Shallow

by Cora Kenborn

  I see the pain in his eyes as he realizes what’s about to happen. It’s better this way. He’s the last person I ever want to hurt, but eventually, I abandon everyone, leaving them behind to pick up the pieces.

  I warned him I’d make him hate me. He didn’t listen.

  “Miss West? Is this true? Do these belong to you?”

  Knowing this is the last time I’ll ever see him, I should look him in the eye, but I don’t. Conjuring the most innocent face I can force, I shake my head. “No. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’ve never seen those bags before in my life.”

  * * *

  Present Day

  They locked him up for two years. His parents had to borrow money and take out an extra mortgage on their house and liens against the motel just to pay his fines and court costs. The whole thing was over with before it even got started.

  Cary’s baby sister died while he was behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. He never even got to say goodbye.

  All because of me.

  During all this time, not once did I call. Not once did I reach out to apologize or right my wrongs. Nope, I drank my Cristal, went to the most elite Hollywood parties, and dropped my panties for the most sought-after men. I put Carrick Kincaid out of my mind, and when he managed to crawl back inside in the middle of the night, I’d just chase him away with more booze. More pills. More drugs.

  More. More. More. Until life was continual numb days bleeding into numb nights.

  Cary’s career is dead.

  My career is dead.

  Cary’s sister is dead.

  Kirkland is dead.

  Everything is dead, and every death stems from one reason.

  Me.

  I start laughing hysterically. Not the amused laugh that bubbles up as a chuckle from the base of your throat. No, this is the demented howl of a crazy person who’s just slashed somebody’s tires, then skewered and char-grilled their cat. I’m losing my mind, and I haven’t even been here a month. I’ll never make it.

  But right now, I’m sitting in the only place in the world that doesn’t hold memories I want to claw out of my head. In fact, this room has become somewhat of a sanctuary. A place that time can

  All mine.

  Crawling on my hands and knees, I barely make it to the cream-colored futon tucked away in the far corner of the room. Pulling a blanket off the top, I cocoon myself in the middle of it and finally let it hurt.

  I now see the life I could’ve had instead of the one I chose. In a cruel twist of fate, my punishment is to watch someone else live it every day for the rest of my life.

  Cary got two years, and I got sentenced to three. That’s a total of five. We’ve spent seven apart. I’m no mathematical genius but karma always has a way of evening the score.

  Twenty-One

  Cary

  “Don’t do anything to make these people call the cops on you, boss,” Tiny warns, leaning over the steering wheel while peering up at Shiloh’s multimillion dollar home. “’Cause if you do stupid shit, I don’t have money to bail your ass out of jail.”

  I raise the half-empty whiskey bottle to my mouth and smirk before taking a drink. I can’t promise anything. Apparently, I woke up with an agenda full of stupid shit.

  After using her for my twisted fantasies, the only thing I could think of to do was to get shitfaced. Hell, at this point I can’t even say it was a fantasy. The thing is, I don’t regret pushing us both to the brink.

  That’s probably some fucked-up psychological shit I don’t even want to get into.

  Halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniels, Frankie and Tiny took my keys and forced me in my own car. According to them, Shiloh and I had to work out this bullshit between us or they threatened to lock us inside the hallway bathroom until we did.

  Which I’m perfectly okay with, considering what almost happened in there.

  Without another word, I slam the car door and make my way up the winding driveway leading to Shiloh’s house. By the fifth time I ring the doorbell, I’m antsy as hell. The straight Jack didn’t help anything, but the fact that she’s not answering irritates me.

  By the time she opens the door, I’m worked up into fighting mode, ready to tell her to go to hell and buy her a one-way ticket myself. But one look at Shiloh’s tear-stained face and my anger fades

  She leans her forehead against the doorframe. “How’d you get in here?”

  “I worked here for four years. You think I don’t remember the access code?” She doesn’t answer me, so I step forward. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I think you’ve said enough.”

  “I haven’t even gotten started.”

  Lifting her face away from the doorframe, she inhales deeply while wrinkling her nose. “You smell like ass. Have you been drinking?”

  Only all night.

  “Just a little.” I lose my footing and stumble into the molding.

  “Ugh, go home, Cary.” Rolling her eyes, she steps back to shut me out.

  I wedge my foot against the frame and wince as she smashes the door into it. “Not until you talk to me.”

  It’s probably stupid to keep provoking her like this. Shiloh could have me in the back of a squad car before I made it back down the steps. However, I’ve come this far, and I’m not leaving until we get some shit straight.

  “What the hell do you want from me?” she screams, flinging the door back open and fisting her hands by her side. “You want to humiliate me some more? Didn’t get enough earlier?”

  “That’s not what that was about.”

  Her gray eyes flicker. “No? Then what was it about? Power? Revenge? Sex?”

  The whiskey rushing through my veins is telling me to shove my way inside. Instead, I roll my lips over my teeth and take a deep breath. “Look, if you’ll just let me come in and explain—”

  She tries to swing the door closed again. “Go to hell.”

  Static fills my head as I slam my hand against it and push it open. Shiloh staggers backward with her palms pressed out in front of her.

  Like that will stop me.

  She stumbles around expensive furniture, her tiny athletic shorts riding up her legs with every twist of her hips. The more she backs up, the faster I stalk her, eventually pressing her against the foyer wall. There’s always been a magnetic force between us, and this is no exception.

  I can’t take it anymore.

  Her closeness, her scent, and the vulnerability I wish to hell she’d never let me see force my mouth on hers before I can think better of it. At first, she denies me, but I’m too far gone to care. Gripping her chin, I groan her name against her lips, and she immediately opens. There’s no gentleness to our kisses. They’re hard, deep, and filled with an urgent need I’ve never known with anyone else.

  Shiloh doesn’t stop me, taking as much from me as I do from her. Kissing her like this calms the noises in my head, creating a moment between chaos and riot where I can finally think.

  Breaking away, Shiloh gasps and presses her fingers over her lips. That gasp spurs me on, and I cup her chin, forcing her eyes on me.

  “You want me to go to hell? Too fucking late, because I’m already in it.”

  She swallows. “Why? I’m the one sentenced to be your slave.”

  “No, it’s the other way around.”

  Ducking her head, she moves across the room to a small sitting area. I watch her, the alcohol diluting from my system. She straddles the armrest of a leather loveseat and leans forward on both hands, glancing at me over her shoulder.

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Why did you stop me?”

  She sighs. “You know why.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  Shiloh bows her head, waves of blonde hair shielding her face from my view. “You don’t know what you want, Cary. Taking me ice skating was one of nicest things anyone has ever done for me. You actually listened to what I had to say.” She settles a pained stare on me. “People look at me; they do
n’t listen. They don’t think what I have to say is as important as what I wear.”

  “I’ve always thought—”

  “Let me finish,” she interrupts, holding up her hand. “I haven’t felt that good about myself in a long time, and then you had to go and ruin it. I understand you were upset at Romeo. What he did was stupid and irresponsible. I even get that it brought up unresolved issues with me. I don’t begrudge you your anger, Cary. I can take it because you’re entitled to it.” She sits up straight and pushes her shoulders back. “What you’re not entitled to is treating me like a whore.”

  Her words hit hard. “You’re right.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Admitting I’m wrong isn’t one of my strengths, so if I’m going to do something that makes my skin crawl, I’m going all in.

  Crossing into the sitting area, I take a seat on the glass table in front of her and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “I said, you’re right. I had no right to do what I did. I could blame it on a lot of things, but the truth is I just lost control.”

  “I shouldn’t have followed you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have, but I also don’t make a habit out of forcing women to touch me. Not that it’s an issue, of course. You’re actually the first one to make me work for it.”

  She fights a smirk, still balanced across the armrest. “You’ve acquired quite the overinflated sense of confidence since I left, haven’t you?”

  “A lot of things have changed since you left.”

  Her smirk fades, and she doesn’t respond. I don’t expect her to, because she’ll never understand. Confidence is something I’ve had to work hard to earn—mostly in a two-year crash course behind prison walls.

  That kind of shit changes a man.

  She brushes the left side of her hair forward again. I wonder if it’s intentional, or if it’s become such an automatic need to hide her one flaw she doesn’t realize it. “Look, it’s late, and I don’t want to rehash the past and fight again.”

  Good in theory, but there are two problems with her attempt to kick me out. One, my only way home is probably joyriding my car around town, and two, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving without settling this shit once and for all.

  “Then let’s rehash it and not fight.”

  Shiloh lets out a hollow laugh. “That’s not possible. For God’s sake, you still call me Shallow.”

  Fuck. I knew that would come back and bite me in the ass.

  “I did that once, and it was to be a dick.”

  “So you admit it,” she says, pointing a finger at me.

  “Hell yeah. Do you think I was gonna let you get assigned to my center after seven years and not fuck with you?”

  Her arms squeeze across her chest, pushing her breasts over the rim of her flimsy tank top. After that display, I can’t help my eyes from lowering to where her thighs grip the armrest, filling my mind with images of how they’d feel wrapped around my waist. I know I should focus on her words, but shit, I’m only human.

  “Okay, I deserved that,” she agrees. “But I’m not the same person I was back then. Jesus, I’m not the same person I was six months ago.”

  This conversation has gotten way too damn heavy, and I need a drink before she does something stupid, like make me talk about my feelings. So, I give her my best panty-dropping smile and distract the hell out of her.

  “You’ve left me sitting in this weird ass parlor over fifteen minutes and haven’t offered me a drink. What kind of Southern woman are you?”

  My diversion tactic works, because Shiloh opens and closes her mouth a few times before finally shutting it. Standing, she motions me down a long hallway. After making a left and two or three rights, she extends a tanned arm toward the biggest living room I’ve ever seen.

  “Well, are you going to sit, or would you like a written invitation?” she says, motioning toward the pristine white leather couch.

  Taking a seat on the edge of a white leather couch, I glance over my shoulder and see Shiloh standing over a wet bar holding a glass in her hand.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Whiskey, if you have it,” I say, managing to not sound like a money-struck moron.

  As Shiloh fixes my drink, I notice two gold-plated mirrors hanging side by side on the wall directly in front of me. Black trash bags are crudely taped over the mirror part, covering each one as if constructed in a frenzy. Walking across the room, I run my finger down wrinkled plastic, the ugliness of the lawn bags against the elegance of the room a harsh contrast.

  I can’t imagine Bianca West doing this. It makes me wonder what the hell happened to make someone cover them with something so bizarre. Without thinking, I shift my finger to the edge of the silver duct tape, chipping at it with my thumb until the plastic starts to peel back.

  A rattle of ice is the only warning I get before glass shatters by my feet and Shiloh jerks my hand away from the mirror.

  “Don’t!” she screams. After seeing the surprised look on my face, she clears her throat, tempering her reaction. “I mean, please don't do that.”

  Close, Starshine, but it doesn’t work that way.

  “Shiloh, why do you have trash bags all over your mirrors?”

  “They broke.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Both of them?”

  “Yep.” Bending down to pick up the broken glass, she stiffens as I grab her shoulders and lift her back up. If she wants to play this game, I can too.

  “You know that’s seven years bad luck."

  The game backfires on me as her blank look twists into an insolent sneer. “Then I guess that’s my due penance. Seven for seven, huh?”

  I run a hand over the back of my head and glance down at the broken glass and whiskey coating the hardwood floor. “I don’t suppose you know where your maid keeps her mop and broom, do you?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Shiloh’s shoulders relax, her earlier panic melting away as she gives me a sarcastic smirk. “Actually, I do. Lately, I’ve been forced to become quite domesticated.” She bats those insanely hypnotic eyes, and I watch the sway of her ass as she disappears down the hallway.

  * * *

  After cleaning up the mess left by the broken glass, Shiloh fixes me another drink without being asked. We sit on the same couch staring at each other. I’ve said what I came to say. I apologized. She accepted. End of story.

  So why haven’t I called Tiny and Frankie to come pick my ass up?

  Good question.

  It’s one that I’m currently asking myself as Shiloh curls her bare legs underneath her and drapes one arm over the back of the couch. The move tightens her tank top against her breasts. I can’t force my eyes to look anywhere but the outline of her perfect nipples as they pucker underneath the thin material.

  Jesus Christ, is she trying to kill me?

  Yes. The answer is yes, because all I can think of is having my mouth on them. How it would feel to fuck her so hard she’d feel me for days. The woman is my weakness and my wrath all wrapped up in one forbidden package.

  But isn’t what’s forbidden always what’s most tempting?

  While what I did in the locker room was uncalled for, I still have no plans to abandon my plans to use her and toss her aside. I’ve just altered them to exclude leaving her in pieces. The Cary I was the day she walked in my center craved to see her irreparably shatter. The Cary that showed up on her doorstep tonight just wants to fuck her out of my system.

  If you ask me, that’s not too much to ask.

  “Cary, I’m going to say something, and I need you to listen.” She puffs out her cheeks and holds it before slowly blowing it out. “As much as I don’t think Taryn’s right for you, I won’t be the reason that you cheat on her.”

  Although I respect her convictions, you can’t cheat on someone who doesn’t have your heart.

  I inch closer to her. “You’re right.”

  Her eyes widen as if she’s been force-fed adrenaline. �
�I am?”

  I can’t stop myself from touching her any more. Winding a piece of her blonde hair through my index finger and thumb, I close the distance between us. “Yeah. She’s not right for me. There’s only one person who ever has been.”

  Damn. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought.

  Risking a bolder move, I run my entire palm up the length of her neck and cup her head, kneading the strands of her hair. “It’s always been you.”

  Her eyes close as she leans into my touch. “Why? You should hate me for what I did. You should laugh at everything that’s happened to me.”

  She’s right. I should laugh at her. Instead, I slide both hands around to cup her face. The beautiful gray I’ve always loved churns as a tear slips from her left eye and rolls between her cheek and my palm. I trace the rough terrain of her scar, following the puckered path that she tries her best to keep hidden.

  “Don't.” Shiloh grabs my hand and tries to push it away from her face.

  “Do you honestly think this scar makes me see you any differently?”

  Another tear falls, and she nods. “It makes everyone else see me differently.”

  “I'm not everyone else.”

  “Oh, come on, Cary. I got fired. I lost my sponsors. I’m not as smart as you, but I’m not stupid. I hear the whispers and laughter.”

  I jerk her against me so close that her breath fans across my face. “Look at me. Do I look like I’m whispering or laughing?”

  Her body goes limp in my hands. “You said you hated me.”

  “I did. I do. Damn it, Shiloh. I’ve hated you for seven years, and all I’ve wanted was to make you pay for fucking me out of living my dream.”

  “And now?”

  “All I want is to fuck a living dream.”

  Jesus, I mean that. I want to run my hands all over her body just to feel her skin slide against my rough palms. I want to thrust every inch of my cock inside her and hear her scream my name. But most of all, I want to ruin her for any other man.

  Before she can say anything else, I grasp her ass and life her onto my lap. As if automatic, she wraps her legs around my waist and locks her ankles around my back. I’m ready for more, but instead, Shiloh is studying me with her head cocked to the side. Her eyes are a little glassy, and her chest is flushed. The whole image ignites an animalistic response in me.