Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) (7 page)

I’m far from fragile and can’t stand being treated like I am easily broken. I’m not. Growing up, girls are always held to completely different standards than boys. It’s bullshit. Lack of penis doesn’t define us females as the weaker sex. The biggest, strongest man in the world can be reduced to a puddle of tears and vomit with one well-placed kick to the cock.

Not that I’d do that without a damn good reason. I prefer to spend my time appreciating a nice hard cock, not destroying its ability to function properly.

Once I get home, I unload all the groceries and get the beer chilling in the fridge. After I shower and change clothes, I start slicing up steak and veggies to fry for dinner. Sure I could make myself up and go out but, tonight, I’m content to stay home and lounge in front of the television and get lost in the latest Channing Tatum movie.

What more does a girl really need?

While eating and enjoying the allotted minutes of on-screen nakedness that only he can provide, I get a text message from Devon saying how much he enjoyed himself the other night on our date and asking when he can see me again.

I’m so happy you enjoyed yourself, sweetie, but that’s a big negative there on that second date.

Devon is sweet and he was cute. I couldn’t place it at dinner, but something was just off about him. I overlooked it at first with because I hadn’t been laid since before I was shot and really wanted to be impaled on the giant bulge he was constantly adjusting during dinner, while openly gawking at my tits. It was a judgment call. Sadly, even with a cock longer than my arm, the moment can be ruined with one word.

My much needed orgasm was lost to the void the moment he buried his face in my neck and started moaning the word ‘mommy’.

Once I knew that there was no way Ms. O was making an appearance, I did what any woman would do when she is ready for the man fucking her to hit the pavement so she can sleep. I faked it. Clenching and moaning at all the right times, I stroked his ego like he was going off to war while secretly shaking my head in disbelief at the absolute waste of snake. When God above carves you out with a long, thick, perfectly curved penis and you still can still manage to fuck it all up, while balls deep, you’ve got serious problems.

Someone call cock repo STAT!

Shaking my head, I ignore the message and start working on the business plan to get Luke on board with our idea. The lack of massive funds needed for startup costs is a huge plus in itself. Sure, starting a business is scary as hell, but he knows all about that. We already have so many things out of the way. We have a location right on the Vegas strip with massive foot traffic, the headlining dancer to draw people in, and more than enough bored housewives and kinky women to fill the place to capacity.

My phone rings just as I finish listing the startup costs and a projection of possible earnings to show Luke once us girls have agreed on the terms. “Hello, this is Shelby with Artistic Pricks Ink,” I say, flipping the page over in my notepad, just in case it is for the shop while hoping it isn’t Devon.

Seriously, it’s not him that’s the problem… Okay, it is, but it’s just that he isn’t the him I’m looking for. He isn’t him and I don’t want to have to spell that out crayon style for him.

That’s makes perfect sense, right?

“Is this Shelby Winston?” the raspy female voice asks.

“Yes, what can I do for you?” I ask, relieved that this isn’t the call where we have the ‘I’m sorry, I have to move to Guam and can’t be your girlfriend’ speech.

“My name is Officer Emily Nixon, do you know a Mitchell Taylor? We found your name and number listed as an emergency contact in his phone.”

“Yes, I do. Is something wrong?” I ask, suddenly horrified of the answer. Thoughts of him in the hospital, after drinking and driving, hit me like a slap to the face. Then my thoughts go where I can’t handle. I feel like a damn kid again, helpless and just waiting for the words I don’t want to hear to come through the phone. My hands are shaking and I don’t even know how I could possibly tell Luke or Mitch’s mother that something has happened to him. “Is h-he o-kkay?” I stutter.

My breath lodges in my chest and the seconds feel like hours. I want to scream into the phone and demand answers. Yes, Mitch is an ass, but all the guys at the shop mean something to me. Yes, even Mitch.

“Oh yes,” she replies, and if I weren’t already sitting, I’d collapse. “He was picked up outside a bar trying to break into a truck.”

“He what?” I ask in disbelief, clutching my chest.

“Upon further investigation, he appears to have been trying to break into his own truck,” she explains further. “Though, we couldn’t, in good judgment, allow him to drive in his current state or send him off alone to fend for himself. Another officer has him detained until we could contact someone. Even though we could hold him for public intoxication, I really don’t see that as helping the situation any.”

“Thank you,” I reply, knowing that she is right. All that would do is cause more issues, not just with Mitch and the law, but for Luke as well. “Where are you holding him? I can leave right now.”

After she gives me the address, I hang up the phone and jump off the couch. Not bothering to change out of my black shorts and white tank top, I shove into my sneakers, grab my wallet and keys and jump into my car, hoping that I get there before he gives them a reason to lock him up.

The minute I step into the police sub-station, I instantly wish I hadn’t. “Heeeeeeeeeey there, sweeeeeeeetness!” Mitch calls from his seat in the holding cell. “Aw, you didn’t have to leave your Hooter’s audition just to come get me,” he snickers, earning him a few laughs from the male officer behind the desk.

“Very funny, cockclown.” Flipping him off, I give him a little wink. “How about I circle the block for a bit? We’ll see if your pretty ass can manage a prison husband before breakfast?” The officer laughs, Mitch does not. “You sure you don’t want to get some practice in with your Taser or maybe demonstrate a little police brutality?” I ask with a shrug. “I’d be more than happy to wait over here and order a pizza or something.”

“I’m offended,” Mitch whines, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that any way to treat a friend?”

“Oh honey,” I laugh, walking around the desk and stopping at the bars separating me from him. Running my finger up the bar, I glare at him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Tapping my foot on the tile floor, I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a lot more like a mother scolding a child than a friend. Seems pretty fitting since Mitch is acting like a damn child. The officer pushes to his feet, makes his way over and opens the door. Mitch stands, wobbling quite a bit before staggering through the opened door.

“Mr. Taylor, you’re free to go. Here are your personal effects,” the officer says, handing Mitch a plastic bag from the desk and informs him that, in the future, to drink more responsibly.

“Take me home, woman,” Mitch shouts, throwing out his arm like he is about to charge into battle.

“For fuck’s sake,” I say gritting my teeth. Shaking my head, I follow Mitch out to my car. Unlocking the door, I help him inside before slamming the door and making my way around to the driver’s side. Climbing inside, I start the car and look over at him carefully. “If you puke in my car, we’re gonna have an issue.”

“I don’t puke.” He shoves the bag in the floorboard at his feet and winks at me.

“Uh huh, okay. My upholstery and I thank you.”

Shifting into gear, I pull out of the parking lot and head toward Mitch’s house. “Thanks for coming,” he says after a while.

Stopping at a red light, I turn and look at him, but don’t say anything. I don’t know how to respond. There are a million things I want to say, but I don’t know what to start with. My nerves are a frazzled mess and I can’t even begin to sort them out just yet. He continues to put himself, and others, in danger by drinking and driving. He doesn’t think about what it does to people who care about him to watch him self-destruct. It hurts to watch someone fall apart over and over again like this.

This could have been so much worse.

Pulling into the empty parking spot in front of Mitch’s condo, I shut off the car. Looking over, I see his eyes are closed and his breathing is evened out. Climbing from the car, I walk around and yank open the passenger side door. “Mitch, we’re here,” I say shaking him.

Opening his eyes, he looks up at me and smiles. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. Reaching up, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Didn’t anyone tell you that angels don’t belong in hell?”

“That sweet shit doesn’t work on me. I’m a lot of things, prick, but an angel isn’t one of them. Right now, I’m just the secretary that needs to get you outta my car,” I say, grabbing his arm. I help him to his feet. Grabbing the bag from the floor, I dig out his keys then help him inside.

“Especially when you’re mad,” he continues rambling as I follow him in and close the door behind me. “That’s why I like to wind you up.”

“That’s good to know,” I reply, causing him to turn around and face me.

“Sweetness,” he slurs, then I snap.

My fist connects with his stomach, knocking the breath out of him with a whoosh. “Asshole!” I shout, shoving him with both hands, causing him to stagger back and fall on to the couch. “Do you have any fucking idea how scared I was to get a call from the police about you?” I ask, yanking my hands through my hair. “I didn’t know if you were in an accident or…”

Clapping a hand over my mouth, I can’t allow myself to finish my sentence. Tears burn my eyes and nose, the reality of what could have been grips my heart like a vise. I force it back, refusing to let him see the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface of my hard shell exterior. Taking a deep breath, I drop my hand and continue. “You’re lucky you only got arrested instead of getting in an accident and possibly hurting yourself or someone else.”

“I was detained,” he corrects me.

“Detained,” I repeat, rolling my eyes, “for breaking into your own truck. Because that is soooo much better.”

“What the fuck do you know about what I go through?” he asks, pushing to his feet. “Mind your own business, Shelby.”

My hands are shaking. I can feel the control I have over my temper slipping. It takes everything I have in me not to slap him. Stepping up to him, I look up into those haunted brown eyes. I can’t get pass the thought of how differently tonight could have ended up if he had gotten into his truck and driven. The idea of losing anyone at the shop in any way is something I never want to face. Especially not Mitch.

We stare each other down. Neither of us budging, neither of us saying a word. His jaw ticks angrily while he studies me. I don’t give an inch, determined to drive the point home that I am pissed and he isn’t getting off easy with me like he does everyone else.

“I’m making it my business, prick.” Shoving his chest with both hands, I glare at him. “If you don’t care enough about yourself, then think about all the people who love you. Have you thought about what you’re putting them through? Do you realize how much it hurts us to watch you do this to yourself? Oh, that’s right,” I say, a tear slipping down my cheek. “Mitch, the selfish bastard, is only worried about himself. You are so diluted in your own bullshit that you honestly believe no one can understand what you’re going through. That no one has ever felt loss like you have. Hate to break it to you, babe, but God did not single you out. You’ve made yourself a martyr all on your own.”

“Do you think I enjoy it? I didn’t ask for this,” he shouts, staring me down. “You think I like being alone? You have no idea how it feels to be me, Shelby. Everyone around me is happy. They go on about their days as if nothing ever happened, living their lives and falling in love. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to watch the people you care about build these bright futures, knowing I have nothing ahead of me, but darkness?”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, you stubborn bastard.” Blowing out a breath, I shake my head angry at myself and the now free flowing tears I have allowed to fall. “You know what, I can’t do this. I care about you too much to sit here and watch you self-destruct. Good bye, Mitch.”

Walking towards the door, I reach out and grab the handle just as Mitch’s palm slams against the wood. Spinning me around, he presses my back to the door. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. I freeze, unable to move. His rough, calloused thumb runs over my cheek, wiping away a stray tear causing the breath to lodge in my chest.

Then he slams his mouth to mine.

Mitch’s free hand goes to my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh through the fabric of my shorts. His lips part and he teases me with his tongue, running it over my bottom lip before biting down on it and sucking it into his mouth.

Oh God. Mitch is kissing me. What the hell?

The second he pulls back, I lose the last thread of control I have left. Balling up my fist, I rear back and punch him in the stomach again. “What the fuck was that!” I roar, shoving at his chest.

Mitch heaves for breath and grabs for my wrists before I can hit him again. Before I know it, he’s pinned them above my head. His other hand grips my hip, pulling my body into his. “Do you have any idea how much I want you? What you do to me?” he asks, watching his hand as it roams higher, stopping just beneath my breast. “I feel like I’m going crazy. Fuck.” He blows out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “This was never supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to want anyone else, but I don’t have any strength left to keep fighting this.” The haunted look is gone, replaced by need. The brown blazes with hunger, scorching every inch of skin it touches.

Heat pools through my entire body. Every nerve ending in my body sparks, stoking a fire that has been silently burning beneath the surface. I realize now that it has been burning a whole lot longer than I thought.

Shit. I’m so fucking screwed.

Shelby stares up at me with tear filled eyes as I pin her to the front door with my body to keep her from leaving. Tears for me. The minute she turned to leave
, dread and fear settled in my chest, and I knew I couldn’t let her walk out that door. Everything about her makes me teeter on the edge of sanity. Fighting with her has also made my dick hard enough to pound nails into asphalt. I never thought I could ever want someone again as badly as I ache to feel her right now.