Because I've never felt like this before
I'm naked
Around you
Does it show?
You see right through me
And I can't hide
I'm naked
Around you
And it feels so right
- Avril Lavigne
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Attention:
This chapter earns a mature rating, just giving you lovelies a heads up.
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Shawn turned the pen over and over in his hand as he stared down at the scholarship acceptance documents in front of him. He'd touched the pen to the paper several times, leaving behind a black dot where the 'S' of his first name should begin, but couldn't bring himself to sign. He thrust his hand into his hair and let out a slow breath, before lowering his left hand once more. Still, he couldn't do it.
Dropping the pen to the desk he scrubbed his hands over his face. What the hell was he doing? Why couldn't he sign the God-damn paper? This was what he wanted. Him. Not his dad, him. This was all he'd thought about since he made the varsity team in ninth grade—maybe even before that. This was what he'd killed himself practicing for. NYU would afford him so many opportunities after he finished his college stint, both in a possible football career and in an outstanding education. So why couldn't he sign?
A soft sigh and a rustling came from behind him. Shawn turned and peered at the small figure sleeping on his bed. After they'd talked earlier, Camila had seemed so drained, so exhausted, she'd fallen asleep almost immediately. As much as he'd wanted to be with her, to hold her and kiss her and talk to her, he knew she needed rest more.
Shawn turned around and looked at the papers again. They stared back at him, their congratulatory tone screaming at him to just sign already. No, not yet. He pushed them away and stood from the desk. Turning, he fixed his gaze on Camila. He'd always been amazed at how little she was, how delicate and fragile she looked, but he knew better than anyone how strong she really was. He'd been certain, certain, she would freak at his news about the scholarship, that she would think he was going back on his word and leaving her like everyone else. But she did the exact opposite. And he had to admit, it hadn't made him as happy as he'd thought it would. It just made him more confused.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He crossed the room and stood for a moment at the edge of the bed. Camila lay all the way to the left side, facing the center. One of her hands was tucked under the edge of the pillow and the other lay draped over her side, the tips of her fingers brushing her stomach. Shawn lowered himself slowly to the mattress and stretched out beside her. His face was only inches from hers. Her eyes shifted beneath her lids as she dreamed, and a piece of hair fell across her face. Shawn lifted a hand and brushed the hair out of the way, tucking the strand behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a second then moved down the edge of her face, her neck, over her shoulder, and followed her arm to where her hand lay on her stomach. He rested his on top of hers, letting the warmth of her soak into his cool skin. With a sigh, he went to move his hand away but paused when he felt the small, firm bump under his fingers. His brows drew together, and carefully, he spread his hand over the expanse of her abdomen. It was the strangest sensation, feeling this thing he couldn't see and knowing he was the one that put it there. It was also the most frustrating thing that he couldn't remember doing it.
Shawn closed his eyes and tried to remember, but it was black, like someone had just gone in and spray painted all over his memory.
"It feels weird, doesn't it?" Camila whispered.
Shawn's eyes flew open, and he was met with dark brown eyes. Still sleepy, but more rested brown. "What does?" he asked.
"My stomach. Like there's a baseball stuck in there or something."
Shawn glanced down at his hand, having forgotten he'd still had it there. He pulled it away quickly, not wanting to seem like a dick. "Oh, uh, I don't know. I guess it's a little weird." When he looked back up, Camila was staring at him, her gaze thoughtful. "What?"
"Does it gross you out?"
"Your stomach?" She nodded. "No. Why would you think that?"
She shrugged. "Because you pulled your hand away from it like it had burned you, that's all. And I read in this book Haiz gave me that some guys are kind of freaked out by it."
Shawn frowned. "I'm not freaked out by it. I just don't want you to think I'm some pervert who gets off on touching you while you're asleep."
"I don't think you're a pervert—at least not for that." She grinned and then let it slowly fade. "You weren't doing anything wrong, you know. You're allowed to touch me, Shawn."
"Sometimes it feels wrong, though. Like I shouldn't be allowed to touch you like this." He ran his hand up her arm and felt goosebumps rise on her skin. "Like I shouldn't be able to lie here with you like this." He scooted in just a little, until his knees knocked hers. "Like I shouldn't want you like this."
Camila's eyes grew wide. "Want me like what?" Shawn smiled, and Camila shook her head. "Never mind. I know what you're going to say."
"What am I going to say?"
"That I shouldn't ask that question if I don't want a perverted answer."
Shawn laughed. "How well you know me."
He expected her to laugh or at least smile in return, but she didn't. She frowned and lowered her gaze.
"What?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to his once more. "Do you really think it's wrong for you to touch me? To want me?"
"No. Of course I don't. I was ... I was kidding."
"No, you weren't," she said.
Shawn couldn't lie and tell her she was wrong. He let out a sigh instead. "No, I wasn't, but I didn't mean it how you think I did."
"How did you mean it, then?"
"You know how I meant it, Mila." Shawn touched the hair falling over her shoulder, rolling the soft strands between his fingers. He couldn't seem to stop touching her, her hair, her skin, anything. "You know how I feel about everything that happened between us. How I feel about what I did. It's hard for me to feel like I deserve this. Like I deserve you."
"I know." She closed her eyes. "But are you ever going to touch me again?"
"I have. Lots of times." He cupped his hand over her shoulder and ran it up to her neck. "I'm touching you right now."
"Not like that." She opened her eyes. "I mean really touch me. Without reservation. Without scolding yourself for wanting more. Just touching me because you want to touch me, need to touch me. Because, Shawn, sometimes I want and need you to touch me too."
"Mila." Shawn's voice cracked on her name and he cleared his throat. "What are we talking about here?"
"I—" She grimaced and turned away from him, flopping onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. "I—I don't really know."
Shawn raised himself on his elbow and peered down at her. "Does this have to do with ... with sex? Or am I being a presumptuous ass and reading into what you're saying?"
She inhaled, puffed out her cheeks, and exhaled loudly. "You're not reading anything into anything."
Shawn blinked. "I told you to tell me when you were ready and I would do whatever you wanted. We can go at whatever pace you need."
"I know but ..." She lifted her hands to cover her face. Her voice was muffled when she answered. "But maybe I don't really know what pace that is."
"Well, that's an even better reason for us not to rush. I want you to be sure. I want you to want—"
Her hands flew away from her face and slammed down on the mattress to her sides. "That's just it; I don't know what I want. I have all these ... feelings ... and I have no idea what to make of any of them. I don't know if it's simply because I want you or if it's all these ... these ..." her hands flailed in front of her stomach, "hormones or whatever."
"Hormones?"
"Yes," she said. "Apparently when you're pregnant you turn into a great big horny wanton woman."
Shawn laughed a little, not quite sure how to respond to that.
She turned her face toward him, and it was not amused. It actually looked ... pained. "It's not funny. I'm really confused." She rolled back over onto her side. "I think about it all the time. What it would be like. How it would feel. Would it hurt the second time? Would I be nervous or excited? I can't stop thinking about it. And it's making me so ..." She was so flustered her cheeks were tinged with blood. "I don't know, but I don't want to do it again just because of stupid pregnancy hormones. I want it to be because I can't stand not being with you for another second."
Shawn couldn't breathe. "Is there a difference?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything because I'm not very experienced in all this stuff. I've never felt like this before, so I can't tell what's real and what's hormone induced. That's why I wish you'd touch me. Not because I tell you I want you to, but because you want to, because you can't stand not touching me any longer, either. I keep thinking maybe if your feelings are genuine, then mine might be too." She leaned in, closed her eyes, and rested her forehead against his. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"
"No." He let his fingers trail down her neck and trace her collarbone. "No, it doesn't sound stupid at all. I think I get it. But, Mila, I don't know how to tell the difference either. If it helps at all, there isn't a second that goes by that I don't want you, that I couldn't be classified as a 'great big horny wanton woman' myself—and I don't even have the luxury of blaming it on pregnancy. But I ..."
"But you what?"
Shawn exhaled slowly. "But I'm nervous too."
"Why?" Camila pulled back and furrowed her brows. "You've—done it before. We've done it before ..."
"But I don't remember being with you, and this isn't the same as before. We're not the same." He studied her face and tried to put his feelings into words, but it was difficult when she was looking at him like that: eyes wide, curious, innocent. "For all intents and purposes, you are a virgin. You don't remember anything about what happened that night, either, and so all of this is new for you and ... and that makes me nervous. I don't know what it would be like for you, what it would feel like, or if it would hurt the second time. And, God, I don't want to hurt you again."
"But you do ... you do ... want to, right?"
Shawn felt his heart quicken and his body tighten at the question. How could she not know? "Yes," he whispered, because it was the God-damn truth. He wanted her like he'd never wanted anyone before. "Yes, of course I want to. I want to so much sometimes it's painful. But what I want has never been the issue."
"I know," she said. "And I'm so sorry I'm so wishy-washy about everything. I just—"
Shawn pressed his finger to her mouth. "Don't apologize to me for that. As much as I want it, I don't want it like that. I don't want it when you're not sure. Promise me something, okay?"
She frowned but nodded. "Okay."
"Promise me you won't let me until you're sure."
"Shawn ..."
"Promise me, Mila. I don't want to feel like this again," he said. "Like I'm stealing something. I need to know it's what you want. I need that, okay? Please. Promise me you'll stop it if you're not ready."
"Okay." She reached up and pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Okay, I promise. But only if you promise you'll stop being so reserved about touching me."
Shawn started to pull back, but she held him in place.
"You promise me now," she said. "The only way this can work is if we're both honest about what we need from each other—and not just when we need less, but also when we need more. This isn't just about what I need and want, Shawn. It's about you too. Okay?"
Shawn leaned in and kissed her once, very softly, on the lips. "Okay," he said.
"Say you promise," she whispered.
"I promise."
Camila smiled and scooted closer, closing the distance between them and aligning their bodies on the bed. Their legs tangled together, and her hips fit perfectly in the space between his. All of her fit perfectly with him. She placed one of her hands on the side of his face and kissed him gently. And even though there was no space between them and they'd just finished discussing whether or not they wanted to have sex, the moment didn't feel sexual, didn't feel lustful. It was nice and sweet, easy and calming. Shawn cradled her body against his, carefully, in a way he hoped told her that this moment wasn't about anything but this, that he wasn't expecting it to become more. She seemed to understand, because she didn't touch him more than the soft strokes of her fingers across his cheeks, didn't kiss him deeper than just the slightest sweep of her tongue against his.
Camila moved back after a minute, keeping her face still within kissing distance but not leaning in to take his lips again. She kept her fingers moving, threading them through the hair behind his ear and twisting the curls around and around and around.
"You have amazing soft hair," she said, almost like she'd spoken unknowingly, her voice soft and dreamy. "I hope our kid has your hair."
Shawn's breath caught in his throat. That was the first time she'd ever really said anything like that. The first time she'd talked about their kid like it was ... like it was theirs.
Camila brought her hands forward and slipped them over his face, her touch so soft, so careful. "And your eyes." Her thumbs brushed underneath his lids, then moved down, stopping at the corner of his mouth. "And your mouth. I love your mouth."
The calm and sweet feelings left as quickly as they'd come, burning up in the heat that danced over his skin. Shawn pulled her hands away from his face and pushed her onto her back, his body settling on top of hers, the weight of him pressing her into the soft mattress. His elbows rested to either side of her head and her hair splayed out around them like soft licks of fire against his white comforter. He'd thought about this moment so many times in the past weeks, what it would be like to have her here, in his house, in his bed. She looked so good underneath him, felt so good, fit so right, that he was certain no one else on earth would ever be as perfect for him as she was. She stared up at him, eyes gleaming and dark, one side of her bottom lip caught between her teeth. God, that look, those eyes, that lip. He could feel the want boiling in his veins. But still, he hesitated, even though she'd said she didn't want him to. Doubt and shame crept into his mind. "Mila ...?" Her name was broken, choked.
"Shh," she said, as she laced her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. "Don't think. Just kiss me."
She strengthened her grip on him, her hands fisting tighter in his hair, pulling him, wanting him, and he wanted, too. So, God-damn much. He let his muscles loosen, and his body dropped lower, his chest now resting against hers. It was all heat and want and need. He could feel the quick rise and fall of her breaths, breaths he wanted to taste, devour. His fingers worked themselves into her hair, holding her tight, holding himself steady, and then he lowered his face to hers. Their lips brushed, once, twice, and Shawn lifted his chin, giving her only the bottom lip, only a taste, playing, teasing. Her eyes slipped shut and her mouth parted just a little, a nearly silent whimper escaping through the space. And finally Shawn couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take not being connected to her, not tasting her. He gripped her head hard between his palms and dropped his face the rest of the way, his breath and her breath mingling, converging into one as his mouth finally closed over hers. Camila gasped as if she weren't expecting it, or as if she was, but hadn't realized how much she wanted it. Shawn knew the feeling, knew it so well he could still feel the want of it pumping through every vein, flooding every muscle. He wanted her. He wanted her so God-damn much—
The loud blare of music cut through the silence, severing the spell of breath and mouths. Camila startled and Shawn pulled back, momentarily dazed, still somewhat caught in the haze of kissing and lust. And then it dawned on him what the sound was. He went to get up, and Camila dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding him down.
"Don't," she said, her voice all breath. "Just ignore it."
"Shit." Shawn lowered his forehead to her chest, wanting nothing more than to do just that. But this specific ringtone let him know he couldn't. "It's my dad."
Camila let out a defeated sigh.
Shawn kissed her once on the collarbone. "I'm sorry." And again on the smooth skin under her chin. "It'll be just a minute." And again on the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Promise."
She nodded but didn't loosen her grasp.
"You've got to let go of me, baby," he said.
"I don't want to," she whispered, with a sort of diluted desperation that spoke of her unrelenting fear of being left. "I don't ever want to."
His phone finally stopped, filling the room with only the sounds of their breath again, and Shawn sank back down to her, slowly. His hands trailed over her cheeks and his eyes drank her in. The innocence of her, the truthfulness of her pain, it was all there in her face, in her eyes, embedded in her skin. There were parts he wanted to wipe away, to take from her forever. And others he wanted to memorize, to live, to wrap up and protect like they were his own.
Shawn bent to kiss her again, to try to show just a little of what could never be adequately expressed with overrated and overused words. He'd said the words, the ones you're expected to say when you feel about someone the way he felt about her, but they weren't enough. Not for the enormity of it all, not for what he wanted her to know. But when his mouth touched hers, the phone starting blaring once again.
"Damn it," he said, and looked down at her apologetically. "He won't stop until I answer."
Camila sighed and gestured with a flip of her hand toward the phone. "It's fine. I need to use your bathroom anyway."
Shawn pulled away and it was almost physically painful to do so. He helped Camila to her feet and crossed the room to his desk, as she went in the opposite direction to the bathroom. The offending, blaring object sat on top of the NYU paperwork. Shawn glared at it all then snatched the phone up and pressed it to his ear.
"Hey, Dad." He closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. "What's up?"
"Why didn't you answer the first time I called? I bought you that phone so I could get a hold of you when I needed to."
Shawn pushed his hand back into his hair, pulling the strands just enough for the pain to overshadow his annoyance. "Sorry. Is something wrong?"
"No. I just wanted to make sure you'd gotten home safely."
"Yeah. I'm fine."
The bathroom door opened with a quiet creak and Shawn turned toward it. Camila stood framed in the doorway, her hair a mass of messed up curls and her clothes slightly rumbled. A shiver of want raced through him again.
"Good. Though you should have called me when you got home."
Shawn rolled his eyes. He was quite sure his father hadn't been worrying about his son's safety while he drank expensive wine with his buddies. "Sorry," Shawn repeated. "I—I was tired. I didn't think about it."
His father made a disapproving sound on the other end, then said, "There's another reason I'm calling."
Of course there was. Shawn frowned and Camila mimicked his expression, mouthing, "Are you okay?" to him. He nodded and gestured her forward. She came, stopping just in front of him.
"I talked to Fitzgerald after you left—he called to enquire about the status of the paperwork—I told him we'd received it and were just reading through the fine print before sending it off."
Shawn closed his eyes. "So you—you told him I accepted?"
"Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"
Something hot and furious boiled up inside him. Shawn didn't know why. This was what he wanted; it was what he'd always wanted. Camila's hand slipped inside his, the soft warmth of it soothing the anger.
"But, Dad, I—"
"'But' what, Shawn? There are no buts. This is what we've worked for. It's all right here in your lap. Don't screw around, procrastinating until they get tired of waiting for you. It's not like you are their only prospect. Do you think they limit themselves to one? No. That would be idiotic. They have backup offers just waiting to go out. We cannot delay, son. Sign the papers and get them out. Secure your future now."
"But—" And then Shawn was talking to a dial tone. "Damn it." He threw his phone onto his desk. With his free hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck.
"Is everything all right?" Camila asked.
Shawn focused on her face, on how large and bright her eyes had become. "Yeah." He shook his head. "It's just my dad ..."
Camila squeezed his fingers. "I get it. I have one too." She smiled. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Shawn looked at her, wanting her still, but knowing and feeling the mood was gone. He sighed, shook his head, and withdrew his hand from hers, shoving them in his jeans pockets. He needed to think, to figure out what the hell was going on in his head, and he couldn't think when she was touching him. "Not really. But I am kind of hungry. You want something to eat?"
Some strange emotion flickered across Camila's face, but was gone as soon as it had come. "I'm always hungry. You know that."
"Okay," he tilted his head toward the door. "Come on then. We might even have some banana and frozen pizza."
Camila's face brightened. "My favourites."
Shawn forced a smile as he held open the door and gestured for her to exit first. "I know."
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Camila would never understand boys. Fifteen minutes ago, Shawn had been all over her, kissing her, laying on her, touching her in a way that made her feel like he needed to touch her in order to live. Now, as they sat at the huge marble island in his chef's dream kitchen, he didn't touch her at all. He barely even looked at her. She tried to engage him in conversation while she stuffed her face with at least a half a box of the pepperoni pizza, but Shawn only answered by nodding his head or offering a quiet "mmhmm" where appropriate. It was obvious his father had said something to upset him, but Camila had learned that if Shawn didn't want to talk, Shawn wouldn't talk.
She pushed the nearly empty box away. "I'm full."
"Me too," Shawn said, as he continued to pick at his food. Camila didn't think he'd actually taken a bite of anything.
She stared at him, willing him to look at her, to tell her something but he didn't. She sighed. "Maybe I should go."
That got his attention. He looked up at her from under the hair hanging over his forehead. Camila had the urge to push it back, but since he didn't seem to want to be touched, she didn't. "Why? Do you have to?"
"No," she said. "But you seem like maybe you want to be alone."
He lowered his gaze to the table. "No. I don't want to be alone. I'm sorry. I'm just ... thinking."
When he didn't elaborate on what he was thinking about, Camila said, "Okay. Well ..."
"Do you want me to show you around?" he said, and the words were rushed, almost as if he hadn't really thought them through and just said them to fill the awkwardness.
Camila shrugged. What she wanted was for him to talk to her. "Sure."
Shawn nodded and stood from his stool, reaching out to help her up. Once she was on her feet, he tried to remove his hand, but she held on tight. After a second, the tension in his arm loosened and he let his fingers relax into hers. He led her out into the house, showing her room after room downstairs: a library—standard with a large wooden desk and more books than Camila could imagine ever being able to read, an entertainment room with a huge television and theater quality seats, a living room, family room, dining room, game room, and on and on and on.
The house was beautiful, but felt so impersonal. Camila kept looking for traces of Shawn there: trophies, pictures, anything, but there was nothing there. The place was like a museum, only meant to impress. When Camila asked Shawn about it, he'd said, "My father keeps all my trophies and stuff in his office upstairs." And that was all he offered about it. He didn't ask her if she wanted to see them or if she wanted to know anything more about it. He didn't even seem all that bothered by the fact that his awards were in his father's possession and not his. Camila couldn't help but think it was strange. They were Shawn's, not his father's, and he deserved to have them.
Before Camila had a chance to say anything, Shawn stopped in front of a set of very heavy looking double doors. This section of the house looked different than the rest of it. Instead of the thick wood and marble, the floors were wood and the walls made from drywall. She frowned, and Shawn must have understood her expression.
"My dad had this addition built when I was in junior high." He reached up and entered a code into the pad Camila hadn't noticed next to the door. The lock clicked and Shawn reached forward to open the doors.
The strong scent of chlorine washed over her. Her mouth dropped open. "A pool? You have your own indoor pool?" She stepped into the huge space, and the warm moisture in the air clung to her skin. The walls and ceiling were made from what looked like enormous wood beams and glass. The pool was in the center of the room and surrounded by mosaic tiles in jeweled colors. Whatever the pattern was extended into the pool, as if the floor had just sunk in that spot and the picture continued regardless. Camila moved closer to the water, peering down inside to see if she could make out the design.
"Yeah, well, swimming is actually really good exercise. It helps build endurance, muscular strength, and flexibility. My father felt it was important for me to train in all different ways, so he built this." He gestured toward the pool.
Camila narrowed her eyes at the bottom of the pool. "What's that design?"
"A phoenix," he said, continuing when she looked up at him in confusion. "They're the Mendes family symbol."
"So, you spend a lot of time in here?"
He nodded slowly, looking out into the room but almost as if he didn't see it at all. "I spend a lot of time training in general: running, swimming, lifting, throwing. I can't become lax even out of season, can't let any part of myself get weak, even if it doesn't seem to matter at the moment. There's always someone out there waiting for me to screw up, waiting to take my place, waiting to beat me down and spit in my face when they do. I need to be at my peak. Always at my peak ..."
His voice trailed off from words that were clearly not his. Camila knew this because she'd heard similar words before. From her brother. And she'd known then, just as she knew now, that those words weren't Shawn's, they were her father's. A wave of anger rose up in her, both at her own father for what he'd put her brother through, and for Shawn's for what he was doing to Shawn now.
"Shawn ..." She went to step toward him but somehow forgot about the pool in front of her. When her foot came down, it landed right on the curved edge and slipped off. She didn't have time to scream, only to gasp as she spun and lurched backward. Shawn's eyes widened and he reached for her, but she caught him first by the front of the shirt.
Water rose up around her, engulfing her entire body and covering her face. Hands grasped her by the shirt and pulled her up toward the surface. When she broke through, she sputtered and coughed and tried to wipe the water from her eyes. Her feet touched the ground, though only just since her chin was barely above the surface. Shawn stood in front of her, water pouring from his drenched hair. His brows were pulled together in concern as she hacked and coughed. Once all the water was out of her lungs, she couldn't help but laugh. Shawn's face smoothed over and finally,finally, he cracked a grin.
"That was very graceful," he said, still grinning as rivulets of water continued to run down his face.
"Yeah, well, I've become very adept at falling lately. I'm thinking of making it a sport." And she didn't just mean the physical act of falling, either.
"You'd win the gold for sure."
She narrowed her eyes and lifted her hand, pushing a shower of water toward him. He turned away quickly and came back at her with his own wave, and then they were having an all out splash war. Camila could barely breathe, barely see, but what she could see was the most beautiful thing she'd witnessed all night. Shawn was smiling, smiling. She realized with a jolt, that she'd rarely seen him smile like that. Yes, he grinned and smirked and offered that small, sexy lift of one side of his mouth, but outright smiling? Not often.
Camila stopped splashing, wanting to see more clearly, but apparently Shawn didn't get her mental memo and lunged at her. He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her a few feet away. She went under but jumped to her feet as quickly as she could and lunged back, almost tackling him. When his hands circled her waist again, she managed to get her arms and legs around him and clung to him like a spider monkey.
"If you think that's going to stop me, you're wrong," he said, his grin so big, so wide, it made Camila's chest hurt. "I'll dunk us both."
"I don't care," Camila said, her body still tightly wound around him, water pouring off her and onto him. "I don't care what you do to me as long as you don't stop smiling like that." Confusion clouded his eyes. Camila chanced him throwing her again and loosened her arms from around his neck, though left her legs securely around his waist. She moved her hands to his face and let her eyes take him in. Dark, wet curls hung over his forehead in plastered patches, and his eyes were so bright in the dim light she could see herself reflected in them. Her fingers traced his cheekbones, and she whispered, "You've always been so good-looking. But when you smile like that ... when you smile ... you're so beautiful."
His smile dissolved and he was giving her that look again. "Mila ..."
"Tell me how to make you smile, Shawn. Tell me how to make this leave," she touched her finger to the corners of his frown, "and make the smile come back. Tell me how."
He didn't say anything for several seconds and just stared back at her. She could tell by the way his eyes searched her face that he was looking for something, needing something, but she had no idea what. Finally, he said, "Would you be upset if I didn't go?"
She blinked. "What? Didn't go where?"
"To NYU. If I didn't take the scholarship."
Her mouth dropped open as she thought about what he'd asked. Would she be upset if he didn't go ... Why wouldn't he go? Why would he— And then she knew, knew with sickening certainty. The only reason he'd stay was because he felt like he had to, because of her, because she was pregnant. "Of course I'd be upset. How can you even think about not going? This—this is your future, Shawn. You can't throw it away." Not for this, she thought. Not for me.
His searching gaze snapped shut and his eyes hardened. "Fine," was all he said as he lifted her from him, setting her on the side of the pool and climbing out himself.
He didn't look back at her as he walked away. Camila scrambled to her feet, water cascading from her drenched clothes to the tiles below. "Shawn." She slipped a little and fought to right herself before starting after him once more. "Shawn—" But he'd already shoved through the doors. Camila was speechless. What the hell was wrong with him?
She hurried forward, trying hard not to slip again, and followed him out into the house. She felt a little bad trailing water all over, but he was doing the same thing and didn't seem to care. Shawn still didn't turn to look at her as he started up the stairs. Camila could do nothing but follow and it was starting to piss her off that he wasn't talking, wasn't even making sure she was behind him. By the time they reached his room, she was shaking with anger.
"Shawn, what the hell?" she asked.
He still didn't answer and went to his dresser, pulling out dry clothes as he dripped pool water all over the floor.
Camila moved up behind him, stress evident in his back and shoulders. "Shawn," she said. Still no answer. "Shawn!" She touched his shoulder and he spun around.
"What?" he half-shouted.
Camila stepped back, her eyes widening at the tone of his voice.
He closed his eyes and thrust his hand into his hair. "What?" he said, quieter.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Shawn shook his head and held out his other hand. Inside, he clutched what looked like a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. "You're getting the floor all wet."
Camila waited for him to say something else, anything else, to explain what had happened and how they'd gotten to this point. But still, he said nothing. She narrowed her eyes and snatched the clothes out of his hand. "You know, I can tell you're upset about something, but that doesn't give you the right to act like such an asshole." Crossing the room to his en suite bathroom, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it. What was going on? She had no idea what had him so upset. Why wouldn't he just talk to her?
As quickly as she could, she pulled off her wet things—bra and panties included—and slipped the dry ones over her still damp body. God, they smelled like Shawn. She had to fight the urge to succumb to the most girly thing imaginable and take in a big whiff of them.
Shawn's clothes swallowed her frame, making it seem like she had no curves at all. The shirt came almost to the top of her knees and the waist of the boxers had to be rolled several times before they'd stay up. Her reflection stared back at her from the oval mirror set above the sink. She looked like crap. Her hair hung in dark brown clumps around her shoulders and her face was paler than usual. Not for the first time, she wondered what it was about her that Shawn had liked in the first place. Not seeing a brush anywhere, she combed her fingers through her hair, giving up after that just made it worse.
Placing her hands on the edge of the sink, she closed her eyes and took in a few cleansing breaths. She really didn't want to fight with Shawn; she'd had enough fighting over the last two weeks with her mother. Right then she just needed him, needed to be with him. But she couldn't really do that until she found out what was going on inside his head. What had happened to make him so upset? She'd assumed it was his father, but the way he'd walked away from her at the pool ... the way his face had snapped into a mask of stone ... maybe it wasn't his father at all.
Determined to find out, Camila gathered her wet clothes and opened the door to Shawn's room. When she saw what awaited her there, her heart nearly stopped.
Shawn still stood across the room at the dresser but this time he had on no shirt—or pants. Camila swallowed hard as her eyes trailed over all that skin. He rummaged through one of the drawers, wearing only a pair of boxers, much like the ones she was wearing herself. She probably could have stood there and stared all night, memorizing the way the muscles in his back flexed and moved with him. A small squeak escaped her throat at the thought.
He half turned, barely looking at her from over his shoulder. "You can put your wet clothes over there with mine. I'll go put them in the dryer so you have something to wear home." Then he went back to his drawer.
Camila did as he asked and dropped her clothes with his, but instead of standing there waiting for him to turn his attention on her, she crossed the room to where he stood. He was so rigid, a huge bundle of anger and nerves. She just wanted to reach out and touch him, to do something to draw all the tension out, but she knew he'd never let her. His posture was all walls, big brick and mortar ones designed to keep her out.
"Shawn," she whispered. And at her voice, his shoulders and head dropped. A ragged breath left his lips. Camila felt her heart skip. "Tell me what's wrong."
He shook his head, and she thought he was still going to keep her out, but he spoke instead. "Why don't you want me to stay?"
"What? What do you mean?" Camila asked.
Camila turned, and his eyes were so pained it nearly took Camila's breath away. "You're angry at everyone else for leaving you: your brother, Niall, your mom, but when it comes to me you tell me you'll be upset if I don't leave. Why don't you want me to stay?"
"That's—that's what you think? That I don't want you to stay?"
"I don't know what I think." He shook his head. "All I know is that I was so afraid to tell you about the offer because I didn't want you to think I was leaving you. But then you go and tell me you'd be upset if I didn't go, and now I don't know what to think." Camila watched his throat move as he swallowed. "Everyone expects something of me. They expect me to do what they want. But what about what I want? What if I don't want to go?"
"But—Shawn, this is your—"
"My dream. Yeah. Yeah, I know. So everyone keeps reminding me."
"I don't—I don't understand."
His hand was back in his hair again. "God, I don't either, okay? I thought it was my dream too, and maybe it still is, but all I know is I can't sign those God-damn papers." He pointed to the stack on his desk. "Damn it. I've been trying for two damn weeks and I can't do it. I thought maybe it was because I was afraid of your reaction, but now I've told you and it's even worse. And my dad is up my ass to sign. 'Secure your future,' 'They won't wait for you forever' he said. And I can feel the pressure, you know? The time is ticking away to where I'm going to have to just do something, one way or another, but I still can't sign it. And I don't know why. Part of me wants to because I know it's my shot, maybe my only shot. And I love football, Camila. I really do. I've always known it was what I was made for. But then I start to wonder if maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't made for football at all. Maybe I was made for this. Maybe I was made for you. And then what I want more than anything is for you to ask me to stay, for you to tell me you don't want me to go."
"Shawn ..."
He held up his hand and shook his head. "Don't. Okay? Just don't. I don't want to hear any more about my 'dream' or how I 'have' to do anything."
Shawn started to move past her, but her hand shot out and pressed against his stomach. She could feel the ridges of his abs under her palm. "Wait," she whispered, and he waited, his muscles tightening under her touch. She wanted to run her fingers over them, explore every inch of him. Her gaze moved up his torso, over golden skin and firm muscle, noticing for the first time a line of black numbers inked down his side, stretching from his ribs to his hip bone. The skin around them was still a little red and swollen, telling her the tattoo was new. When her eyes met his, she said, very quietly, "I don't want you to go."
She felt some of the stiffness leave him, but not all. "Don't say that just because you know it's what I want to hear."
"I'm not," she said. "I don't want you to go. It kills me to think about you leaving, but it also kills me to think of you giving up everything you've worked so hard for because of me. I want you to have everything you want, everything you deserve. And if what you truly want is not to go, then I'll support you. I'll want that for you. But if you decide you want to go, Shawn, what kind of person would it make me to tell you not to just because I'd miss you?"
"A human one," he said.
She snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm plenty human about everything else in my life. For once I'm trying to be better than human."
"You already are. You're the best thing in this whole damn world. At least the best thing in mine."
Camila stilled for a moment, unable to move, unable to breathe, and then she stepped into him, raising her other hand, so both were now resting on his waist. She leaned her forehead against his chest and closed her eyes. He smelled like chlorine, but still like him too. "How could you have even thought I didn't want you to stay?" she whispered. "That's all I want."
"Because I'm an idiot," he said. "And sometimes I just need you to tell me you want me."
"I want you," she breathed, and pulled him closer, her lips finding the hollow of his throat. "I want you so much."
Shawn let out a breath, and then they were turning and Camila's back was against the wall. Shawn was flush against her and his hands were on the bare skin of her stomach. Her fingers dug into the flesh at his sides in surprise, in anticipation.
"Mila?" he asked, his voice strained and his grip on her tightening.
"I promised," she whispered, reminding him, reassuring him. Her hands slid up and over his shoulders until they twined around his neck, his wet hair cold against her skin. "I still promise."
And with a harsh exhale, his mouth was on hers, his hands running across her abdomen, and his hips pressing her hard into the wall. Camila couldn't decide which sensation she liked best, his mouth, his hands, or the rest of him rubbing on her. She wanted to feel him everywhere, his skin on her skin, his fingers and mouth and every other part of him on every part of her. He was a blazing hot flame, setting her on fire. And, God, she wanted to burn.
Shawn seemed to understand this without her saying a word because his hands moved over her hips and down to her bare thighs. His fingers spread across her skin, slipped behind her legs, and ran over her backside to her lower back and continued climbing, her shirt coming with them. Camila felt his thumbs brush along her ribs and the outsides of her breasts. He made her ache in ways she never knew she could. She wanted his whole hand on her, his whole everything on her.
As he inched up her body, she raised her hands over her head, slowly, and felt his palms slide up her arms, the chilly air in the room brushing over her and making her flesh pebble with goosebumps. But then her shirt was gone and she was so warm, and he was all skin and muscle and hands and mouth.
Shawn's hands fell back to her thighs and his fingers dug in, lifting her effortlessly onto his hips. And she could feel him against her, right there, right where she never knew she needed him, and it was so good she could have cried. She kind of did, quietly, and into his neck, a soft, short whimper of sorts.
The room spun, or maybe it was them, and then Camila found herself on her back, surrounded by white softness and Shawn. He hovered over her, one of his legs between her thighs, his hands holding his torso off from hers, and he was staring down at her, just looking, memorizing. Camila felt a pang of embarrassment wash over her, knowing what he was seeing: her barely-there chest, the small but noticeable bump in her abdomen. Self-consciously, she lifted her hands to cover herself, but he grabbed her wrists before she could.
"Don't," he said.
Her face heated. "But, I'm not—"
"You are," he said, his eyes big, bright, and focused entirely on her. There wasn't an ounce of disgust in the way he looked at her, nor in the way he lifted a hand and trailed his fingers carefully down her body. His touch was light, exploring, chill-inducing.
Camila shivered and grabbed onto his arms, feeling the corded muscles under her fingers. She was pretty sure she felt goosebumps rise on his skin too. His chest lifted and fell quickly, and his arms trembled just a little. Maybe from the strain of holding himself up, maybe from something else. She couldn't be sure. All she knew was that he was too far away.
She slid her hands to his shoulders and pulled against him. He came willingly, his warm skin pressing against her warmer skin, and it was like the clouds had opened up and poured every ray of sunshine down onto them. Heat prickled along every surface he touched, and she wanted more of it.
His mouth met hers, his tongue swiping along her lips and between her teeth. His hands trailed, stopping for a moment on her breasts. All of his weight pressed down on her, and Camila couldn't breathe, but she'd gladly die there if she could see and hear and feel nothing but him all around her.
Shawn shifted his weight onto one elbow, and Camila reached out to pull him back, missing him already, missing the way his stomach, ribs and chest felt against hers.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I just don't want to crush you. And also," he looked down again, "I want to touch you."
Camila shivered once more and let him go. His hand started at her shoulder, his touch so light she could barely feel the tips of his fingers as he moved them down. Down, down, down until they were across her collarbone, between her breast, on them, over them, between her ribs, circling her belly button, then tracing the rolled up waist of her shorts. She felt like she was hyperventilating, her breath so fast, so shallow.
Shawn looked up at her. "Do you want me to stop?"
She shook her head, and he dipped his to her neck and his fingers under the boxers. Her breath caught.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered, almost like he wanted her to stop him.
But she wasn't going to. She didn't want to, so she reached up to twist her fingers into his hair and kissed him instead, long and lingering and deep. His body loosened and curved in around her, covering her, smothering her. His mouth was everywhere: her neck, her chest, her stomach, and his hands were too: one following his mouth and the other in her shorts. She could feel everything he was doing to her, everything, everywhere and all at once, and it was so good and scary and raw. Her body was doing things she didn't know it could do, sparking in ways she didn't know it could spark, and all she wanted was more. So much more.
She ran her hand down his back, her palm skipping over smooth lines of muscle and bone, her fingers finding every perfect dip and groove and dimple, until she reached the waistband of his boxers. Her heart sped with want and curiosity. Without another thought, Camila slipped her fingers under the band at his hip. The skin underneath was so soft, so much softer than the skin on his back.
Shawn startled at her touch and jumped back a little, causing her fingers to slip out from beneath his shorts. He peered down at her, eyes wide.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, embarrassment crashing over her in waves. "Do you—do you not want me to?" Oh, God, maybe she should have asked first. Should she have asked first?
His brows rose. "Do you want to?"
She nodded. "I actually really just want you to take them off." Blood rushed to her cheeks and chest at the admission.
"You ... want me to take off my boxers?" he said slowly, as if he were having a hard time understanding.
Her face flared even hotter. "Are you trying to make me more embarrassed than I already am? Because if so, bravo."
"No. No! Of course not. I'm just ... I'm trying to figure out if I've somehow managed to fall asleep and am having the best dream ever right now."
"You're not asleep, but I'm obviously an idiot." She covered her face with her hands, hot tears stinging her eyes. "God, I'm so stupid."
Camila felt Shawn move a little and settle beside her, half on her and half off. "Stop," he said quietly. "You're not an idiot. I'm the idiot." His hands pulled at hers, but she wasn't ready to show her face yet. "I'm sorry. Please look at me."
She exhaled and removed her hands. Shawn was looking down at her, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed, hair everywhere. He looked so good she wanted to die.
Shawn dipped down and kissed her lightly on the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry I made you feel stupid. I didn't mean to. You just surprised me, that's all."
"It surprises you to think I'd want to see you naked? Do I really seem like that much of a prude?"
"No. Ah damn it." His hand was in his hair again. "Should I just shove my foot in my mouth right now and get it over with?"
"No, that'd be super unattractive."
And then he smiled that smile Camila loved, the one that made her whole body feel like it was melting into a goopy puddle. He kissed her again and ran his fingers over her cheek, his eyes steady on hers.
"What do you want, Mila? I'll do whatever you want."
She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. The want was still there inside her, but it was different now. It wasn't a raging inferno threatening to burn her up from the inside out; it was smaller, steadier, and somehow warmer. And she realized that this was the difference she'd been looking for. What she was feeling wasn't just an uncontrollable hormonal need for his body, but a need for him, for all of him. Lifting her face, she touched her mouth to his, kissing him slowly, sweetly. Her hand moved from his face and down his chest, until her fingers hooked the front of his shorts.
"I want you to take these off, and I want you to take mine off. And I want you to kiss me. And then I want to see what happens."
Shawn touched his forehead to hers and his ragged breaths fell over her face. "You already know what will happen if I do that."
Camila nodded, her lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, his chin. "I do."
Shawn closed his eyes. "God, Mila, are you sure? Because—"
"I'm sure I love you," Camila said. "What else is there to be sure of?"
Shawn's breath stopped and his eyes opened, settling on hers. She didn't look away, not even as he leaned in and kissed her, his mouth so warm, so safe. Her nerves skipped and shivered, but she didn't feel afraid. Not when she felt his hand skim her waist, and not when his fingers curled into the band of her shorts. Not even when he started to pull.
She lifted her hips and continued to kiss him as the fabric slid down her legs. Once it was gone, he ran his palm up the outside of her leg, all the way to her face, smooth, straight, unencumbered by anything. She'd always thought being naked with someone else would make her feel stupid, but the way he looked at and touched her made her feel nothing short of beautiful. With him she felt beautiful.
Her hands slid down his chest, fingers rising and falling over every muscle on the way down to his shorts. Following his lead, she hooked her fingers in and pulled. Shawn helped when the fabric got stuck on him, and finished removing them himself. Through it all, he didn't stop kissing her, didn't stop touching her with fingers so careful and soft. But now he did stop and his eyes met hers. She stared up at him as he moved all the way on top of her, one hand tucking under her knee and lifting her leg in order to settle himself between her thighs. His fingers trembled against her skin. Camila drew up her other knee and Shawn's body sank right into the space she'd made for him.
His breath came out in a gush and Camila's caught when parts of them touched that neither of them could remember touching before. Shawn looked down at her, so many questions and concerns in his eyes: Are you sure? Are you ready? Is this really what you want?
She touched his face with just the tips of her now shaking fingers and nodded, letting her hands slip to his shoulders. Shawn braced himself over top of her, leaned in to kiss her, and moved forward all at the same time. Camila gasped when she felt him, not really in pain, but more in surprise, even though she was expecting it all the same.
Shawn stopped. "Am I hurting you?"
Camila shook her head and tried to find the words to describe something she couldn't. "No. It doesn't hurt. It just—just go slow, okay?"
He nodded and moved a little more, slower, more careful. Camila's fingers tensed and she was pretty sure her nails were in his shoulders. She hadn't been lying when she said it didn't hurt, but it did sort of burn uncomfortably.
After a few moments, Shawn stopped again, his whole body taut and shaking.
Camila knew exactly what he was doing and why. Her hands went into his hair and pulled his face down to hers, though she didn't kiss him. "You're not hurting me. I promise," she reassured.
He nodded again, not drawing back but not coming forward either, and then he moved again, slowly at first. His eyes slipped shut and his mouth opened as his breathing grew heavier. The burn that had initially accompanied his movements faded away until there was just him and just her and just what they were doing with each other. Camila wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him closer, as close as she could manage.
She was awash in sensation, every touch, every kiss, every movement was so much, too much: the way his body, damp with sweat, moved so smooth and easily with hers, the way his hands kept fumbling for something else to hold, something else to touch, and how he'd kiss her, and then seem to lose the ability to continue and just breathe her breath instead. She wanted it to continue forever, wanted to stay there with him forever. There was nothing in the world that could be better than that. But she knew that couldn't happen, wouldn't happen. It would be over soon, and that soon was approaching faster than she wanted it to.
Shawn's movements became less controlled and somewhat frantic. Camila tried to hold him tighter, but he pulled her hands from around his neck and held them above her head with one of his. And with the other, he reached down between them.
Never before had Camila felt anything like what she was feeling now. There was no way to describe it other than saying it was like falling and flying and living and dying all at the same time. It felt so good it almost hurt. Her legs shook, her hands ached, her heart pounded, her stomach clenched. Her fingers flexed and contracted under Shawn's hold. She needed to touch him, to hold onto him before she tumbled into wherever it was he was taking her alone.
"Shawn ..." she said, barely able to speak, her body knotting up on itself, so tense, so everything. And she wanted to let him know what she was feeling, what she needed, but the words were gone.
"I know," was all he said, his voice just as hoarse as hers, just as desperate.
And then he let go of her hands, as if he really did know all along. With a gasp, she grabbed onto his shoulders and her back arched up as the room, the world, the universe, crashed down around them. Shawn's arm wrapped around her, holding her up, keeping her safe, his breath spilling over her neck and his heart slamming against her chest. And they were falling together, dying together, bodies fused, hearts entangled. Camila could no longer feel herself, could no longer feel him, because they were no longer separate. And she thought, this was what the fuss was all about, this feeling, this ... completeness. It wasn't sex at all—though that was good too—it was this. And this was enough to make her surrender, enough to make her brave, enough to make her risk everything to keep it.
To keep him.
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Author's Note:
I've been getting many, many, many messages asking when the parents will find out. All I can say is: it won't be long now. Please just be patient. Don't try to rush the inevitable. I know you want to know what happens, but enjoy this (very short in the grand scheme of things) period where Shawn and Camila can be and feel normal and in love.
Again, thank you lovelies for the support! I love the fact that I put a smile on your faces with each update. Til' then!
xoxo
Bloomsbelle.