Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SHILOH
Donovan left a pair of pajama bottoms with little golden snakes on them at the foot of his bed before he got up for a shower. I can tell they’re my size by how much less fabric they have than his clothes.
I bypass them and steal the ones he was wearing the night before, pulling the drawstring tight so they only marginally slide down my hips as I tie them off.
There’s a second where I hesitate, my fingers running along the scars beneath my tattoos.
Memories try to surface—the sharp, agonizing feel of a knife, the sight of brain matter and blood slowly sliding down the wall while I lay there holding my insides in place—so I step to Donovan’s closet and grab a shirt, slipping it on over my head.
Am I ever going to be able to look at myself without remembering that night?
Last night, when I was riding Donovan, I wasn’t even thinking about it.
For the first time, my past wasn’t on my mind at all while I was naked and exposed.
It was just him, the feel of his thick cock inside me, how it was splitting me open…
how I was so sure it was touching places I didn’t even know I had.
And I…
A knock at the front door pulls me out of my thoughts. The shower is still running, and Donovan is in there singing some song slightly off-key…
So I go to the front door, but it’s already opening by the time I get there.
The man standing there is pretty… which is irritating enough, but I can tell by the arch of his brow and the smirk on his face that he knows he’s pretty and it’s become a permanent part of his personality. He’s got soft-looking skin that’s smooth, save for a single beauty mark on his left cheek.
I’m guessing from the tall, broad build of his body that he’s into sports, though I don’t get where the ’90s boy-band haircut that makes his dark hair flop into his eyes comes into play…
it makes him look more like a model than a jock.
That, paired with the perfectly straight, extremely white teeth and the dimple that pops out on his left cheek when he flashes me a smirk, tells me I’m right.
He thinks he’s some kind of main character in every story he’s in… but the way his dark eyes are sweeping around the room like he’s looking for something, I wonder if he realizes he’s about to be nothing more than a tragic footnote.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Maybe it’s weird for me to be offended that someone else has a key to Donovan’s apartment since my copy is still technically stolen, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m thinking about peeling off this asshole’s handsome face.
When Donovan comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and the guy’s smile widens, I’m pretty sure I’m going to kill him.
“Wow, you move fast, huh?” The man’s voice is full of amusement, though I notice his eyes cutting back to me as I look around the room for a weapon. “Where’s your pants?” And then, like he’s testing me, he looks back and arches a brow. “Not that I haven’t seen it before, right, Donovan?”
“I could kill you right now, you know?” I say it softly. Donovan lets out a shocked laugh and steps forward, sliding his arm around my waist and snapping the top of the pants I’m wearing.
The man in front of me tilts his head slightly, just enough to let me know what I’m looking at.
A predator circling another predator.
Hm. Maybe Donovan has a type.
“Oakley, stop giving Shiloh shit.” Donovan squeezes me tighter and pulls me further into his apartment while I let the name sink over me. I know the name Oakley. Asshole Oakley who makes Jude’s eyes sad. “Why are you here?”
The grin doesn’t waver, but he does turn his focus from me to Donovan with an almost helplessly gorgeous expression that I’m sure has gotten him out of trouble more times than he can remember.
“You told me there was a problem. Also, we play Boston tonight. I’m hurt you didn’t remember, but I suppose I’ll forgive you.
You have lots of new things going on, apparently. ”
Donovan’s brows pull together, and I can admit I’m more focused on the word problem than I have any right to be. He didn’t tell me about a problem… but maybe it’s a hockey problem. For all I know, the ice is melting and they have to use their powers combined to fix it.
I don’t have a right to all of Donovan’s problems when I haven’t told him that I’m really, really running low on paint and I’m going to have to solve that soon.
“Is it handled?” Donovan sounds so serious when he asks—I want to peel away all the layers of mystery that have suddenly popped up around him with the appearance of the handsome asshole in front of us.
Last night meant something—giving him that moment, that vulnerability…
It meant something, and now I’m greedy for every single part of him I can get.
The problem is those parts are focused on the man standing in front of me.
“It will be. Don’t worry, Donovan.” His voice goes soft for just a second, all that bravado and charm fading into something kind and caring.
“I won’t let you get hurt.” I’m just thinking how much I hate the fact that he can show Donovan vulnerable emotions that I’m not sure I can feel when his eyes cut to me, dark like a storm. “Ever.”
That… was definitely a threat. And I’m definitely right in thinking that he knows more than he should, even though he’s never met me before.
“Do you want to come in? I was going to make breakfast.” Donovan starts toward the kitchen as Oakley shuts the door, much to my irritation… and when his towel slips and shows the plump curve of his ass, the man beside me whistles.
“Wow, Nico is really missing out.” His voice is a tease, but his eyes flick to me again before Donovan turns around, struggling to tie the towel back around his hips.
“Who the fuck is Nico?” I grumble before I can help myself, and Donovan laughs.
“No one.”
“Oh, come on. Didn’t you tell your boyfriend about your old crush?” I narrow my eyes—not at Donovan, because I can’t blame him for who he knew before me, but at Oakley for bringing it up. I can blame him. “By the way, I finally got an answer for you.”
“An answer?” Donovan’s voice is full of confusion.
“Nico definitely swings our way.” Our way. He puts a real emphasis on the word our. “Go on, ask me how I know.”
“I don’t care, Oak.” Donovan rolls his eyes as he says it, cutting me an apologetic look.
“Ask me,” Oakley taunts in a singsong voice. My eyes bounce between the two of them in a strange mixture of curiosity and irritation. “Ask me.”
“Fine. How do you know that Nico likes dick?”
Oakley steps forward and nearly presses himself to Donovan’s chest as he speaks in a hushed tone. “Because he took mine real nicely the other night.”
Donovan’s eyes widen and the towel at his hips slips again as he moves to shove Oakley.
I can’t tell if he’s flirting, or trying to make Donovan jealous… or trying to make me mad. But I do know I don’t want my boyfriend standing naked in the room while Mr. Pretty Face is grinning like an asshole and talking about fucking his crush. I’m not a saint.
“Oh my God, Donovan, go put some pants on before I take these off and hand them to you.” Donovan lets out a short laugh, then turns and jogs to his room when I start untying the string at my waist.
I don’t know if he just doesn’t want me to get cold, or if he knows I’ll flash Oakley my dick if I take them off because my underwear is still on his bedroom floor.
Oakley waits until Donovan has disappeared to advance on me. I’m pretty sure he’s used to his size being intimidating, or maybe he’s just used to people wilting around him because of his presence or fame.
Whatever it is, I don’t budge. I just tip my chin up so I can stare into his dark eyes as they narrow.
“What’s wrong with you?”
There’s no pulling punches, no pretending to charm me for an answer. Does he know it won’t work, or is he really just so protective of Donovan that he can’t manage to pull on the facade?
I easily slip on my mask, offering him a blank smile as I innocently take a few steps away, like he isn’t trying to back me into a corner.
Of course, I’m not being casual. My eyes are locked on the little table Donovan has by his entryway and the letter opener he keeps there. It’s shaped like a sword, and even though it’s pretty dull, I know a few vital places I could slip it that would be effective.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The answer is bullshit and we both know it. Oakley’s nostrils flare and he steps forward again. The flat of my palm slides across the cool tabletop, and I wonder how I can spin this to make it seem like an accident.
If I say Oakley attacked me, will Donovan believe me?
“I can tell when I’m looking at a monster,” he hisses under his breath, and I can’t help myself.
My head cocks to the side as I look him up and down.
“Is it because you see one every day in the mirror?”
Oakley’s eyes narrow, and he shifts forward at the same time my hand moves for the letter opener. I’ll have to figure out how to explain it later, because I can see it in his eyes.
He’s just as empty inside as I am.
“Uh, am I interrupting something?” Donovan’s voice makes me take my hand off the tabletop and away from the letter opener I was inching toward. It’s not smart, anyway… especially not when I watch Oakley’s eyes track the movement like he knew what I was doing.
There’s something off about him. People don’t know my intentions—the only reason he would is if he’d had the same intentions himself. And like a mirror to my feigned innocence, his body relaxes as he turns with that charming smile back on his face.
“No. Just getting to know your friend,” I offer, turning to look at Donovan. He has pants on now, at least. As much as I would have enjoyed him staying naked… it’s not like I could have stayed much longer anyway. I have a million things to do today.
Up until Oakley got here, I was fine with leaving Donovan to do them, but now…
My eyes narrow as I look between the two of them.
I don’t like the way Oakley is looking at me, like he’s trying to see through me.
This is why I don’t get close to people—I’ve never pretended that I’m a fantastic actor, or that I’m good at hiding the darkness inside me.
I’ve been nothing but honest with Donovan, even if that honesty is edged with lies of omission that might as well be just as bad.
He’s not an idiot. If he wanted to see through my bullshit, I think he could. Sometimes when he looks at me, I think he does… and I think he sees me. The real me.
Or maybe the person I could have been if my life had never been shattered.
I just know that the way Oakley is looking at me threatens to fuck it all up… and it’s a problem, because I don’t think I can kill him and keep Donovan. If the little interaction we nearly had tells me anything, it’s that the two of us being alone together won’t end well.
“I have to go.” I’m reluctant when I say it.
I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here to make sure nothing about how perfect last night was gets ruined.
Like I can’t help myself, I step forward, running my fingers across the places on Donovan’s chest, tracing over little half-moon bites where my nails dug into his skin. “I’ll be back later, though.”
“Class?”
My eyes flick to the man standing beside him. “No.” What I want is to find someone I can bleed out.
“Painting?” Donovan asks, and I blow out a frustrated breath, because I don’t want Oakley to know anything about me. I come up on tiptoe and press my mouth to Donovan’s instead.
“I’ll be back later. When you’re alone.” I don’t even try to hide the irritation in my voice, and Oakley gives me the most shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen.
“Maybe I’ll stay the night, Donny.” He leans in and actually smacks his stupidly perfect lips against Donovan’s freckled cheek. “We can cuddle like we used to.”
The streak of cold anger that rips through me is like a knife to my chest. It’s worse because I can see the way the asshole is looking at me for a reaction.
I inhale through my nose instead and then blow a slow breath out…
because I can’t even say goodbye the way I’d like… all lips and teeth and tongue.
So instead, I cut Oakley a look that I’m pretty sure would make most people run for cover, then I press two fingers to the center of Donovan’s chest and force myself to speak even though I don’t want to say shit in front of the other man.
“Thanks for last night.”
Donovan’s eyes go soft, and I think for a second he’s going to lean down to kiss me… but then his friend wraps his arm around his shoulder and shoves him toward the living room.
“Bye, Shiloh.”
Fuck.
I can’t kill my boyfriend’s best friend.
I can’t kill my boyfriend’s best friend.
But when he glances over his shoulder and gives me a look that’s all threat and prickly mistrust, I wonder if I’m going to be able to keep up that little mantra.