by Shey Stahl
“He’s just being nice. You should take some lessons from him.”
I glance at the trailer once more. “Nah, I’ll pass. Why are you bringing the kid everywhere?”
“She’s not a dog, Tiller,” she barks. “I can’t put her in a kennel. Where I go, she goes. It’s not like I can afford a babysitter every time I have to go away. She’s having a hard time and missing her parents, and I’m not going to leave her when she needs me.”
I need you.
“Cody offered to help me out and keep an eye on her while I was working,” she admits.
I’m going to pause here and tell you a story. One that took place long ago and will probably give you an indication to my sanity, and my obsession with making this girl mine.
It was the night of her prom where I kidnapped her, but later found out she’d been kissed by someone else.
“Did you kiss him?” I asked, fearing her response. This girl fucking owned me and the idea of her kissing someone else, that didn’t sit well with me. It never would. She was mine, regardless of it not being said.
“Yes,” she replied, glaring at me. I could, now, not at the time, understand her frustration. I’d ruined her prom. Again.
“Why?”
“To know what it was like to kiss someone who wasn’t teasing me.”
“You think I tease you?” My eyes locked on hers, voice raw, watching her reaction. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes, you do,” she practically shouted in tears. “Tiller, you’re a superstar. I’m just a girl who follows you around. I have no place in your life besides being your secret friend.”
Sitting on the tailgate of my truck, I pulled her toward me. Wrapping my legs around her waist, I forced her to stay close.
The situation, the dilemma inside my head, made me blind to anything else around us. Whatever this was between us was so fucked up, and it was hard that it just kept going, year after year, never ending but never beginning either.
With a frustrated sigh, wanting to leave, her forehead leaned against my chest, her hands fisted in my shirt. “Why do you constantly destroy everything?”
I kissed her then, an act of possessiveness. It was forceful as if I was trying to show her I wasn’t destroying this.
“Do you think I like it when you kiss other guys?” I whispered, drawing back, my eyes finding hers. I held her face in my hands, and she stared at me. “Do you want them? Are they good for you?” I covered her mouth, not waiting for her answer. “You could be with me, you know that?” I mumbled against her lips, so quietly I wasn’t sure she heard anything.
“What?” she asked, her breath panting, her pulse pounding against mine.
Chest to chest, I held her tight, unwilling to let her go when I said, “I don’t want you kissing anyone but me.” I pressed my lips to hers, again, over and over again. “Don’t kiss anyone. . . but me. These fucking lips are mine.”
She cried. I felt the salt from her tears mixing with our kiss. “You mean it right now, Tiller, but when you’re gone again, in a different country, miles away, you’re with other girls.”
There was truth to her words, but what I didn’t see, and maybe I never would, was that she would never be mine. There’d always be other girls who kept my interest while I was gone, and she knew that. But not having her wasn’t an option.
Knowing what happened that night, how do you think I’m going to react now, knowing some other guy is offering to help her?
I want to make a scene, so I do.
I drag her by the arm, away from everyone, between trailers and shadows, but not completely out of sight. With a hand on her hip, I back her against the wall. “Why do you do this to me?”
Her heart hammers against mine, with mine. They beat as one, our worlds nothing the same. She doesn’t have words and shakes her head slowly, her eyes locking on madness she’ll never understand.
“Joke’s on you.” Confidently—knowing she won’t stop me—I grab her face with both hands and smash my lips to hers. It’s not the first time we’ve kissed, and I know it won’t be the last. I kiss her until her lips flush pink like the setting sun. I kiss her until she’s marked with my memory.
You might wonder why I act this way, or what it is us about her that keeps me coming back. It’s her wild, untamed and renegade love that keeps coming back.
The metal from my lip ring scratches her sweet soft lips as I nudge it hungrily open with my tongue, crashing through the walls she usually has in place around me. A soft moan releases from her lips, my kiss possessing her. There’s no fighting it. This need, the magnetic pull between us is like getting caught in a rut. It controls us, choses the line we’re going to take and we’re simply along for the ride.
If only she’d let me do more than kiss. Fisting my jersey in her hands she’s debating on pushing back against me, I can tell. Only something in her, the ambush of my kiss, stops her from doing so. I give a lot to the kiss, leaving her mouth burning with desire. When I part her lips over mine, she’s eager to respond.
You can see the effect I have on her, but do you notice what it’s doing to me? Do you notice my body shaking? I’ll tell you it’s from adrenaline, but would you believe me?
When my mouth parts from hers, it’s the rising and falling of her chest—the inability for her to catch her breath—that tells me she wanted it.
My body presses to hers, holding her wrists. Crudely, knowing I’ll get a reaction, I say, “Let me make your virgin pussy bleed.”
“No.” Her reply is flat and instantly delivered, but not truthful.
“Why do you think I tease you like this?” I ask, without thinking. Her pussy owns me, and I haven’t even tasted it yet.
She scowls, searching my eyes. “Because you’re mean, and I don’t think you even like me.”
“Or maybe because I do.” I raise an eyebrow, wondering if she understands the meaning and the way I put emphasis on I do.
“You suck at showing it.”
I shrug and take a step back. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
And then I walk away, leaving her in the shadows where we exist only in secret.
Cody’s by the Jett trailer with River again, still with the popcorn, and I hit the bottom of the bag with one hand. It crashes to the pavement. Reaching inside my riding pants, I adjust my aching cock and wink at him. “You give my girl popcorn again, I’ll break your jaw, motherfucker.”
There is sights and sounds all around me, drawing my attention, and others, never holding it. The PA systems blares the names of riders and tricks thrown fifty feet above the air. There’s whistles and the low rumble of engines. The high pitch of a bike revving midair, the crowd chanting and spilling beer. . . the smells of popcorn, hot dogs, cinnamon and sugar from the elephant ears baking. . . it’s all around me, but still, everything inside me is drawn to the one possessing my body and heart.
From the moment Tiller makes his presence known, I’m drawn, my attention anchored to his every move. And after that kiss, I can’t focus on anything but him. The show is sold out, the streets of Santa Monica pier teeming with crowds, but we might as well be the only two people here when his eyes find mine again.
He’s in the rider’s paddock now, near his bike, and my lips still burn from his assault on them. I’m at the Jett Industries merchandise trailer pretending like I’m not staring at him. He’s surrounded by women, all with their tits out, hoping at least one of the riders glance in their direction.
Hang around the freestyle motocross scene long and you know exactly who the Sawyer brothers are. Having been brought up around it, I’ve known them longer than I haven’t.
Over the years, Roan, Tiller, Shade. . . they’ve made quite the names for themselves, and their reputations for bad boys on and off the ramps precedes them. They’ve stolen the hearts of many. I know this because I’m one of them. Though all three of them are ridiculously hot, I only want one.
He glances my way, and before I can dart my eyes from his, pr
etend I wasn’t staring as he signs the tits of one of the moto-ho’s, he winks at me.
A familiar ache twists inside of me. It’s the sight of him that sends my heart craving what it doesn’t need.
I’m dumb. Why did I let him kiss me?
Because he’s Tiller. It’s what he does. And I so desperately wanted to kiss him. He once said I use him for my daddy issues—I still haven’t forgotten that remark—but what is he doing to me in exchange?
“Is him the guy with green hair?” River stares curiously at Tiller.
It pains me, like the biggest knot in my chest that she might never know who Tiller really is.
Perched on a toolbox behind me, she’s swinging her legs carelessly. I nod to her, tying her hair up in a ponytail, out of the way of her cotton candy she has stuck to every finger, licking each one to savor the sugar sweetness. “Yes, that’s the guy with green hair.”
Watching her sit on the toolbox and enjoy the simplest of things, I envy River. This child. Not in the ways that her life has been turned upside down in the last month, but that she’s gone with the flow, never missing a beat I can’t seem to catch.
I’m beginning to think my life is not a fairy tale, despite my dreams of it being so.
There is no princess, only a girl lost in life. There is no tower where a dragon saves me. Only a devil throwing lightning bolts in my raging storm. Ironically raising a child of that devil without actually having him. There is a girl faced with living a life she didn’t plan. One who needs to believe in herself.
Instinctively, I hate. And I don’t want to, but since losing Ava, I hate. Sometimes even the simplest of things, like savoring sugar sweetness.
I think of Ava every day. And hate the day I don’t. I worry that sometime soon, I won’t think of her for days, until I’m reminded of something she did.
And I hate that I want Tiller, and I want River to know him, not this guy he portrays at a track or in front of others. I want the one who slept in the bathroom shower because he didn’t want to leave me when I was sixteen and decided beer was better after chugging vodka.
Where is that guy? Does he even exist anymore in the shell of a man begging for my virginity? I know, maybe it’s hard to believe, but yes, I am a virgin and rarely even kiss, unless it’s by the lips of a sinner.
Before the final rounds, Cody steps in front of the table, his black and red Honda shirt stained with oil and his hands cut up and dirty from wrenching on a bike all night. “Are you okay?”
He’s always concerned about me, and I can’t even tell you when it started, this thing he has with checking in on me all the time.
I nod, pulling out boxes from under the black curtain covering the table. I set the extra steering stabilizers and a recluse clutch to the side. “I’m fine. Just keeping busy.”
Usually, during the downtime of a freestyle event, I’m swamped with riders and patrons checking the products out and sometimes purchasing.
Cody’s stalling, smiling at River, but he wants to ask me something. Then he does. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tomorrow night.”
Do you see the flash of uncertainty in my eyes? What about the way I flick my eyes to Tiller’s—who’s watching me—and then back to Cody. “Like a date?”
He nods. “Yeah. I know you’ve been really busy with River lately. . . I just thought maybe a night out might help.”
He’s right. I could, couldn’t I? I know better than to taunt Tiller, I do, but then again, what’s he doing to me but making sure I’m never touched by anyone but him?
“Sure. Let’s do it,” I tell Cody, instantly regretting the words, the gnawing sensation of guilt eating away at the lining of my stomach. Deep down, I know what’s going to happen, but I’m still going to try. If not for me, for River, who deserves better than the life I’m subjecting her to by being around Tiller. Or at least that’s my reasoning for now.
Hours later, the heavy sounds of the event have disappeared and team trailers file out of the city and onto the highway. It’s late, later than I should have her out, but River’s asleep in my car and thankfully not present when Tiller catches me again as I’m closing up the merchandise trailer.
“What was that about?” he asks, sarcasm lacing his voice. He’s shirtless, holding a beer in his hand and it’s on purpose. The shirtless part. Maybe even the beer.
Drawing in a heavy breath, I let it out, preparing myself for what he’s going to say. I can never be sure with him. It’s always, usually, unexpected.
“When you’re with him. . . do you think of me?” His voice lingers, suffocating my mind like the vise it is for me.
And then I’m upset. I’m so tired of this game between the two of us, most of which I have probably created myself by allowing him to treat me like his own personal toy.
I shove against Tiller’s chest, trying to create some distance, but he’s drunk—fresh off the win—sleepy-lidded eyes and pink cheeks, so he pushes back, trapping me against the side of the trailer like he did earlier. “You can’t think about anyone but me, can you?”
“Tiller. . . ,” I sigh, sinking into the cool metal against my back. “You’re driving me crazy tonight. I need to get River in bed.”
He corners me, one hand on the trailer beside my head. Waiting, he brings his beer to his lips. I watch the action, entranced in everything he does. When he swallows, he stares at me. “Are you going out with him?” His lips barely move over the words, his eyes penetrating my soul with their depth.
“Yes, I am. Why do you care?”
Like he’s lost in thought, he swallows over what seems like a lump in his throat, his boots shifting, but his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I do.”
My eyes focused on his, my brow scrunches in determination. “I think you’re bi-polar.”
He shrugs. Like this kind of relationship, this push and pull is normal or makes sense.
“Tiller?” Ricky comes around the corner. “Time to head out.”
Holding his breath, Tiller steps back from me and gives Ricky a nod, and then begins to walk away.
I watch his retreat, lost in the rush of blood to my head.
His hands are in the pockets of his riding pants, head bent forward. My eyes move over his inked body and the skeleton with the crow on his back, wishing I understood the meaning behind it. Turning, maybe knowing I’m watching him, a smug smile comes over him. I know what that means. It’s in the way his eyes shift to mine and the faint condescending smile present.
The devil knows his art and always plays his cards right. He’s going to ruin my date.
Monday mornings around our place are usually fairly boring. Not a lot goes on, and you’d be surprised to know the house is somewhat empty.
It’s. . . I don’t know, around ten in the morning? I’m sitting in the hot tub drinking a beer and contemplating crashing at Nells’s place for the rest of the week. At least maybe then my mind might stop.
Leaning my head back against the stucco ledge, I stare up at the bright blue sky and the haze of the distant wildfires. It’s times like this—when I can’t get out of my own head—when I feel like the world is disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it’s me who’s fading away. There’s an empty burning in my lungs, and my heart hits my chest so hard I think it’ll break my ribs and rip apart my skin. And I’m not even high.
And there’s a void. A black hole in my head, deep inside my soul, slowly swallowing the rest of me. That’s what keeps me from sleeping and has me wondering what I’m living for anyway.
Maybe for me. Maybe for others. Does it really matter?
And when I can’t find my answers in the hazy smoke-filled sky, the anxiety turns into panic and I usually turn to substance. But the thing is, I don’t want to be high all the time, just to get through the day.
Do you notice the way my body is tense? The way my mind—no matter how hard I try—never strays far from her a girl with purple hair and the one at her feet with freckles dusted on her cheeks?
Took her back there and then had her leave, because no matter what I did, I couldn’t focus on anything but Amberly and that kiss. And then the fact that Cody didn’t seem to get the fucking message I delivered.
In fact—to my surprise—Cody didn’t heed my warning. He did more than give her popcorn. He asked her out on a goddamn date. A date I should have been taking her on.
Would you be surprised to learn I’ve never been on a date?
Didn’t think so.
She can’t date anyone but me. She just. . . can’t.
A shadow blocks the sun. A tall, slender figure hovers over me and she doesn’t look pleased. In fact, she looks pissed, doesn’t she? Much like a lot of people in our inner circle, Willa has been around me most of my life. Lucky her, right? I’m not sure she feels that way about me.
I haven’t really mentioned her yet, so you might be wondering who the fuck this chick is and where has she been? Well, for one, she’s raising a kid. Oh, and let’s be clear here. It’s not mine, and I can say that with absolute certainty. Berlin is Ricky’s bastard child.
Being our PR rep, much of Willa’s days are spent with Shade’s schedule. His shit alone is enough to keep her out of sight for weeks at a time.
