There's more to it, of course, but I really don't want to get into all that shit. Not now, anyway.
But she persists. "You got disowned for not going to college?" she asks, compassion and confusion in her voice.
I nod. "I mean, it's a complicated situation. Even my mom, a career stay-at-home mother, has a college degree. But I'm just--I'm not cut out for college. Never have been, never will be. My dad couldn't accept that, and one thing led to another, and...here I am." I shrug.
"So what do you want?"
I think about her question, and look at her out of the corner of my eye. Her long legs are tucked under one thigh, and her hair is loose and wild and incredible, a massive explosion of thick black spiral curls around her face and shoulders and hanging to mid-spine.
What do I want? Besides India, that is?
The answer emerges on its own. As I speak it, I find the truth rupturing up through me and into my consciousness. "I want to be a mechanic. I want to own my own garage. I want to custom-tune hot rods and rebuild classics."
"You can do that?"
I nod. "Yeah. I'm good with cars. I can take apart an engine blindfolded and put it back together so it works better than it ever did."
"Really?"
"Sure. It's what I was good at. It was more than just a hobby. It was really all I had."
India twists to face me. I turn as well, and our knees brush. She pulls herself closer to me and her gaze is dark and serious.
"You're gonna get that garage." Long, thin, elegant fingers toy with the knot of her robe.
The edges have fallen loose a bit, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her fucking amazing tits, and I find myself hardening, glancing at the hint of cleavage, trying mentally to justify a way to let myself have her despite what I said.
"I hope so," I say.
She shakes her head, curls bouncing. "No, Colt. You're gonna. You're too good for that shit." She points at my shoulder.
While I had been talking with India I'd almost forgotten about the pain in my shoulder--she's just that distractingly beautiful.
"What do you want, India?"
She ducks her head, lifts one delicate shoulder. "It's silly."
"No, it's not."
"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" she protests, laughing.
"It doesn't matter. It won't be silly."
"A model." She whispers it. "I want to be a model."
"You totally could be. You're so gorgeous, I swear magazines would be tripping over each other to sign you up."
She laughs, and it's a sweet sound. "That ain't how it works. You sign up with an agency, go to calls and hope for a call back. But I think I could do it. I'm tall and naturally thin. I've got exotic features, or so I've always been told."
"So why don't you try it?" I ask.
She tries to pull away, but I feel a rush of daring, and grab her, locking her close to me. She doesn't pull away. The robe, the fucking robe isn't staying closed, and she doesn't seem to mind.
"I'm scared," she whispers, resting her head against my chest. "What if they say no?"
"Don't let them say no. Keep trying until they say yes."
"It's just a dream." She says this like it's an excuse. Or a reason.
"That's why you gotta work to make it real."
Her head tilts up, her gaze finds mine. "Which is what you're doing, huh?" Her voice is sharp.
"I'm just saying." I smile in a pathetic attempt to defuse the sudden tension.
"Well, I'm just saying too." Her smile in response is soft, a little sensual and no longer sharp.
"So how about we make each other a promise that we'll both work as hard as we can to make our dreams a reality?" I suggest.
"So what are you gonna do to get that garage?" she asks.
"Save money. Getting a space is the biggest step. I need a hell of a lot of money to buy or rent a space. I've got some, enough for a space, but then I still have to get all the tools and equipment, and that takes more than I have. And then I gotta get the clientele. So, all the shit I've been through, all the money I've saved up, and I'm still only maybe halfway there."
I have my back to the wall, and India is between the side wall and me, her head against my shoulder, curled in against me. Her head is tipped up so she can look at me, one small warm hand on my bare chest. I have one hand on her hip, almost casually, yet my heart thunders. Something about this girl has me mixed up; girls don't make my pulse thunder, they don't make my thoughts go wobbly, they don't make my crotch throb with just a look. But India? She's different. She does all that and more.
"What's your plan in terms of becoming a model?" I ask her.
She lets out a breath. "I'm thinking cosmetology school. I like everything to do with make-up, and maybe someday I can go into the city and go to a call or something. I've got my job at Walgreens and I'm trying to save money for school, but it's gonna take a long time. You know?"
I nod. "Me too. Kickin' it with Split and T-Shawn hasn't all been bad, and I owe him for getting me clear of some...well, some unpleasant shit. I owe him. I keep thinking I've got enough, because I've been stashing away as much as I can, but I sometimes go looking at garages and whatever, checking out spaces, pricing out the equipment, and it always adds up to more than I've got. And being young, no credit cards or credit history, I've got zero chance of a loan, so cash is my only option. And no matter how much I save, it's never enough."
A silence falls between us. I'm thinking about the future, and I think India is, too.
Abruptly, India lifts up, leans in close, Her arms go around my neck and she's pulling me toward her. She's being gentle because of my shoulder, but I can feel urgency in her actions. Strong and demanding, her hands are soft and warm in the hair at the back of my head, guiding me inexorably to her. Warm wet soft lips mash against mine, and her tongue slides between my lips. She's not holding back.
God in heaven, kissing her is like finding a whole new universe, it's like drifting away into bliss. I lose myself in the kiss. Her breasts squish soft against my chest, and her hips are now wedged between my thighs, hipbones hard against mine. She knows what she wants. And, holy shit, so do I.
"Damn," she breathes, barely breaking away far enough to move her lips. "You kiss good."
I just breathe a laugh and kiss her again. Harder. Showing her what a kiss really is. I bury myself into the sensation of her arms around me, of her hands sliding under my shirt to feather against my skin.
My fingers find the edge of her robe, sneak under the cotton, find bare skin. Explore, seek, hunt. She's moaning into the kiss, lifting up to get closer, begging for more. I'm lost. There's no way I can stop now, no way to go back, now.
I need this.
Jesus, I need this.
But then the front door opens. "Hello!" It's Maya. "I brought dinner. Thai from down the street. I hope you like pad thai."
India pulls away reluctantly, sitting up, fixing her hair, pulling her robe closed. Sliding off the bed, ducking out of the room with a quick backward glance at me, a secret smile just for me, because we both know we've started something big, something hot and real and intense.
Chapter 9: The Last Night There'll Ever Be
A couple weeks later, I'm feeling pretty much recovered. My shoulder is weak and stiff and aches, but the fevers and the sweats have disappeared--Maya said I was damned lucky in more ways than one. India works a lot during the day, so I'm at home--India and Maya's apartment is home now, somehow--alone a lot, listening to music, watching TV, and doing a lot of thinking.
What I keep coming up to is that the longer I stay away from the streets, the more I know I don't want to go back.
The best part of my life, though, is India. She's tightly threaded all throughout my world. We've always got something to talk about, and we discuss hopes and dreams and fears, things I've never talked to anyone about.
But we never get any time alone. People are stopping by to visit or India's mom is home. One way or another,
we never end up getting any time to follow up on that one kiss we shared. Sure, we steal a kiss or two when no one is looking, but it's not enough. It's never enough.
It's not until we decide to go to a party at a Bishop's dingy, nasty pad that we finally get time alone. The party is a rager, lots of Bishops and their non-gang friends, lots of girls, lots of booze, pot, and other shit I don't touch; India isn't interested in it either. She sticks with her girls, Callie and some others, and I stay with Split and T-Shawn, since I'm not close with any of the others. I like T-Shawn, though. He's quiet and he keeps to himself, but he's wise. When he speaks, he's worth listening to. He does what he's gotta do. Unlike the others, he accepts me in his own way, without a word about it, and I can tell he feels comfortable around me. I sense he's a guy who is way more interesting than he lets on, and I'd like to get to know him better. When the others talk shit to me, all he has to do to shut it down is stand by my side and glare at them. They shut up and move on. He has a very unassuming manner about him, and with that comes a sense of don't-fuck-with-me. He's got a low tolerance for assholes and he'll wreck you if you don't have the sense to back off when he gives the hint.
The party rages on. More people arrive, then scatter and vanish. Split and Callie find each other eventually, and as the hours pass, they get more and more wasted. They're all over each other and pretty soon they're groping each other, going at it hot and heavy, until someone shouts at them to get a room. Which they do, noisily.
It is getting late and I'm dizzy and hot and my shoulder aches. I find the fire escape and climb out and sit on a step, breathing in the cool night air. I hear the door open, glance up to see India, and I can't help but smile at her.
She's wearing short shorts that cup her tight round ass, and a shiny, slinky top that just barely covers all the important bits. She sits down beside me, wedging herself between me and the railing. And then she leans against me, and my heart almost bursts.
"Hot in there," she remarks.
"Yeah, it is."
We exchange comments about the party and the people, the idle chatter of two people utterly comfortable with each other.
And then she turns it serious. "You said you didn't grow up in this life. How did you grow up?"
We've talked about a lot things, but never about my life growing up, beyond that first admission. Which is how I find myself with her on that fire escape until dawn, telling her about my childhood, my dad, the fights with him about school and just about every other thing. But I leave out the fact that I can't read very well because, hell, that's fuckin' embarrassing. I just give her the impression that I hate school and leave it at that. And that's true enough--no lie there. She tells me about Isaac, and about how losing him messed her up for so long. She admits that she's still not really over him, but figures she's as over him as she'll ever get.
Then she looks up at me with those big brown eyes and tells me she's ready to move on.
"Yeah?" I ask, not missing her meaning, but wanting to be clear. "You mean move on with someone else?"
"Don't play, Colt. We can't put this off any longer. You know what I'm saying." A pause, as a thought occurs to her. "But Callie's gonna kick your ass, when she finds out about us."
"Because of Split?"
She shakes her head. "He won't care. I'm his girl's friend, not his. But he won't step in if Callie goes after you."
"It'd be worth it."
"It would?"
My fingers find hers, and our palms touch, our fingers tangle. "Hell, yeah. You're totally worth letting Callie kick my ass."
"You think so?" A note of wonder, a note of doubt.
I breathe a sigh of disbelief. "India. I want you so bad it hurts. I haven't been able to think of anything else since I walked into Callie's house that day and saw you sitting at the kitchen table."
She lets me see the vulnerability in her eyes. "Don't play me, Colt."
"I like you, India. A lot."
She smirks. "What are we, in third grade now?"
"I guess so, yes."
This gets me a laugh, as she stands up, offering me her hand. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"There's an empty bedroom upstairs." She climbs up the fire escape to the next floor up, and I follow her.
She pulls up the window, peers in, and makes sure the room is empty. It is, and she climbs in. I go in next. It's a dump--I've been in some shitty places, but this place is one of the worst. The air smells stale, and an old mattress and box spring sit in the middle of the room. There's a tattered, hand-stitched quilt folded up on the bed, and one pillow so old it's almost flat. An ancient dresser stands in one corner, scratched and battered, the finish peeling, and a desk is jammed against the wall.
The place is well and truly a shithole.
But it's private.
India shuts the window and checks the lock on the door.
Then she turns to me, and somehow I'm standing right up close to her, and she's gazing up at me. We both know what this is, and we both know we've wanted it to happen for a long time. She waits for me, blinking, wanting it, just waiting.
My hand floats up to touch her hip, the other cups her face. I brush her hair out of the way and nudge her chin up. She smiles, leans closer, breasts flattening against my chest. She tilts her mouth up closer to mine.
I kiss her. It's not a sweet kiss. It's sudden and short and almost brutal in its rough passion. I don't know what this is between us. I've been with a bunch of girls, but it's never been like this. Never been this sense of...desperation. Like if I don't get more of her, closer to her, I'll combust. She seems to feel it too, and the way she pulls away from the kiss to stare at me and gasp for breath tells me it's as surprising to her as it is to me.
But I stop myself. We're in a dark, stinking room in a strange house.
"I want our first time together to be better than this, India."
"I don't care where it happens, Colt," India breathes. "I just want you. I can't wait any longer."
"But this is one of the nastiest shitholes I've ever been in. You deserve better." I can't help but snatch another kiss. "We deserve better."
A pause, a moment, a breath. And then India makes my world complete. "Mama's on the early shift, and she's working a double again. Won't be home till tonight."
"Then what are we doing here?" I pull her back to the window, out onto the fire escape. "Let's go home."
We run home--the party is only a couple blocks from the apartment complex. By the time we get there, we're both laughing and out of breath. India is fumbling with the key and the lock, and I'm sliding my hands all over her, kissing the back of her neck, digging my hands down the front of her shorts, cupping her ass, groping her breasts, nipping at her earlobe, grinding my raging erection into her ass.
Finally--fucking finally she gets the lock and shoves the door open. We fall through, and she locks the door behind us once more.
Turns to me. Grabs my shirt. Rips it off, and then pushes me aggressively toward her room. I grab her by the front of her shirt, pull her with me as I walk backward to her room. We're kissing, fumbling at each other. I take her hands and press her palms to my stomach, urge them downward, but she pushes my hands away, palms my cheek, her face close to mine, her eyes wide, liquid brown, eager, blazing with need. Then she pushes again, and I topple backward to fall onto the bed and she's all over me, sitting on my thighs and wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me as if this is the last night there'll ever be.
And then, god...and then she leans back and strips off her shirt. If I was hard before, I go diamond at the sight of her in her bra. It's red lace, pushing up a pair of gorgeous, chocolate brown C-cup tits. I slide my palms over them, but she bats at my hands.
"Not yet."
"No?"
She shakes her head. "Mmm-mm."
She reaches up behind her back and unhooks her bra, tossing it aside. She bares herself to me. She has the most beautiful tits I've ever laid eyes on. "Now," she says.
Fuck, I want them, I want to taste them, feel them, lick them, fuck them. Leaning forward, I close my mouth over the small pert nipples. I flick my tongue over them, tasting her delicious skin. I lean back and look some more. Full, round, taut with large dark areolae surrounding the nipples. Heavy. I lift them in my palms. Soft, so fucking soft. I let my tongue roam, areolae, nipple, the underside. She gasps when I run my tongue in quick circles, flick, flick, flick. She arches her back, thrusting those goddamned perfect tits into my mouth.
I cup one, lift it to my mouth, frame her lower spine with my palm and pull her closer. Her legs close around my waist, her hair hangs down her back, her throat is a slender column angled toward my jaw. I kiss up her body, between her tits, her throat, her chin. I gently caress her breasts and slide my palm up her spine and into her hair. I take a handful of that thick curly mass and tug her face to mine, demanding a kiss.
And holy hell, does she deliver. Kisses me delirious, leaving me breathless and faint.
And then India slides off me, moves to her feet, stepping backward, her tits bouncing beautifully. She unbuttons her jeans and shimmies out of them, and that shimmy makes me even harder, so hard it hurts. The move sends her tits shaking and jiggling as she works the tight denim down her thighs, kicks them off. Underneath she's wearing a red thong, just a triangle of silk over her core--and goddamn if that little scrap of material isn't dark with the dampness of her desire.
"Get over here," I growl, reaching for her.
She dances backward. "Uh-uh! You gotta take off your clothes too, Colt-baby. You get this--" she gestures at her lush body, "--when I get that--" gesturing at me.
At my crotch.
I stand up. Maybe flex a little, but not obviously. Just tense my abs and pecs a little. Make a show of going slow, unzipping, unbuttoning, shucking the denim off to reveal tight black boxer briefs, and you'd better believe I'm bulging out of that shit, harder than I've ever been in my life, staring at the sexiest girl in the world, watching her watch me, desire in her eyes, greed in her gaze.
She wants me.
Hell, yeah. And I want her, I want her more than any woman I've ever met.
I take a step toward her, slow and predatory. "Take it off, India," I say, pointing at her thong. It's a command. Not sure where this is coming from, but it feels good. The rough command, the ballsy directness. And damn, she digs it.
Falling for Colton Page 14
