A Stone in the Sea(59)

Most of all, I wanted him to jump.





CONFUSION SQUEEZED MY CHEST as I neared the doors to Charlie’s, that constant conflict that raged inside me churning hard, one side pressing at me to keep returning, to go to her, to take her, while the rational side of me—the side that grasped my reality, the side that knew the kind of life I was going to be returning to—kept screaming at me that what I was doing was wrong.

Few things could be more appalling, more selfish, than using up a girl who deserved to be given the world. Not my kind of world. Shea didn’t deserve any of that. She didn’t need the drama or the depravity, the consequences of the fucked-up nights. Knew in my gut she didn’t give two shits about how much money I had in my bank account, either, that she wasn’t about sinking greedy claws into some unsuspecting guy, leeching off him until he was bled dry.

The girl could take care of herself.

She was all about good. About living right. About her daughter, who had to be the cutest thing I’d ever seen. About spreading her joy and light.

And if that didn’t make me want to take care of her.

But I had nothing to give but more of the debauchery that was my real life. I mean, fuck, in a very short time, I was likely to find my ass behind bars. Again. Shea was so above that, so far above it that I couldn’t begin to see it, couldn’t even touch on all that light I’d been dying to sink into.

So instead I’d drugged myself on her dark, burying myself in her body every chance I got, feeding from her perfect seduction—the depth she took me to—where I could feel her desperation and burden. I pretended I was half the man she thought I was, keeping all my secrets dirty—hidden and unrevealed.

Pretended I didn’t see the way she looked at me.

“Would you two hurry the fuck up?” I glared over my shoulder at Ash and Lyrik who stumbled along behind Zee and me, throwing fake punches, messing around in the middle of the street like a couple of teenagers.

Assholes were already half in the bag.

The afternoon had been spent celebrating. We’d hit that rhythm over the last couple of weeks, when the music just flowed between us, and we’d somehow pieced together the skeleton of our next album. Which seemed like a fucking miracle considering I’d been spending a ton of time with Shea.

Apparently, all that confusion had left me feeling inspired.

Ash smirked at me. “You in a hurry or somethin’, Baz?”

I gave him a finger and he laughed, shaking his head as they caught up. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Look at you, chomping at the bit. Haven’t seen you so worked up about a girl since you were thirteen and Miranda Escobar let you touch her tits.” He grinned over at Zee. “Think we’re going to have to stage that intervention after all. Our boy’s balls have gone missing and someone needs to step in before he becomes a straight-up pussy.”

My jaw clenched. Ash was just razzing me, he always did and he always meant nothing by it. But there was something that pricked at my skin with every word he spit out.

Zee caught on. Always did. “Shea’s a nice girl, man. Don’t be a dick.”

And that was precisely it.

Shea was a nice girl.

I was fucking around with a nice girl, knowingly messing her up. The only promise I’d given her?

I was going to break her.

And I would.

Shit.

A bolt of anxiety struck me when we stepped inside and my eyes immediately sought out Shea where she was standing at one of the high-top tables, slanting an unassuming smile at a table full of douchebags that looked no different than the one who’d roughed her up—preppy boys out with the belief the world owed them something.

That possessiveness surged like a dam being knocked free.

Like she could feel me there, watching her, she glanced over at me, and her face lit up. She floated toward us, winding through the crowds, but that didn’t mean it was empty of the force that lived between us, because it was there. Like from across the room, she was touching me everywhere.

God.

I sucked in a breath, felt myself shaking a little when she came to a stop in front of us. She didn’t hesitate, just hiked up on her toes and planted a swift but sweet kiss to my lips.

“Hi,” she said.

Couldn’t stop the smile flitting at my mouth. “Hey.”

“You want your booth?” She craned her head toward the secluded spot that had become like some sort of sanctified altar to the muddled mess she made me.

“Sure.”

Of course I did.

“Go on. Let me grab a couple of drinks that are ready at the bar and have Tamar make yours.” She eyed the guys, that friendly way she did that made people feel like they were welcome without her saying a word. “Everyone want their regular?”