The look on her face pisses me off, mostly because I’m the reason it’s there. “Your feelings are bullshit. They’re a kid’s romantic view of life. None of it’s real.”
Shay looks like I’ve hit her. She shrinks a little in front of me and I feel like an asshole. I’m right though. We’re living a fantasy and her woman rage is ridiculous.
“You can blow me off,” Shay says, fighting to sound tough, “but fuck you for saying my feelings are wrong or don’t matter. They might not mean shit to you, but they’re real for me. Even knowing I shouldn’t, I fell for you. I really didn’t want to, but I did. I don’t need you rubbing my mistake in my face.”
Scratching at my chin, I get the urge to climb on the Harley and leave. This is the moment I knew was coming and I refuse to blow it off. I always knew Shay couldn’t stay with me, but I enjoyed the ride. Now, I need to back off.
Except I can’t. Not when she’s standing in front of me crying and needing comfort. How the fuck do I let her suffer when I can give her what we both want and make the pain stop? Even if it’s a mistake, why can’t I make it? Anyone else would and I’m no fucking hero.
“Shit,” I growl, running my hands through my hair.
Shay stares at me. I know she’s hoping I’m playing with her. When I cup her face, Shay’s eyes hold such hope.
“It’s a helluva fantasy we’ve built, but how long can it last?”
“How the fuck would I know? You banged some bitch.”
I press my forehead against hers. “I’m an asshole, but I only want you. I dropped that bitch home and left. You can call the bitch and ask her if you don’t believe me.”
“If you didn’t fuck her, we should probably stop calling her a bitch.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Shay’s gaze hardens. “If you fuck someone else, I’m fucking someone else too. Just saying.”
My stomach twists at the thought of her with another man. I’ll kill him too. It won’t even be a choice, much like needing Shay isn’t.
I suck at her lower lip, letting my tongue lick at hers. She presses her hands against my chest and frowns.
“Why did you let me think you fucked that girl? You’re not usually mean. To me anyway.”
Sighing, I wish we could skip the “talk.” Except Shay is staring at me with wet eyes and I’m the asshole who caused her tears.
“I saw a chance to get out of being together and I gave it a try. Turns out, I don’t want an out.”
Shay’s expression freaks me out. She isn’t angry or relieved. She’s considering my words and wondering if ending things might be the sanest route.
“I’ve been with thousands of women and you claimed the one night that you fucked four hundred billion men,” I say and Shay smiles slightly. “Out of all those people, you’re the only one that makes my heart hurt. Do you know how stupid I feel saying my heart hurts? I feel like a damn pussy, but I’m saying the words because they’re true.”
“I give you heart trouble,” Shay whispers. “You own my heart. I don’t know if that’s the same thing though.”
“For me, it is.”
Shay nods, but she’s thinking again. Man, I fucking hate when she starts thinking.
43
Shay
Only Seven More Minutes
Ford rests against the headboard when I return from the bathroom in the negligee I bought at Wal-Mart. He tenses at the sight of me, ready to skip the striptease. Ford even curls his finger for me to come to bed.
“I picked a song they played at the club,” I say, ignoring both his finger and erection waving at me. “It’s one of the few I can keep rhythm with.”
I set my phone to play One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer by George Thorogood. Ford smiles when the song starts, but his smile fades when I begin to move. He isn’t upset like I immediately assume. Ford’s erection wants me in bed, not dancing around in my pink heels.
“I have no rhythm.”
“You keep telling me that,” he says in a low hungry voice. “Finish dancing later. Come to bed now.”
Smiling, I lift my arms into the air and shimmy for him. “Patience.”
“Three days,” he says like those words explain everything.
“Three times,” I murmur, reminding him of how many times he found hard relief so far.
Ford exhales hard, his gaze fixating on me.
“I have no pole to work with, so I’ll use the wall,” I say, leaning back against it and sliding down as I inch the top of my negligee over my head.
When I toss the top at him, Ford glares hard at me.
“What?” I ask, shifting my hips back and forth to the beat.
“I’m not happy other men saw you like this.”
I consider pointing out how many women saw his hard cock pressed against his stomach. Instead, I smile softly.
“Those gross old dudes, you mean? They were nasty. It’s why I refused to do lap dances. No touching,” I murmur, leaning over to caress his hand.
Just as I expect, Ford makes a move, but I step away. “Bad boy,” I tease, giving him a smile. “I’m not done.”
“Shay.”
“Yes, Ford?” I ask, shaking my ass for him. “Is there something you want, sweet Ford?”