across my cheek, drying my tears.

  “Allergies,” I say, looking away.

  Without asking permission, he moves his hand and swipes the pad of his thumb under my nose. As he holds it up to my face, his bright blue eyes darken. “Shy, is this cocaine?”

  “No.”

  “Shiloh…”

  “Okay, fine. Yes, but you’re making a bigger deal out of it than it is.”

  “You don’t think drugs are a big deal?” Noticing the keys balled in my fist, he moves closer and blocks me against the bushes. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To clear my head.”

  The muscles in his jaw pulse with anger. “No, I won’t let you go out like this.”

  “You won’t let me?” I repeat the words slowly, enunciating each one. “You have no right to tell me what to do. You cut my grass. That’s all.” I can tell I’ve hit a nerve, because a tremor travels up his arm.

  “Regardless of what has happened, you’re still my friend, Shiloh. I can’t stand by and watch you put your life in danger.”

  Friend. The word makes me laugh. Friendship is a two-way street, not a one-way underground tunnel.

  “I don’t have friends, Carrick. I have followers. Are you a follower? Because if you are, then know your role and get the hell out of my way.”

  I expect him to leave. Instead, he smiles. The asshole actually fucking smiles.

  “You can play the badass queen act all you want, but I know why you push me away when you don’t want to. I know your secret.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “This should be good.”

  He bends forward so that our noses almost touch. “You’ve let me see the real you and that terrifies you.”

  Music coming from inside my house breaks the hypnotic spell Carrick’s words have me under, reminding me why I can’t believe them.

  “I’m not terrified, Carrick. I’m a realist. A star rises only if there’s enough hands pushing it to the top. One isn’t enough.”

  Jerking out of his hold, I run to my car without looking back, tears pooling in my eyes again. I barely get the key in the ignition when the passenger’s side door swings open, and Carrick slides in beside me.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I told you I’m not going to let you go out like this. So, if you go, I go.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “There are two people in this car, and only one has her hand on the key. You still want to make that assumption?”

  “I’m leaving here, Carrick. You need to get out now. Last chance.”

  We stare each other down, blue eyes to gray ones, neither of us willing to give an inch. My fingers twitch on the ignition, and he reaches for the seatbelt beside him, clicking it into place without breaking our connection.

  “Fine,” I mutter, turning the ignition as my ridiculously expensive graduation present hums to life. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  We ride in silence, so much to be said, yet neither of us has the words to know where to begin. I’m an emotional wreck, and he wants something that can never be. So I drive aimlessly with no destination in mind, letting the radio speak for us. Not even two miles down the road, Carrick’s words replay in my head. Their impact causes more tears to erupt, blurring my vision and distracting me so much I cross the double yellow line into oncoming traffic.

  “Shiloh, watch the lines!”

  Panicking, I jerk the wheel to the right. As the back end of my Mercedes swings around and spins, two things happen. I turn my head to see Carrick reach for me, and I see the flashing blue lights.

  Eventually the car stops as we slam into a stop sign. Before I can comprehend what just happened, Carrick unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches across the console, caressing my cheek. “Shy, can you move? God, are you hurt?”

  I shake my head. I expect something to be broken since the airbags didn’t deploy, but I’m fine. “I told you not to come with me,” I whisper as his hand cradles the back of my head.

  His lips curve downward. “You still don’t get it, do you? Whether you want me to or not, I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall.”

  I stare into his eyes, waiting for the “but” that always follows a statement like that. However, it never comes.

  But the police do.

  And that’s the moment I remember I have two bags of cocaine stuffed between my breasts. That’s also the moment I choose to put Carrick’s promise to the test.

  Turning away from his touch, I grab his shirt and jerk him toward me, my heart pounding in my ears. “Listen, I have enough cocaine on me right now for them to put me away for a very long time if they search me. And they will search me, Carrick. I’m the driver, and I’m obviously high.”

  “What are you asking, Shiloh?”

  Before my name leaves his lips, I already have my hand shoved down the front of my shirt. Pulling out the baggies, I tuck them tightly into his fist. “Put these in your pocket.” I pretend like I’m holding his hand and nod encouragingly. “They won’t search you. You’re sober.”

  He hedges, and I’m about to shit my pants as two uniformed officers approach the car. At the very last second, Carrick closes his eyes and shoves the baggies in his jeans pocket. I exhale the breath I’d been holding and melt against the seat.

  The larger of the two cops opens my door and nod inside. “Is everyone okay in here?” After we answer to his satisfaction, he asks us to exit the car, and after we do, they separate us in a divide and conquer technique I’ve seen a million times on crime drama TV shows. As I suspected, I get searched, but due to my quick thinking, they find nothing. Since I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, I pass the Breathalyzer test with
flying colors.

  That’s when all hell breaks loose.

  “Sir, I’m going to need you to step over here for a moment, please.”

  Panicking, I run to where the huge cop is motioning for Carrick to stand. “Why do you need him?”

  “Ma’am, if you could please just step back.”

  “No! Tell me what you want with him!”

  He motions to my eyes. “Miss West, we know illegal drug use when we see it. Thankfully, you don’t have anything on you, because your family has been very generous to our fallen officer fund. However, our suspicions give us probable cause to search Mr. Kincaid too.”

  “You can’t do that!” I scream, grabbing his arm. “You can clearly see he’s fine.”

  Under the pale streetlight, I see Carrick’s eyes widen. As the officers lead him away, he glances back at me, his mouth open and his face paling by the minute.

  We both know what’s going to happen. The only difference is we foresee very different endings.

  It takes seconds for the officer to reach into Carrick’s pocket and retrieve the bags I’d begged him to hide. Holding them above his head, the officer laughs, shaking them like trophies. “Seems like we got us a real winner tonight.”

  His partner grins and reaches for his handcuffs. “Looks like possession with intent to distribute to me.”

  Carrick panics, struggling as they pull his arms behind his back and read him his rights. “Wait! They’re not mine!”

  Tightening the cuffs, they slap him on his shoulder. “They all say that, boy.”

  Jerking frantically, he turns a pleading gaze my way. “Shiloh! Tell them the truth!”

  I want to cry again, but I won’t. I’ve always been honest about the fact that I’m selfish. If it comes down to saving myself or someone else, I’ll choose me every time. Maybe I’m hardwired to be heartless. I don’t want to be this way, but sometimes you just play the cards you’re dealt, accept your role in life, and live it.

  My role is a freshly signed modeling contract in Los Angeles. Not to live in a six-by-eight-foot jail cell.