“Listen, Luke, I’m not taking applications, I don’t need or want a friend. As you know it’s been a long time for me. You wanna break the dry spell, we’ll talk. Anything beyond that is a no-go.”
When I was done Luke didn’t smile.
He roared with laughter.
I watched him laugh for a long time. So long, I was lost in the way his eyes lit and danced with humor. So when he sobered I wasn’t ready for his retort.
“Two things. One, I’m not applying for shit. Two, I have no intention of fucking you but if I was planning on taking you to my bed, I don’t fuck women I don’t like and respect—two things necessary to be friends. So breaking that down, I don’t fuck women I’m not friends with. But fear not, your dry spell is safe to continue through eternity.”
It sucked Luke could be funny when I was in a snit.
“Then I don’t get why you’d want to stick around.”
“No, baby, I don’t think you would.”
Back to soft and sweet and gentle.
What the hell was wrong with Luke Marcou? Maybe he was the crazy one. But at that moment it didn’t matter which one of us was nuts. A funny feeling was creeping up my chest and I needed him to leave.
“I want you to—”
“Leave,” he cut me off. “Yeah, I know, you keep saying it. But I’ve decided I’m ignoring all the fucked-up bullshit that comes out of your mouth and instead pay attention to what you’re not saying with words.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I’ve never known anyone who can be open and honest and closed off and distant at the same time. Within minutes of meeting, you showed me three different Shilohs—blunt, funny, and open. Wary, nervous, and jumpy. Then flirty, teasing, and direct. The next time I see you I get fun, flirty, teasing, funny as hell, sweet, beautiful, and open. Now I get closed down, bitchy, and scared. But before that, I get funny and open. Wanna know why that is, why you gave me the real you before you turned?”
Was that a question? Because the answer was yes, I wanted to know why I had multiple personalities. Why I did exactly what he said I’d done. Why I did it to everyone and why I couldn’t stop it.
“No, Luke, I don’t want your opinion. But just to say, you wouldn’t have to deal with me at all if you left.”
“You’d like that. Me leaving like everyone else so you wouldn’t have to face what’s eating you. You’d like to pencil my name under the last person who you forced out of your life. Sucks for you, Shiloh, but my name will never be on your list. I know why I got open and sweet. I know you felt safe to give me that—because you never planned on letting me in. You said you weren’t a tease but that’s a goddamn lie. There are many ways to tease that have not one thing to do with fucking. You dangle yourself out there, let all your beauty and light shine, all the promise you hold, then you snatch it away. Only, the light doesn’t dim. It’s right there just out of reach but you make it so painful no one can get to it. Another thing that sucks for you, and fair warning—you better brace. I’m coming for you, Shiloh. You think your sharp tongue and bitchy comments are a deterrent. They are not. They’re merely in the way. And I’ve told you before; when I want something I get it.”
Too much.
Every word he said pierced my skin, sliced through muscle, and nicked my bones. It hurt like a mother, hurt more than anything had ever hurt me because I wanted him to come for me. I wanted him to find a way past the razor-wire I wrapped myself in. But I needed those razors to protect myself.
“I’m going home,” he continued, and relief and anxiety simultaneously assaulted me. “But I want to make myself crystal clear—I’m going, but I am not leaving.”
He wasn’t leaving.
Right. That was what they all said, then they did.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t have my phone number.
I must’ve given away something because once again Luke was smiling.
“I have your number, baby. It’s on your paperwork and I left my number on your counter. Use it if you need me.”
I wouldn’t need anything from Luke—ever.
“Good night, friend. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
And with that, he left.
There I stood wondering which of his last statements were more effective: “sweet dreams” when he knew I’d wake up with nightmares or “good night, friend” knowing that would freak me out and cause me not to get a minute’s rest.
Unfortunately, Luke calling me friend didn’t cause a sleepless night. I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming. After that, I didn’t go back to sleep. Every word Luke said replayed in my mind until the sun peeked over the horizon.
Pulse-pounding fear took root.
But something else tickled the back of my neck. It scared me, too, but only because deep down I knew Luke wouldn’t fail.
7
Five fucking days Shiloh’d been ditching me.
And in those five days, I’d spent more time thinking about her than I should’ve. The woman was everything I thought she was and more. Dangerous. I’d known it wouldn’t take much for me to get caught up in her, yet I hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it.
I was in so deep with her I needed my head examined.
Shiloh wasn’t a puzzle to figure out, or if she was, it was an easy one. There was no mystery as to why she didn’t let people close. But she was an emotional minefield, and navigating through the obstacles she’d laid without blowing sky-high would be difficult.
I’d also given a lot of thought as to why I couldn’t walk away. Why I’d sat in my truck after she’d called me an asshole and kicked me out. Why I hadn’t driven away. Why I went back in. Shiloh Kent was everything I wasn’t looking for. A complication that I didn’t want.
So damn stubborn.
And scared out of her damn brain.
But that wasn’t why I went back. I didn’t have a hero complex. I wasn’t attracted to broken women with the hopes I could help them to feed my ego.
I went back because even when she was hiding behind her foul attitude she was still Shiloh. And I’d spent a lot of damn time thinking about that, too. Did she know that, as she tried to push me away she was pulling me closer? She couldn’t conceal her surprise or relief when I came back and then she let it all hang out and told me, openly without prompting, that she didn’t have friends and why. She even went as far as apologizing and admitting she’d been a bitch on purpose. That was not the hallmark of a broken, bitchy woman—it was the promise of what was under all those jagged pieces and sharp edges. It was her being honest when she was scared. And that kind of honesty was why I was willing to get cut to shreds to keep her.
And I lied. Something I didn’t do, especially not to women. I lied with a straight face and felt no remorse. I was walking through thorns, had every intention of being her friend, showing her what that meant, doing that while she fought until we were both bleeding. But at the end of that journey, we’d be a different kind of friends. The type that ended up in bed together and dry spells were a thing of the past. But that was going to take time.