Do you see me there standing next to the pool staring at my keys at the bottom?
I might as well be at the bottom of that pool, too, because I’m in over her head.
Up the creek without a paddle.
You get the point, right?
Right.
I’m tempted to jump in and get my keys, but then again, I just straightened my hair, and if I get my hair wet, and go on Shade’s bike, well, that’s not a look anyone should see, let alone Shade.
“I get why Willa hired you.”
I jump at the sound of his voice. Heart. Stopped.
When my heart starts beating again, I turn on my heel to face Tiller, smoothing out my shirt that doesn’t need to be smoothed. “What are you talking about?”
“What the fuck do you think I’m talking about?” He casually takes a seat on the lounge chair beside me, the place Shade was just standing. He stares at me over the brim of his coffee cup, then smiles. “Why Willa hired you. She did it for him. It’s been a while since he’s gotten his mind off her and her fucked up ways.”
Shit. He’s talking about Rhya. Forget the fact that he saw right through all this, or that I’m surprised Shade hasn’t yet, but I’m so damn curious how a guy like Shade, so full of life and confidence could have been with someone like Rhya in the first place.
I sit down next to Tiller who hands me a box of Milkduds, which, by the way, happen to be my favorite. I told him they were two days ago and he remembered. “If she was so fucked up. . . .” I stop because I need to rephrase my question. “I don’t get it. He’s the last person I see falling for. . . .” No, stop. Rephrase, again. “I just can’t see a guy like Shade putting up with that sort of thing.”
After I say it, I want to take it back because I’m just not sure it came out right.
I look at Tiller and pop one of the Milkduds in my mouth. He’s the classic big brother. You don’t see this side of him very often either because they act more like unstable triplets than one being older than the other.
Tiller’s apprehensive eyes move from mine to the motocross track on the side of the house, Roan and two other guys ripping through it and kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. “I wondered that myself, at times. They were kids when they met. Like really little. I can’t remember how old.” His stare moves back to mine. “We all loved Rhya.” He pauses, nods, and then scratches the left side of his jaw. “We did. But Shade always loved her a little bit more.” A pain hits my heart. Not just for Shade’s loss, but for the place she held there and because she didn’t appreciate it. “He thought it was his job to save her and honestly, for the sake of my brother, I’m relieved she’s gone. It’s fucked to think that way, I know, but he was going down with her. It was the craziest shit though. His dedication to her was so unwavering and I knew eventually, he was going to destroy himself for her.” He snorts, shaking his head. “I think Rhya knew that and that’s why she did it, to save him. People say suicide is the selfish way out. It’s not. For Rhya, in her fucked up way of thinking, she thought that was the only way to save him and. . . herself.”
I wonder if Asher thought it was the only way out. I wonder if he thought because I didn’t want to be with him any longer, he didn’t want to go on living anymore?
For a long time, I obsessed over what made Asher take his own life. Was his mind that messed up he wanted out of it? And the way he did it. So brutally. Did he stop to think about anyone else?
And then, after time, I realized it didn’t matter. Asher’s mind was a mystery. A black hole as he called it, and he wanted free of the demons that essentially made him Asher Brandon. When you’re desperate, frantic to escape your own scary thoughts, sometimes your reasoning fails. You’re pushed to the precipice of your drive to live with the addiction or mental illness consuming you.
I don’t know what Asher was thinking in his final moments, nor do I know what Rhya was thinking. I’ll never know for sure, but it makes me feel even closer to Shade because of what we share now, unknowing to him.
I don’t get a chance to say any more or reply to Tiller, even if I did know what to say, because Shade comes outside wearing black and white board shorts and a gray S3 tank top that compliments his body art.
He glances at Tiller and pulls his sunglasses down from his mess of brown hair to cover his eyes. “Are you hitting on my woman?”
I laugh, standing up and reaching for my bag at my feet. “I’m not your woman.”
But I want to be! my mind screams.
Tiller smiles and winks at me. “I like you like a sister. One I’d fuck.”
It’s probably the nicest thing he’s said to me. “That’s. . . strangely sweet, yet disturbing.”
Tiller shrugs. “Never said I had morals.”
“Stop talking to him,” Shade mumbles, fist bumps Tiller, and then nods to the house. “Let’s go.” When we’re in the driveway, he notices I’m chewing on something. My chocolate. “What are you eating?”
“Milkduds.” I hold up the package. “Tiller gave them to me.”
He eyes the package then takes it just as quickly and dumps the remainder of the package in his mouth. “Tell Tiller if he gives you candy again, I’ll break his fucking hand.”
I laugh. “You tell him. He’s scary.”
THERE ARE A few things I should clear up about last night. The moments I do remember, and then again, the parts of the night I’d rather forget. Let’s pause here, just for a second.
I have a cactus spine in a place I’d rather not. My ass cheek. And I can’t see to get it out, but I know it’s there because when I looked in the mirror this morning, my right ass cheek is red in one spot.
I have no idea how I’m going to get it out because Willa is in labor, per her damn text message a second ago, and Shade. . . well, if I show him my ass, you know exactly what’s going to happen.
Okay, now back to last night. The reason for the cactus spine in my ass.
I don’t remember how that happened, but I do remember the kitchen counter, the side by side and the hot tub. All the important parts.
He kissed me. Or I kissed him, whatever, we kissed.
And it was amazing!
Do you think he remembers me now?
Nope. Not a fucking clue, but I’m not even focused on that anymore. I’m confused as hell. Won’t he be pissed when he finds out that Willa hired me to be his friend?
What about when he finds out we actually already had sex?
I’m so fucked.
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” I tell Shade when we’re standing in the driveway staring at his rather nice street bike. It’s black with a red seat and wheels. I don’t know a damn thing about bikes, but I’m guessing it’s a Ducati. It says so on the side.
Shade smirks, handing me a helmet. “Riding with me is always a good idea.”
“Fair enough.” Oh God, what am I saying. I put on the helmet. “Prove me wrong, then.”
My hair is going to look ridiculous and my ass will hurt so bad, but it’ll be worth it.
“Get on the bike and I will,” he says, a sureness lingering in his every word.
I always take a challenge. Clearly. Cactus.
As the sweet sun kisses my skin and the wind moves through my hair, I risk a little and hold on to Shade’s stomach as he rolls down the driveway and to the front gate.
That’s the extent of the amount of time I should trust Shade Sawyer on a street bike.
I’m going to die. That’s my first assessment because he wants to get a thrill out of me. Within the first few minutes, or seconds, not sure, time is no longer relevant when your life flashes before your eyes, Shade takes a corner at 120 when the suggested speed is 45.
Forty. Five.
I’m almost positive his lungs felt my nails digging into his sides.
With the wind against my face, I concentrate on one, not hyperventilating and two, his reactions to my body against his. I can feel him breathing, slow and steady, in control, taking me anywhere I want to go. Or in this case, to Santa Monica where he has a meeting.
The nearly hour drive from Pasadena to Santa Monica takes us a half an hour because Shade doesn’t do the speed limit anywhere, and I’m certain he’s trying to scare me into sleeping with him.
Santa Monica is something out of an Abercrombie commercial.
Everywhere I look there are people half dressed, palm trees, and sand bordering the beach. You know you’re in Santa Monica by the iconic Ferris wheel on the pier jutting into the Pacific Ocean. We have a Ferris wheel on the pier in Seattle, too, but it’s nothing like this.
Everything is so beautiful and tropical, unlike the Washington coastal beaches that look like the color gray threw up over everything.
As he weaves around people walking in the streets and cars, I keep a firm grip on Shade. I have to. I constantly feel as if I’m going to fall off the back of the bike.
I nearly do when we take off from stop signs, and he does a little wheelie just to scare me. I yelp and feel his laughter shaking me.
We end up parking on the street in front of a row of small shops and then he swings his leg over to get off the bike. I do the same and stand on the side of the street, trying to straighten out my shirt and hair from the ride over. My hair doesn’t accept its unruliness until we are walking up the street and I’m trying to discretely pick my panties out of my ass while feeling like my ass is on fire.
Shade raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head when he eyes my hair and its madness. “Why are you walking funny?”
I don’t want to tell him about the maybe-infected ass cheek from the cactus just yet. “I have a major wedgie. And I’m wearing a thong. You’d think it’s supposed to be up there but you know, it’s like way up there.”
It takes Shade a minute, his laughter echoing through the street and then comes his cocky side, and he smirks. “I could help you out.”
“Nope. Got it. Where’s this taco shop you’re supposed to meet this “Gnarly” dude at? I’m starving.”
Shade shakes his head, laughing, nodding up the street for me to follow him. “Gnarly isn’t his name. It’s Gary. It’s his magazine.” When I’m beside him, he watches me as we’re walking. “It’s not really a meeting either. He just wants to ask a couple questions for an article he’s doing on Gnarly West Street Tour.”
I keep step with him, well, try to. Goddamn my ass is burning, and I’m sweating in my jeans and it’s causing them to rub against my maybe-infected ass cheek. “What’s the Gnarly West Street Tour?”
“It’s what is sounds like.” His voice brightens a little, and I can tell he’s excited about it. “A freestyle show in the streets. Paris was the first location it took place, but now we’ll be doing pop up shows in cities. We’re gonna start here in Santa Monica and work our way north.” He nods and points to a green building with red brick on the bottom. “We’re meeting him there.”
I read the sign on the top of the building. Tacos Por Favor. Though it looks like a recipe for food poisoning, it’s actually some of the best street tacos I’ve ever had. I keep to myself as Gary and Shade talk about bikes, and he conducts his interview about “nothing” personal as Shade not so politely puts it when they begin.
He basically says, “You ask me personal questions and I’ll leave.”
He’s not kidding either. In Paris, I watched him walk away from a reporter midinterview because they mentioned Rhya.
Thankfully for his sake, Gary keeps it about freestyle riding and why Shade enjoys it so much. I’m beginning to understand it myself. Freestyle riding was invented by motocross racers who just wanted to have fun and be themselves and ride free from sponsors and performing. Remember why they were riding in the first place.
Much like anything, it’s evolved since then into actual events where they’re scored based on their performance, and I know why so many of the riders are now getting out of the sport.
We’re walking on the pier after his interview, eating ice cream when Shade motions to the pilings under the pier. “Rhya and I used to come down here. I don’t think I’ve been down here in years.”
My heart jumps into my throat. He’s yet to mention her until now, and I’m almost afraid to say any more. “Do you want to talk about her?”
The uneasiness in his face soars, but he has his sunglasses on so I can’t tell other than the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker than it did before. “There’s nothing to say. She’s dead. There are some cool shops up here. Let’s go in them.”
He’s smiling now, but I can tell it’s a front, him begging me not to pry.
So I don’t.
The moment we start wandering inside of the shops, women recognize him, and I feel bad for him. His life is no longer his own, and I’m witnessing a completely different side of him. I used to see the cocky side, the winks, the smile, the way he presented himself. Only now, I notice when they approach, he tenses, a vulnerability displayed you wouldn’t exactly expect from him. But it’s there.
When the group of girls leave, Shade nods for me to follow him up the street. “Let’s get out of here.” And then he frowns. “Hold my hand.”
“Why?”
“Like you don’t want to.” He snorts and then lifts his chin a fraction of an inch. “Maybe if I’m holding hands with you, they’ll leave me alone?”
He’s got a point, and who wouldn’t want to hold hands with Shade Sawyer?
Guess what?
It doesn’t work. Women still approach him, and every single time his eyes drift to mine, like he’s waiting for me to stop them, only I’m not sure what to do so I stand back and let them have their moment while he signs whatever it is they push at him. Usually their tits.
“You knew that wasn’t going to work,” I say, smiling at him when they leave.
He runs a hand through his hair and he starts walking again. “Yeah, but it got you to hold my hand, didn’t it?”
I follow him. “Do you like it when people come up to you in the street like that?”
“No, not really,” he answers truthfully, with a curt shrug. “It’s part of the game.”
“You shouldn’t have to do things you don’t want to do,” I note, feeling bad for him.
“Doesn’t really work like that though,” he snorts. We’re walking and then suddenly he stops and gives a nod to the Ferris wheel. “It’s really fuckin’ weird being here now.”
My pulse pounds, pumping blood into my cheeks. “Why?”
“The last time I was here was with her.” He swallows thickly, his jaw tensing as we continue to walk, his steps slowing, his voice oddly gentle. “I know you know about Rhya.”
“Just what I’ve read or heard.”
Shade leans in, whispering in my ear, “Then you don’t know anything because nothing that’s printed on those stupid articles has anything to do with what she did to me.”
My pulse drops to a low beat when he shrugs, and I still can’t tell how this is really affecting him because of those goddamn sunglasses. “You can talk to me about it.”
He offers a smile, but I know this is torture for him. You can see it in his body’s response, as though he can’t help the way just her name affects him. “There’s not much to say.”
“She killed herself, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t do that, Scarlet. Don’t apologize for something she did.”
My heart is beating so fast and my hands are shaking. He’s talking to me. Like really talking to me like two friends would. “Losing a friend is never easy.”
Shade’s steps falter, and he stops to look over at me, sunlight hitting the side of his face in the most beautiful way. “You know, in the end, I can’t even say I could have called her my friend. The friendship was more of a burden, but it was my burden because if I didn’t do it, who would? In the end it wasn’t friendship, it was obligation.” With his words, his lips purse immediately. His face exudes stone-cold demeanor, bleeding with an invisible pain. I want to know his pain because he doesn’t deserve to keep it inside him.
Timidly I say, “Her dying wasn’t your fault.”
“You don’t know that,” he mumbles and begins walking again.
My heart goes out to him that he confided in me some of his problems and worries. He’s world famous, yet terribly lonely inside.
The longer I’m with him, the more he trusts me with himself. We’re friends now, pushed together in the oddest of circumstances. And I feel his pain over Rhya’s death and his frustration in every part of his life.