Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHILOH
I’ve never been on a date before. It’s a weird realization to have as I stand in front of my closet and stare at all my clothes, wondering if one of my paint-spattered T-shirts is date-appropriate clothing.
At least it’s a concert. I listened to the band Donovan named when I got back to my apartment, and the music sounded about as grungy as my attire, so…
I have no idea what I’m doing, and the realization makes something in my stomach twist uncomfortably. I shouldn’t be doing this at all, I do know that much.
Whatever this is with Donovan… whatever the way he looks at me is. Whatever the feel of his mouth pressed to mine and the heat of him does to me…
It’s not safe.
And I don’t care.
Boyfriend. I’d apparently throw away everything just to hear him say that word.
I pull on a pair of jeans with a few strategic rips in the legs and loop a belt through it, and then slip on Donovan’s hoodie over a tight black tank top.
I’m not sure why I bother debating my clothes to begin with—I know at the end of the day if I have the chance, I’m going to be wearing something that belonged to him anyway.
My eyes flick to my phone… I have half an hour before I’m supposed to meet Donovan at his place, and I’m sure I heard somewhere that showing up early makes you seem too eager…
Then again, I dropped to my knees in his kitchen for him and gagged on his dick until I was soaked in drool, so I don’t know if looking too eager is something I really need to worry about.
I head to his apartment, and maybe I’m not the only eager one. Donovan yanks the door open before I can knock.
His hands are moving before I have a chance to say hello, fingers fisting in the front of his hoodie and yanking me forward.
“You should have let me pick you up.” Donovan sounds sweetly irritated with me.
I’m ready to tell him I’m perfectly capable of walking, even if the weather here is fucking miserable.
Instead, the heat of his lips steals my words away, his tongue licking logic from my mouth faster than I can draw a breath.
When he finally pulls back, I feel a little dazed.
“Uh-huh, right.”
What did I just agree to again? Kissing is… dangerous. It makes the usually cool logic that I surround myself with dissolve into little fluffs of cotton spun from sugar. I can’t stop myself when I lean up on tiptoe and meet him this time when he dips his head for another taste of saccharine danger.
“Come on.” Donovan tugs on my arm, pulling me inside.
“Aren’t we supposed to be leaving?”
He shakes his head. “As much as I love seeing you in my clothes, I bought you a jacket—”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“You need something warm, Shiloh.” He shakes his head and sneaks his fingers beneath the hem of his hoodie to trace a gentle track up my spine. “And I can’t always be there to help.”
“I mean… I could just tie you to my bed so you couldn’t leave,” I say, then thank the fucking stars that he laughs like it was a joke. I force a laugh too, ducking my head so he doesn’t see the relief in my gaze.
I probably need to be a little more careful.
“Here.” Donovan grabs a bag off the back of his couch and hands it to me. It’s heavy… and when I pull it open, my eyes widen. It’s a leather jacket—from the smell of it, actual leather—with one of those linings that zips in to keep it extra warm in the winter.
“Donovan,” I say, my fingers careful when I run them over the material. It’s soft. Definitely real. “This is… really expensive.”
He shrugs, pulling the jacket from my hands. I’m about to tell him that just because it’s expensive doesn’t mean I don’t want it, but he’s grabbing the hem of the hoodie before I can start and pulling it over my head.
I stand there shivering in my tank top at the sudden cool bite of air, and I notice his eyes bouncing across my arms, my shoulders, like he’s trying to drink in the sight of my bare skin for a brief moment before he pulls the jacket up and holds it out for me.
I bite my lip, but nod and slip my arms into it. It’s warm, heavy…
“Your hoodie smells better,” I finally say, but step in so I can wrap my arms around him.
When I lift my gaze, I can see it in his eyes.
He’s waiting, hoping he did the right thing…
and all I can do is tilt my head and press a kiss to his collarbone where I left my bite mark.
“You’ll have to help me make this smell like you too. ”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And then, because I can’t help myself, I lean over and snatch his hoodie off the couch. “I’m still keeping this, though.”
The arena is huge and teeming with people.
I’m lucky that Donovan seems to know where we’re supposed to go, because I’d be lost on my own.
He skirts past the crowd and leads me in a direction away from the crowd.
As we push through a door, I catch a glimpse of the logo for the Boston Copperheads painted on one of the walls.
This is where he wants to play someday.
Donovan takes my hand and guides me to a kiosk without a line.
When he hands me a laminated pass on a cord, I sling it around my neck.
A big burly security guard examines our passes as we move to enter the arena, gesturing down a long, darkened corridor behind him.
Is this what it’s like to feel famous? Getting special passes and cutting lines?
In certain circles, I guess my art is known…
but no one really cares about the person behind it.
Donovan is apparently important enough that he gets backstage access to keep him hidden away.
Having a famous boyfriend is not the best way to stay anonymous so I can get away with murder… but I’m already in too deep now.
Donovan is quick to lead us around the bowl of the arena until we end up backstage, and I’m caught up in the knowledge that if I’d killed him that first night, I probably would have seen his pretty face all over the news… and then a guy steps out and wraps his arms around my boyfriend.
He’s pretty—all lean muscles visible through a mesh shirt.
A nipple ring glints even in the low lighting.
His dark hair is styled up in a mohawk, and his eyes are lined in black liner that makes the chocolate color seem brighter than it is.
He’s covered in tattoos from head to toe, and I’m just starting to wonder if I could peel them off him one design at a time and paste them onto a canvas for touching Donovan when he steps back and offers me a sweet smile.
“You must be Shiloh.”
My eyes narrow.
“Yeah, I am.” And when I take a step closer to Donovan, he looks between us with a grin.
“I’m Jude. Donovan’s friend.” The heavy emphasis on the word friend makes me realize that I might not be quite as subtle in my irritation as I think I am.
At least Jude is the only one who notices.
Donovan slips his arm around me and hugs me against his side like he missed me in the few seconds he had to peel himself off to hug Jude back, and it makes some of the anger slowly spill out of me.
“I’m glad you two could make it. Sorry you have to hide backstage. But at least you’ll have a good view.”
The more I look at Jude, the more I can see the way he’s putting on a sunshine smile, but there’s something empty behind his dark eyes.
Not empty.
Broken? He looks like artwork that wasn’t properly stored—beautiful and vibrant but peeling at the edges.
There’s something wrong with the man standing in front of me. I tilt my head, examining him as he shifts back and forth like he wants to say something, but he has to work up the momentum to get the words out.
And like Donovan can read him, he speaks in a softer voice.
“He’s not here, Jude. It’s fine.”
All that momentum deflates like a punctured balloon, and the fake smile Jude is wearing cranks up higher. “Right, of course not. Why would Oakley be here? You know, he’s never been to one of my concerts? He probably really does think I only play in garages on the weekend.”
Donovan opens his mouth like he wants to say something before snapping it shut so hard I hear his teeth click.
“I’ve been to so many of his games since we were kids, but…” Jude trails off, shaking his head. He turns those eyes back to me, and a little warmth that seems genuine spills into his expression. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
Maybe I don’t have to peel his tattoos off after all. Judging by the pain that was in his voice just a second ago, it sounds like he’s pretty much doing it to himself anyway.
I can tell that whatever this tension is doesn’t sit well with Donovan. His fingers slip along my back like he’s trying to find an anchor, settling when he takes my hand. “Jude, you know—”
A sudden flash of light makes him pause.
“Cameras.” Jude frowns. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no one posts anything of you two. There’s always an NDA to sign somewhere if you’re getting backstage.”
NDAs and flashing lights. Right.
“I keep forgetting how famous he is.” I’m aware it might be offensive, since Donovan’s entire life seems to be centered around hockey. It apparently isn’t, since he gives me what I can only describe as heart eyes, and Jude actually laughs.
“Good. Yeah, he’s fucking talented, but he’s also one of the best people I know.” He leans in, poking Donovan on the chest. “You deserve to be happy, Donny. I feel like you waited around long enough to figure that out.” His dark eyes flick in my direction, and he looks me up and down one more time.
“I’m always happy,” Donovan answers, his voice a little too bright and bubbly.
“No, you’re always cheery to make sure other people are comfortable. There’s a difference. Now…” Jude gestures to our joined fingers. “Now you actually look happy. Good for you, Donovan.”
Before the man holding my hand can protest, Jude takes a step back with a grin, throwing his arms wide. “Now… let me go entertain my garage, right?”
He gestures behind us to the stadium that could easily hold more people than I’ve ever seen in one place, and from the sound of it, it’s filling up.
Oakley kind of sounds like an asshole.
“Knock ’em dead, Jude.” As he says it, Donovan pulls me closer, and I feel that strange warmth that I’m starting to get addicted to spill along my skin and sink into the hollow of my chest.
More lights flash as Jude steps out onto the stage with one more grin tossed over his shoulder in Donovan’s direction, and the entire stadium erupts into cheers and then music.
Yeah, Oakley is definitely an asshole… because I don’t know much about anything, but even I can tell Jude and his band Dragonfly are…
They’re something special.
Even with all that—the music blaring and Jude pouring his soul out into his music—I can’t help but look up at Donovan. He’s watching the stage with pride written clearly across his face. Warmth…
And…
Jude said he was never happy.
It makes me think of the boy I first saw with his face turned up to the sky and his eyes filled with stars…
Alone.
In the cold.
Fuck.
I step closer to him, sliding my arms around his waist and nestling against his broad chest. I can’t crawl between his ribs like I want to, can’t look at his heart and see if it will tell me all the secrets it’s obviously still holding.
He wasn’t happy until now.
I didn’t know I was capable of making someone happy. Up until this point, I was pretty sure the only thing I could make was art and dead bodies. It… means something, I think. Something important.
But…
“Dance with me?” He’s smiling when he asks, and I shake my head.
“I don’t know how to dance.” Even as I say it, he’s slipping his body against me, draping those long, capable arms around my waist and pulling me closer. “I’ve never danced before.”
That just makes his eyes go brighter. “Good.” Donovan leans down, and his mouth is warm when he kisses me, but I’m more drunk on the feel of his lips turning up when he speaks in a low shout over the music. “I like being your first.”
If he understood how many of my firsts he was, I don’t know if he’d be happy… but I do know I can’t resist wrapping my arms around him and letting him sway our bodies in a slow dance, lit by the flashing lights on stage and set to the tune of a guy who I’m pretty sure has a broken heart.
“I like making you happy, Donovan.” I blurt it out, half muffled against his chest and so low I’m not even sure he hears me when I say it until his hands around my waist tighten and he lifts me up like I’m weightless.
My legs automatically go around his waist, and Donovan keeps swaying our bodies in perfect rhythm as his lips crash against mine in a kiss that tells me he heard every word.