Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1) (16 page)

THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY
morning, I oversleep because I hit the snooze button a few times. I rush around, hoping not to be too late for work.As I wheel my bike through the door, I shout an apology to Lenny, wash my hands and head up front. I know Shane’s sitting at the end of the counter. I feel it. I deliver a few of Jenna’s orders and grab the coffee pot, making my way down the long countertop until I reach him.

“Warm up?” I ask, completely void of any emotion although it’s brimming just beneath the surface. You want indifferent? Fine. You can have indifferent.

Sad, blue eyes meet my greens when he looks up from his cup of coffee. “No, thanks.” He stands abruptly, places a twenty beside the dish and leaves.
What the hell?
My usually controlled temper flies off the handle as I set the coffee pot down harder than necessary and follow him out to the bus stop.

“Hey!” I spit angrily. “What’s your problem?” I screech, making him pause mid-stride before he turns to face me. “What did I do to you?”

His eyes narrow and slice right through me, forcing me to pull back. He looks angrier than I’ve ever seen any man. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything to me.” People standing around waiting for the bus or others walking past begin to stare at our raised voices.

“I don’t understand. I thought we had fun last Saturday. I mean…it was…I had a really good time with you.” I don’t know why I feel hurt. My head understands that it was just one date and we never said anything about exclusivity, but my heart feels as if it’s about to combust. My head is also reminding me that getting involved with a guy right now is a really bad idea. You know that game where the final bean tips to one side and spills the whole pot? Shane Davis is that bean.

“Did you have a good time with the guy from the coffee shop, too?” His sharp words are laced with derision and sarcasm. “Is
he
your boyfriend?”

“What are you talking about?” I wrack my brain for a smidge of something to jog my memory, but I come up with nothing. All I remember is the woman draped across his shoulder. “You’re the one who was at a bar with some trashy slut all over you.” I turn the tables and accuse him. I inwardly cringe at my description of her. It’s not fair to judge someone and call her a “trashy slut.”

He swallows hard as his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t confirm or deny that I’m right.

“Listen, I like you, but I’ve had my fair share of drama and to be honest, I’m not really interested in getting involved with that shit again. You obviously don’t know what you want. So go have fun. Do your thing. Sit on laps, hold hands, and hop on the back of motorcycles. Knock yourself out.”

The loud compression of the bus coming to a stop then lowering forces me to look around and give myself a chance to close my gaping mouth. “I can explain all that. It’s not what you think.” I reason with a desperate plea.

Shane adjusts the messenger bag that’s draped across his chest and looks at me, his eyes heavy with disappointment. “Doesn’t matter. I gotta go.”

And just like that Shane Davis strides away from me. I watch him find a seat next to an old woman. I hope that he’ll at least turn around and look back, but he doesn’t. As the bus pulls away, a thick tear trickles down my face. I swipe angrily at the single tear. I don’t cry because crying makes me feel weak and I hate feeling weak.

This is why I should have listened to my instincts. The last thing I need is a man to cause more pain. Sometimes the scars you can’t see run deeper than the ones you can.

Shane

IT’S BEEN THREE
weeks since I’ve seen her and I miss her so much. I refuse to go into the diner because I know I might drop to my knees and grovel, begging her to at least listen to my sorry excuses for treating her the way I did. I didn’t even give her a chance to explain herself. What a fucking hypocrite I am! When I literally got caught with my pants down, balls deep in that psycho blonde, Mia wouldn’t give me a chance to explain and it nearly killed me. I hated not having the opportunity to defend myself or justify my actions. Not that fucking someone else while your girlfriend waited at the bar could ever be justified!

I woke up an hour later with my bare ass sitting on the dirty bathroom floor and my aching head against the sink. I begged my girl to listen to me, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day. I told her that I must’ve been drugged or something, but she didn’t want to hear any of it. All she knew was what she saw. It’s the same with me; all I know is what I saw.

I pull my phone out of my desk drawer and send Mia a quick text to let her know I’m thinking about her. I text her every few weeks; sometimes she responds, sometimes she doesn’t. I know he’s back and I’ve lost my chance, but when push comes to shove, I really just want her to be happy.

My finger hovers over Remy’s name and I want so badly to call her. I could just send a friendly text, but I doubt she’d answer me. The few days that I saw Jenna at my apartment all I got were nasty glares and dirty looks. Collin left last week so I won’t be seeing Jenna any time soon.

Leslie calls to tell me that our mother has offered to keep the kids overnight so my sister could get out for a bit. She asks if she can come to Boston to see me. An immediate, “Yes,” falls from my lips. Leslie, older than me by four years, is looking forward to a Friday night in Boston. It’s been years since her Boston College days. She knows this place like the back of her hand and I inwardly recoil when she suggests that we go to The Tam, but she’s my sister and she’s having a rough time lately so I indulge her.

The band is loud and on fire. The lead singer jumps all over the place, banging his head against the air, keeping in tune with the drummer. My sister’s eyes light up when she spots the shirtless bassist. I laugh and lower my head to talk over the music, “Too young for you.” She slaps my arm and growls in my ear. It seems busier than the other time I was here. I grab Leslie and lead her to the bar to order drinks.

“Do you think I’m attractive?” she asks, causing me to cough and choke on the sip of beer.

“What? You’re my sister. That’s an odd question.”

“Shane! I’m serious. Why do you think Dale cheated on me? Am I not pretty enough? Do you think it’s because I haven’t lost all this baby weight yet?”

I pull her close and tuck her beneath the crook of my arm, tipping her chin up so she can see how serious I am. “Les, stop! You are a smart and beautiful woman. If Dale can’t see that, he’s blind.” I lower my lips and kiss her forehead.

Her long hair brushes against my chest when she tilts her head and utters, “Thanks, little brother.”

I glance around the crowded bar, looking at all the people dancing and drinking, generally having a good time. A minute later I find myself taking deep breaths and my head drops as do my eyes when the strobe light flashes, flickering in every corner of the bar.

“You’re okay, Shane. Just breathe.” Leslie whispers. I’m sure she can feel the hammering of my heart when she rubs my chest.

“Tomasello? Where are you?” Fuck! I searched the dilapidated building, my rifle pointing in search of the threat. “Tomasello?” I called out again. A cold shiver ran through me when I saw him kneeling on the floor, his head hung low. Muffled, angry words spewed from the man holding an AK47 at the young soldier’s temple. “Allah. Jihad,” were the last words I remembered hearing before the room erupted. Everything flashed brightly and then went pitch black.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Thanks.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale a loud breath. I crack my neck before I continue to look around. Just as I tip back the last of my beer, I am met by her green, narrowed stare as her lips purse and she shakes her head from side to side. I return the subtle nod when I see the lanky guy I met before throw his arm around her.

“Who’s that?” My sister’s question pulls me away from the showdown with Remy.

“A regret.”

“Oh, Shane. What have I told you about one night stands?” My sister’s eyes drift upward to look at me; the disappointment is evident on her face. I huff and tighten my lips, wondering what she’d say if she knew how many I’ve actually had.

“No, it wasn’t like that…I actually really liked her. A lot.” My eyes travel to the sticky floor as I remember all the things I liked about her. I was such a fool to think I was possibly even falling in love with her.

“She’s coming over here.”

When I look up, I meet Remy’s hard, searing gaze. Preparing my heart to see her face to face, I inhale sharply. Like a balloon with a pin hole, the air escapes slowly when she brushes past me and continues toward the door.

“I’ll be right back.”

“And I’ll be right here,” my sister replies with a smile.

I follow Remy’s hurried steps out the front door and find her pacing back and forth until she stops and places her hands on her hips. My eyes fall to her skin tight, ripped jeans and high heels before finally to her chest covered in an off the shoulder black top. Her ragged breathing sounds as if she’d just completed the Boston Marathon.

“Remy,” I call, but she turns away.

In my mind, I rush to her, wrap my arms around her and tell her that I’ve missed her, but in reality I stand and wait for her to take the lead. Seconds turn into minutes before she faces me angrily. Her eyes are fierce, but her chin quivers slightly.

“Why are you here?” Her voice cracks as she raises it. “Of all the bars in Boston, you couldn’t bring your slut to another bar?” She narrows her eyes at me as she shakes her head.

I silently thank God that my sister didn’t hear Remy call her a slut. That wouldn’t have gone over so well.

“She’s not—” I start to say, but she interrupts me.

With three quick steps, she strides over and gets in my face. With heels on, she’s not that much shorter now. “I don’t get you.” She inhales deeply and clears her throat. “You flirted with me daily for over a month, then practically begged me to go out to dinner and, against my better judgment, I agreed.” Her chin quivers again as her eyes fill with tears. “That was a huge deal for me! There’s a reason I kept my distance from guys like you.”

“Remy,” I utter her name as I reach out, taking her by the forearm. She winces in pain. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

She yanks her arm out of my hold. “I’m fine. Hazard of the job.” She steps away. “Just tell me why you did it? Was it some sort of sick game to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

Almost as if she’s angry, Remy swipes her fingertips under her eyes and huffs.

“Listen, I had a great time with you on our date and then I saw you holding hands with some guy at Starbucks. What the hell was I supposed to think when I saw you get on the back of a different guy’s motorcycle?”

She grits her teeth. “I
think
you should’ve let me explain myself.” The ferocity in her tone surprises me.

I swallow hard and acknowledge that I’m in agreement.

“The man you saw me with at Starbucks is David. He’s my academic advisor.”

I call bullshit. “Advisors don’t hold hands with students.” I counter, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s also my… f…friend. I was supposed to meet him on Saturday, but he had to cancel so we met on Sunday instead.”

“You okay, Remy?” the doorman, a heavy guy with a thick Boston accent, asks to which she smiles weakly and nods.

She runs her hand through her hair, tucking a short piece behind her ear. “We were talking through some things. We said goodbye and I left.”

“What about the other guy? Who’s the guy whose bike you hopped on?”

“You met Simon. He’s practically my brother.”

I’m annoyed at myself for rushing to judgment. I should have given her the chance to explain before I flew off the handle.

“You’re asking a lot of questions, but what about you?”

I respond defensively, “What about me?”

“Maybe you should explain why I saw you sitting in a bar with that tramp all over you?”

A group of people walk by and greet her by name before entering the crowded bar.

Quickly Remy waves to them and looks back at me, waiting for a response.

I hardly remember the drunk woman who sat down next to me while she was waiting for her friends. I was a little rude when she tried to talk to me, but I didn’t care; I was pissed. All I kept seeing was Remy holding hands with that older guy. I dropped a ten by the empty beer bottle and went after her, but she was gone. It was as if Remy has vanished into thin air.

“Were you jealous?” I take a step closer.

“What?” she shrieks, her voice laced with confusion.

“I said, ‘Were you jealous?’”

“I…” her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

“Answer the question.”

“No!”

“No, you weren’t jealous or no you won’t answer the question.” I step closer to her, needing to touch her soft ivory skin.

“I’m going to ask you again, “Were you jealous?’”

“Yes!” her voice cracks. “And I hate that I was.”

“Good! Now you know how I felt seeing you with those guys.”

“But it wasn’t like that!” she counters.

Jealousy rears its ugly head. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, I hated seeing you with them.”