Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(18)

I THWAPPED THE POOL cue down, surprised it didn’t break in half.

Shiloh, again. The woman haunted me, day and night. I woke up from dreams of her, sweaty and frustrated and . . . really fucking hard for her.

Then I remembered there was no possible future. Hadn’t been even before Diablo started leaning on me for a fucking bank-load of cash.

And not to goddamn mention, Shy was a Friend. Capital F. For no fucking. Might as well throw in a P, too. For strictly platonic.

Kid-sister material. Not a woman to mess with. Definitely not make out with.

She really should look more like kid-sister material.

I groaned under my breath.

Growled out loud.

Lowered my hands to my jeans, slinging my thumbs in my pockets, bulking my shoulders.

I’d just play it frosty cool. Get her to go home.

Ask her to stop torturing me.

Or—better idea—just ignore the shit out of her.

She laughed in her sexy, smoky way, responding to something Sadie said.

Ignore.

She accepted a drink from Cole, and her fingers brushed against his.

Ignore.

Another pair of tight jeans molded to her legs and ass. That ass. Her shirt was soft and loose and skimmed what looked like nice juicy tits.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about tits and Shy in the same friggin’ sentence.

Her lips looked moist. Her skin glowed golden. Her hair was shiny and straight. Her eyes . . .

Dammit.

I forgot to ignore her more.

Her eyes—shiny as liquid silver—found mine again.

I tossed the pool stick aside . . . about five minutes after Tail called the game a wash after I forgot I was even supposed to be playing.

Standing at the bar, I drummed my knuckles on the top while Cole monopolized Shy, talking about his job at Inksanity Tattoos.

“I don’t have any ink yet,” Shiloh said.

I rolled my eyes, stepping in. “And you’re not gonna get any, either.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened innocently. “Hello, Max.”

“Did you hear what I said?” I asked, stabbing Cole with a feral scowl until he backed way way way the hell off.

“I did,” she murmured, nursing her drink. “But I already have a dad, and since I’m twenty-four I don’t take his orders anymore either. But thanks for your consideration.” Her tone was sweet-tart.

“Shy.” I inhaled deeply, assaulted by her scent—fresh and sexy all at the same time. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

“Ditto that.” Her bracelets jangled together when she lifted her drink.

She slipped onto a stool, looking me over from head to toe in a way that made my goddamn skin shiver and very unbrotherly feelings rear up when my cock started getting hard inside my pants.

I wondered what she saw? The former preppy boy or the MC badass? About fifty pounds of new muscle heavier than I used to be, I was nothing like the Bishop England grad she’d grown up with. Shy might not have any ink, but my skin was covered in a fuckload of tats. From my shoulders to my wrists and all over my back. I wasn’t wearing a button-down with chinos. More like faded jeans, big scuffed boots, twin gauges in my ears, and an old T-shirt that had gone through the wash so many times the fabric was no longer blue but blue-tinged-white.

She looked like heaven and sin, sex and flesh and softness.

And I was supposed to stay away from her.

But my thoughts about her—especially when that half smile kicked up the corners of her lips—took a fast slippery slide from just friends to completely filthy.

I knocked back my beer, gulping the last few ounces.

“Dance with me?” Her glossy lips curved into a deeper bow, and she rested a hand on my bare forearm—the simple touch shockingly warm and cranking my denied arousal higher.

I pulled away. “Uh. No.”

No way. Because I felt something beginning between us, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not with her, and not with that asshole Diablo’s threats against her.

Shy pouted, pouring on the flirtation with a batting of her eyelashes.

“Shy. No.”

Her temper finally flared. “I’m not a dog, you know?”

Her shout resounded around the bar.

“And fuck you too,” she added, just to make extra special sure everyone watching us—and those nosy fucks were watching—knew she was furious.

Whirling away, she slinked toward Tail with a sway of her hips and linked her arms around his neck.

He looked at me for one single second of apology before sliding his arms around her waist.

Her small waist.

His fingers dangled just above her apple-shaped ass.

Her full ass.

She laughed.

He grinned.

Her head tilted back.

He followed.

With his lips skimming her neck, he looked up and winked at me.

My knuckles turned white.

I almost broke my beer bottle in half.

Shy laughed again, twirling away. And then she stumbled.

I shot off my stool, but Tail righted her, catching her in his arms.

She’d tripped that first time here.

She’d limped a little the other night when we moved her into the condo.

She’d been pale, shaky, tired, almost falling into my arms.

And then there’d been the pill bottles in her bathroom. I hadn’t Googled that shit because I wasn’t a total stalker—yet. But I knew some of what those prescriptions meant.