“You looked hot onstage tonight,” I say, my voice carrying a manic sort of recklessness that I’m hoping he can’t hear. I boldly reach up and curl my fingers in his hair, a wild energy buzzing in my veins and threatening to make my fingers shake.
It would be easy to confront him, and it would be easy for him to lie. I’d look absolutely crazy—like just another one of the scorned groupies I’m sure he’s collected over the years. Shawn could deny everything—every kiss, every touch, every word . . . every goddamn fucking thing I was stupid enough to think meant anything. And honestly, I’m not sure who the rest of the guys would believe. The forgettable little girl from high school? Or their best friend since forever?
Yeah.
So instead of screaming and crying and kneeing Shawn where it counts, I twirl my fingers around and around in his hair, flashing him a wicked smile that’s full of bad intentions. And when the green flames in his eyes ignite, I can tell he’s misinterpreting every single one.
My fingers are still twirling when his lips drop to mine. He kisses me just like he had last night, and the sting of it makes me pull away, but slowly.
“Can you imagine how many times we would have hooked up by now if you had known about the crush I had on you in high school?” I whisper, watching his reaction closely and trying not to get my hopes up.
I’m giving him an opportunity to come clean. All these months, all he would’ve needed to do is tell me the truth and say two words. “I’m sorry” would’ve been all I needed to hear to forgive him, and I’m giving him one last chance to say it.
His smoldering gaze meets mine from centimeters away, and I watch the way it dims and sobers. Now that I know what to look for, I spot it—the recognition.
He kisses me again, and I spot that for what it is too—a distraction. The hope in my chest dims, and I pull away again. “I thought about it, you know.” He watches me, and I watch him right back, trying to see him for the guy he was with me last night, and not the one who has lied to my face for four and a half straight months. “About what it would be like to be with you . . . I bet we would have been amazing.”
I’m desperate for him to just admit it—to tell me I’m not forgettable, to tell me I was worth remembering, to make me believe I still am.
“We’re amazing now,” Shawn says, and this time, when his fingers tangle in my hair, there’s no pulling away. The way he kisses me makes me want to pretend. I feel myself start to fall—start to forget, to forgive—and the only way I can save myself is to bite down. Hard.
“Fuck!” He jumps away from me, his hand flying to his mouth. He stares at me like I’ve been possessed, and maybe I have been, because all I can do is stare blankly back at him. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, through someone else’s eyes.
“What the hell was that for?” He wipes his thumb across his bottom lip and glances at the streak of red blood that clings to the lines of his thumbprint.
“I guess I got carried away.”
His dark eyebrows are pinched tightly in my direction when the nearest curtain swings open and Joel saves me from having to explain myself any further. “What the hell are you yelling about?”
Shawn’s torn jeans get stained red when his thumb wipes across them. “Nothing. I bit my lip.”
Another lie. And it rolls off his tongue so easily, my blood boils.
“Oookay . . . ” Joel stares back and forth between us—at Shawn, glaring at the apparition I’ve become, and at me, with the taste of his blood still on my tongue. “What are you guys doing up here?”
“Obviously having another secret rendezvous,” I answer flippantly, and Joel has no idea how honest I’m being when he brushes me off.
“Ha, ha. Seriously though, what are you doing?”
“Wondering where Driver is,” Shawn answers for me, but I’m already walking away from his forked tongue, back through the bus. In the bathroom, my back slides down the closed door until my ass hits the floor and the world stops falling out from under me.
Pathetic.
Disposable.
Shawn threw me away after having me six years ago, and now? Our last show is tomorrow night. Just one more day on tour . . . and then what? Were we ever going to tell everyone? He said that we would, but he never said when, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered.
Because Shawn said a lot of things. And all of the things he didn’t say mattered just as much.
I used to have a crush on you in high school, you know.
Did you? he asked.
It was one of a thousand lies left unspoken. One of a thousand, and I fell for every single one.
Chapter Eighteen