Because of Luke

by F. X. Scully

  "I had a good time with you," I say quietly. "But I can't keep doing this. I have to concentrate on what matters. That's school and my sister. Mom and Dad are delusional. They think she's just going to show up on our doorstep at the end of the summer—lesson learned. But I know her. And I'm worried."

  He doesn't respond. He just sits there arms crossed, avoiding my gaze.

  "I really...loved being with you." I lean into him, a hand on his arm. "It made me feel free and happy. But, contrary to popular belief, just because it feels good doesn't mean you should do it."

  Thanks to Dave, I know that all too well.

  "It was really just about the sex for you?" He still doesn't turn my way.

  "What else was there? After such a short period of time, what else could there be?"

  He stiffens and after a few seconds casts an empty gaze on me. "Fine. Let's go."

  "What?"

  "Upstairs. Let's go."

  "Lucas, I—"

  His mouth crushes mine and though my first instinct is to protest, the feeling of his breath moving with mine, the warmth of his tongue against mine shuts me up. Lucas holds my face again and I grip the collar of his shirt. It isn't until the waitress approaches that I'm brought back to my senses. But I barely even acknowledge her, as he shoos her away. The next thing I know, I'm being led into the elevator his arm around my waist and an aching between my legs.

  Luke

  I slam her up against the door and draw back on instinct, prepared to apologize. But the look in her eyes freezes the sorries in their place. Shannon grabs at the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head. Eager hands travel up my chest, her sharp pink nails leaving scratches on the surface. Watching her is driving me crazy. The way her eyes close every time her lips touch me, coupled with the shock of their heat on my skin makes me groan. I bury my fingers in her hair, when the jingle of my belt and skid of my zipper hits my ears.

  She sinks her nails into my ass and I guide her upwards, anxious to taste her sweet lips again. It doesn't surprise me one bit when she hops up off the floor and into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. She knows what I want, just how I want her. Like it's meant to be.

  I carry her across the room and toss her on the bed, not missing a beat as I tear her jeans from her legs and climb on top of her. But I can barely stay focused on the task at hand. It isn't that I'm not fully invested in the one activity I've been dreaming about for the past two weeks. It's that I can't stop my mind from wandering to our earlier conversation.

  There's someone else. Just like I predicted. This really was a fling to her. Fooling around with me was it. She never looked at me the way I looked at her, felt for me what I'm pretty sure I feel for her. Every moment she spent with me culminated into that night on the rooftop. It's all she wanted all along. And the more the idea darkens my mind, the more it makes sense. The more I agree.

  She's right, we don't know a thing about each other. Just small things that give us each personality. But nothing more. If I really knew this girl, what she was really about, what she was after all along, she wouldn't have been able to hurt me this way. I haven't let a person hurt me in a long fucking time.

  Shannon moans and draws my mind back to what my body is doing. I've managed to tear her top off and have pinned her arms above her head. I'm hovering over her breast, leaving light traces with my tongue against her nipples. She squirms beneath me, a lazy smile on her face.

  I need more than this from her. I need her to know there's more.

  I cover a nipple with my mouth, thoughts from our night together fresh in my mind. With my other hand searching for her sensitive parts, I suck on her breast harder and harder until she lets out a little squeal. I quickly come to my senses and draw back, but she arches herself toward me, calling out my name.

  This only makes the bulge between my legs tighten along with the grip on her wrists. I leave another rough, hard kiss on her other breast and work my way back toward her mouth. I guide her plump bottom lip into my mouth, sliding my tongue over it and savoring the remnants of her lip gloss.

  "Is this what you like?" I ask, I bite down on her earlobe and she moans a response. "Then fuck me, Shannon. Give me what I need. You're all I've been able to think about."

  When I yank her panties over her hips, I don't wait for her to open her legs. Even though her instinct is close behind my desire, I do the honors myself, driving her knees a part with a quick, sharp thrust of my own.

  The moment I settle into Shannon again, I feel at home. But I fight the strong desire to voice that sentiment. A lot good it did me earlier. Instead, I throw my passion into action, giving her every piece of me, exactly the way she says she wants it—all brawn and no heart. Everything I give, she receives in fierce moans or delighted screams and every time I feel like I should slow down, or ease off, I take one look at her and completely forget where my mind went. When I finally release, I lie in a heap on top of her. Shannon is wrapped around me, arms and legs. And as she slips over the edge her pussy tightens around my cock, pulsing and making me want to take her all over again. Instead, I push off the bed, kiss her once on the forehead and make my way to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Shannon

  Easing out from beneath the covers, I slowly swing my legs over the edge of the bed. It's nearly midnight and all hope of getting home before Mom and Dad has long faded. I figured I could pull off being an hour or two later than usual. Then of course I hadn't factored in my temptation getting the better of me. I glance over my shoulder at Lucas and the urge to curl up next to him, consequences be damned, is so strong I have to close my eyes.

  My speech was a good one. Most of it had been to convince myself, but it seemed to work for him too. And hurt him. It brought out a part of him I'd never seen before. Sex with Lucas was hot and spontaneous the first time. But it was tame. We managed to send each other silent signals about what we each wanted. It was a give and take, a push and pull. This time it was all take. Mostly him. Not that I didn't collect too.

  Maybe what he said was true. Maybe he really does care about me. Even though he barely knows me. How it's remotely possible, I'm not sure. I feel something for him too. Half the time I can't get him off my mind, I go to sleep and wake up recalling his touch, and wishing for a kiss like the ones he gives me. The ones I know no one else could duplicate. Not even Dave.

  But what I feel for Lucas isn't love. It's the stuff my parents warned me about. The direct result of fornication. Lust—-and I've got it bad. I never believed them until now. Sheila and I always chocked it up to a fundamentalist scare tactic. Have sex with a man you don't love and you'll be scarred for life. It'll never be the same again. It'll always be a carnal act instead of an expression of true feelings.

  But this isn't the first time I've had sex. I never craved for Dave this way. It didn't leave my legs shaking, my thighs aching and my body screaming for more.

  I slip into my underwear and feel around for the rest of my clothes. I need to get out of here, before I have a major lapse in judgment and decide to stay.

  It feels a lot like deja vu.

  Mom stands at the doorway, dressed in her summer robe and slippers and Dad isn't too far behind. Neither of them have slept. I can tell by their un-rumpled hair and clothing. And both of them are looking at me, as if they know exactly what type of sin I've committed.

  "Where have you been?" Mom stands to the side, allowing me to pass by her and down the hallway toward the coatrack. "Do you have any idea—?"

  "Yes, Mom. I do." I hold back from rolling my eyes.

  But seriously? They waited up? Until after four in the morning?

  I'm exhausted and I'm in no mood to discuss my whereabouts. I'm twenty-two years old. Frankly, it's none of their business.

  I make my way to the stairs, ignoring the footsteps behind me.

  "Shannon," Dad calls after me. "We'd like to talk to you."

  "I'd like to go to bed," I say, unable to mask the snark in my tone.
So leave me the hell alone.

  I spent most of the ride home fighting tears. More than four freaking hours of brooding over a guy I pushed away, all because of them. Because I'm so focused on being good, instead of just plain happy.

  I nearly let out a bitter laugh. There I go blaming people for my own decisions again. How mature, Shannon?

  "Shannon!" Mom sounds shocked, but I don't know why.

  Shouldn't they have seen this coming? They practically ran Sheila out of here, did they really think I'd put up with their crap much longer? I still can't believe they waited up for me.

  What. The. Hell?

  "I'm tired, Mom." And I can barely walk. It wasn't the most ideal goodbye, but it wasn't all bad. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"

  I turn half-way to face them both and I can tell by their expressions that I'm not getting off that easily.

  "Please," I beg. "Not now. I'm exhausted. I just drove for four hours straight after the worst night of my life and I just...I want to go to bed and forget any of it ever happened." I need to shut up now. None of this is any of their business.

  "Why on earth would you drive for four straight hours? Where were you? What happened?"

  "Nothing, Mom."

  "You just said—"

  "It was nothing!" I snap. "Do you two have any idea how irritating this interrogation is? I'm an adult. I don't have to report to you every minute of every day."

  "No one's saying—" Dad begins.

  "You don't have to say it. It's written all over your face. You don't want me coming and going as I please. You want to control me, monitor my every move like I'm a kid. Well, I'm not. I'm twenty-two. I'm a woman. And I don't need this right now!"

  I'm suddenly in tears, racing up the stairs and slamming my bedroom door shut. The room feels empty—Sheila's bed stripped of all her blankets, no sound of her annoying music, no pile of her dirty laundry on the floor. She's gone. Just like I should be.

  There's a soft knock on the door and I let out a sigh, before opening it to peer at Mom. "Yes?" I ask. "What is it?"

  "I should ask you the same question."

  "Please don't."

  "Shannon..."

  "I can't do this, Mom."

  She sighs. "Fine. Get some rest. We all need it. We'll talk in the morning." She turns to go.

  "That's not what I mean." Mom's shoulders slump and I can tell she knows what's coming next. "I think," I start, then pause trying to figure out the best way to say the inevitable words. "I think it's time I move out."

  Toronto, Ontario

  Sheila

  Head leaned up against the flimsy door of my portable home, I let out a heavy sigh. I close my eyes in fierce competition with my tingling nose and the massive lump in my throat. I've never felt sorrier, never felt this much regret. I've been a rebel for as long as I can remember but it's always been good—freeing, exhilarating. These days I just feel like shit.

  I open the mini fridge in search of a bottle of water, but all I find are half empty ones, one filled with a yellow substance, that makes me gag, and half a dozen beer. I pick up a Budweiser and slam the door shut before trudging my way to my room.

  We should be in a hotel. I can't take this bus much longer. But convincing Roscoe to let go of his twisted rock star dream is proving more difficult than I thought. I still don't know what his obsession with this bus is. Just the other day I learned it had nothing to do with money. Apparently neither Black brother is hurting in that department. Only Luke refuses to touch his trust fund and Roscoe likes to pretend poor every so often.

  Lucky me.

  I've shared a living space with my sister all my life. When she was ten, Mom gave us a choice. Split up or carry on. We were always inseparable, so having different rooms was out of the question. As we got older, things got cramped, but it never seemed to matter. By the time I reached thirteen and Shannon had forged a life separate from mine, I was sure she'd take our parents up on the offer to build her a room in the attic. When she didn't, I was never more grateful. I knew that day I'd be able to count on her for the rest of my life. At least I thought I could.

  I sink down on my bed, gripping the frosty bottle between both hands. I miss her now. I've never missed anyone more. I'm dying to tell her about my adventures in shacking up with four Neanderthals. How even though no one expected it, I'm kicking ass at this manager thing. And actually making a name for myself.

  I want to describe the house on wheels, the chiseled rocker covered in tattoos. How, as irresistible as I found him six months ago, he annoys the hell out of me now and how instead of inheriting a life of glamor and fame, I've adopted four annoying brothers instead. Well, three. Luke is still very much the mystery. But after what I heard coming from his hotel room back in Seattle, it's clear he's about ready to join the man-whore bandwagon.

  As crazy and up and down as my adventure has been, I'm still lonely. And that's what stings the most. I miss my family. More than I ever thought I would. I was tempted to call home on my birthday, but I didn't know what to say. None of these idiots even remembered, so I spent the entire night alone in this room, while Luke knocked out on one of the bunks and the others entertained a galley of girls in a hotel room. At least they have enough respect not to bring them on the bus anymore, but it didn't make turning eighteen in the back of one any easier.

  I crack open the bottle and take a longer than usual swig. The bitter liquid doesn't taste any better going down than it did the first day at Ryan's, with Coco by my side. A tear slips down my cheek and I don't even bother to wipe it away. For the first three weeks, I talked to my best friend every day. But then she moved to the East Coast in preparation for college and we kept missing each other. Even she didn't call on my birthday

  The door to the bus opens and I sigh. So much for a quiet night. Not that I really expected as much. But when I hear barely a sound coming from the other side of the door, I sigh with relief.

  Luke. Maybe it'll be a quiet night after all.

  A few moments after I've stripped out of my clothes, curled up under the blanket and flipped on my lamp, there's a knock at the door.

  "What?"

  "Can I come in?"

  "Well since you were nice enough to ask..."

  The door opens part way and Luke pokes his head inside. "Sleeping already, sweetheart?" It sounds like his tongue is ten times too big for his mouth.

  "Drunk already?" I respond.

  He laughs and, in that moment, he sounds exactly like his brother.

  "What do you want?"

  He pushes the rest of the way in the room and shuts the door behind him. For several seconds, he just stands there, back to me, hands in front of him.

  "What?" I ask again.

  He turns around, hands behind his back now, and I barely recognize him. His eyes are watery and blood shot, he's wearing a goofy grin, and the way he's staring stirs a desire inside me I've long since locked away.

  "What?" My voice is much quieter now and I draw my knees up to my chest.

  Luke doesn't move. He just watches me, his grin fading to something slightly sinister.

  "Remember back in Lewiston?" he asks.

  I shake my head.

  "Yes, you do. Back at my place. That time you showed up in my room."

  I swallow hard, my brain demanding the rest of my body relax. "Oh," I say casually. "Yeah. So?"

  "Do you still want me, Sheila?"

  A bomb goes off in my chest and I pick up my beer from the windowsill.

  "I've got something for you," he says. "For your birthday."

  I sit up straight. "You remembered?"

  Luke chuckles and takes a step forward. "I forgot. We all did. Ross is talking about throwing you a surprise party tomorrow, but I—oops sorry," he laughs. "Surprise," he sings, drunkenly.

  A smile creeps onto my face and I rest my beer next to the lamp. "He is?"

  Luke frowns. "You don't...you're not fucking my brother, are you?" My mouth drops open and his eyes widen. "
Just checking," he says, hands held up in defense. "I can tell he's got a thing for you, just don't know if he's worn you down yet." He pauses. "You spend an awful lot of time together."

  "Playing cards," I say quickly. "Who knew there was someone else in the world as addicted to Crazy Eights as me? Besides, Roscoe has a thing for anyone with boobs," I say, dryly.

  "Yes." Luke nods. "That is true."

  "So if you're asking," I continue. "Does that mean you've got a thing for me?"

  He lowers himself on the bed just next to me, closing the space between us. When Luke's mouth touches mine, every ounce of breath leaves my body. I sit perfectly still, melting into the warmth of him.

  He pulls back after about thirty seconds of soft kisses and I smile. "Was that my birthday gift?"

  He shakes his head and holds a small pink box between us.

  "Thank you." I take it from him and open it, carefully. Inside is a single cupcake. It's chocolate, frosted in a heavy layer of pink icing and sprinkled with shimmery pink and silver.

  "It's edible," he says. "The sparkles," he adds with a wink. "I asked."

  I giggle and cover my mouth. "This is...thank you."

  "I've been thinking about what I said before. About how I don't really know you and everything. I guess I feel like I do now."

  I smirk. "Is that right?"

  "I was a jerk to you that night, but you caught me off guard. I didn't know you were..."

  "I still am," I say. "Touring the country with four guys isn't exactly the best way for a girl to get laid."

  Luke frowns. "I'd think you'd have the opposite problem. Especially considering the way you look."

  I press my lips together and lean forward. "I've been trying to get you to look my way all this time, what changed?"

  He sighs, then shrugs. "You're eighteen now and well, it's time I moved on with my life."

  I arch an eyebrow. "Bad breakup?" When he doesn't respond, I shift another inch forward. "It's okay," I say. "Her loss."

  He bolts up off the bed so quickly it startles me. A hand on top of his head, he turns around pacing the small space in front of me. "I'm sorry. When I came in here it was innocent. I swear. I never...this isn't what I...I'm sorry."