Split(61)

Protected from people like me.

The truth slices through my gut, and although I don’t usually drink alcohol—my boozing experience consists of peer-pressured moments in group homes and the aftermath of Gage’s nights out—I’m thinking that maybe a couple drinks tonight are needed. The numbing effect will help take the edge off the emptiness of missing Shy. Mourning the death of the dream I’d stupidly allowed myself to indulge in. Maybe the liquor will help erase the memory of her fear as she scrambled from my touch. Just one night I want to squelch the ache of the truth. I’m a monster; she deserves better.

It doesn’t take long before we’re jogging through the rain toward a barn with the name PISTOL PETE’S in neon and the twang of country music filtering through the sideboards.

The double doors open to a crowd of people and a stage where a band plays and a man sings about his love of the South. I keep the hood of my sweatshirt pulled over my baseball hat while we move through the crowd. The space confining, people brush up against me, but I keep my eyes to the backs of Cody’s legs and refuse to acknowledge anyone.

The room gets quieter the farther we head back and when Cody finally stops at a pool table, I look up. The majority of the hundred-plus people in here are around the stage, so except for a few other guys shooting pool, it’s just us.

I shove back my hood and push my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt.

“You any good?” He motions to the pool table.

“I’m all right.” One of the group homes I lived in had a pool table. I wasn’t interested in the extracurricular activities most of the other kids engaged in, so I spent a lot of time playing.

His gaze moves over my shoulder. “Great, I’ll rack ’em.” He moves around the table, the entire time keeping his eye on the crowded bar.

I head over to the wall behind him and pick out a pool stick. Staying busy at the table will make this night easier than I thought.

“Oh shit, there she is.” The teasing tone in his voice makes my skin prickle with awareness.

I’ve heard him use that tone before. But only with one person.

As much as I want to whirl around and search her out, I don’t. I keep my eyes firmly planted on the multicolored balls set up in a triangle on the green pelt.

“What the f*ck?” His stick slams against the table edge.

My gaze jumps to his.

His lips curl back in disgust and his tall frame locks down. “What the f*ck is she wearin’?”

Unable to avoid it any longer, I turn and— “Whoa,” I whisper.

“Shyann Blue Eyes Jennings, get your ass over here now!” Cody’s anger projects across the room, and even though Shyann doesn’t turn to him immediately, her shoulders bunch at the sound of his voice.

He storms around the table just as she squares her shoulders and whirls to meet him, but something stops her dead in her tracks.

It takes me a second to figure out what it is because my eyes are glued to the healthy section of exposed skin around her belly button. I want to watch her legs move under her tiny skirt, see the soft flesh of her thighs rub together, but she’s not moving.

My eyes dart to hers and she’s staring right at me. I cringe at the way her muscles tense upon seeing me.

She blinks, a combination of shock and fear playing against her features.

I need to turn away, give her space to— I gawk at her breasts, which are pushed up and nestled in cups of black lace that show through her thin white shirt.

Cody rushes to his sister, pulls her closer to the pool tables, and glares at a few other guys playing as they stare at her appreciatively.

“Shy, what the hell are you doing dressed like . . . like . . . Sam?” Cody stands in front of her, using his body as a wall against, well, everyone.

Everyone but me.

“I . . . um . . .” Her eyes dart to mine, and I can tell she’s searching for something in my expression. She dips her head to attempt to peek under the bill of my ball cap. “I’m working.”

I know what she’s looking for, so I hold her eyes for a few seconds until she visibly relaxes.

“Hey, Lucas.”

“Shy.”

She flashes a shaky smile and even that tiny show of affection has my chest warm and my lips aching to press against hers. Is it possible to be obsessed after one kiss? To get a single taste of her mouth, her warmth, and know if it were feasible to get it every single hour of every single day it would never be enough?

“Your tits are showing,” Cody hisses under his breath. “Lucas, back me up here.” He points to Shyann’s chest.

I make the mistake of following Cody’s finger and am reminded of how she felt pressed to my body, how she clung to my shoulders as I explored the sweetness of her mouth.

Her cleavage rises and falls quicker, and I blink up to find her face flushed.

“I think you look . . .” I lick my lips and push my hands deeper into my pockets. “Really pretty.”

Her eyebrows drop low as if my words upset her.

“Are you out of your f*ckin’ mind?” He reaches over and tugs up Shyann’s T-shirt by the shoulders, only to make the bottom half slide even farther up her belly. She smacks his hand away. “Dammit, Shy!”

“This is the best way to make money here, Cody. Now order a drink or leave me alone.” She waits, and when he answers her with a scowl, she cautiously peeks over at me. “I didn’t expect to see you here . . .” Her mouth gapes like there’s more to that sentence, but she slams it closed.