Page 71 of Shallow

I drop my head in my hands to stop it from spinning out of control when I hear footsteps approach and stop in front ofme.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Igrowl.

Frankie grins and takes a seat in one of the two chairs in front of my desk. “You always say you have an open doorpolicy.”

“That only applies when the damn door is open,smartass.”

“You’re kinda pissed off today for a guy who hit the jackpot last night. Know what I’m sayin’,” he adds with awink.

“I have no fucking clue what you’re saying.” Actually, I know exactly what he’s saying, but I have no intention of discussing it with him. However, Frankie has that look in his eye—the one that tells me he’s not leaving without the story he camefor.

Too bad he has a record. The fucker would be a hell of an FBIinterrogator.

“You never called us to come pick you up last night. I know because we dropped your car off at your house.” Leaning back in his chair, he kicks his feet up on the edge of my desk and smirks. “That means your drunk ass stayed all night. So, don’t keep that shit to yourself, man. Was it as good as we imagine when we…you know…” I glance up just in time to see Frankie pumping hisfist.

“Jesus, nothing happened. We worked some shit out, and her driver took me home. End of story.” Before he can open his mouth, I knock his feet to the floor. “And get your shoes off mydesk.”

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word with a grin. “That’s why neither of you can look any of us in the facetoday.”

“She’shere?”

He shuffles a stack of papers in his lap, and I want to smack the smug look off his face. “Huh, you perked right up on that one. Lookin’ for a little mornin’ afterrepeat?”

“Shut up, Frankie. What’s shedoing?”

“Scrubbin’ the grout in the locker room like you commanded her to do last week. You know, with a toothbrush?” He raises his eyebrows like I’m the biggest assholealive.

Which Iam.

“Shit!” I’m out of my chair and halfway across the room before I see her standing in the open doorway. Her hair is pushed over her left cheek as usual, only this time she’s wearing a dark blue scarf tied around her head to keep it in place. I’m frozen, unable to move forward or sit back down because I can’t stop staring ather.

Since the first day Shiloh walked into the community center, whether she was scrubbing toilets or washing windows, she’s worn designer clothes and the highest heels imaginable. Today, she’s wearing jean shorts she obviously created herself, a blue and yellow Coastal Shores High t-shirt, and a pair of bright yellow flip flops that had to have come from the beach store on the corner. I have no idea if I want to laugh at her or kissher.

She looks ridiculous, but none of those magazine covers can hold a candle to the woman standing in front of me right now. Because this is the realShiloh.

“You’re staring.” Her fingers tighten around thedoorframe.

“You lookdifferent.”

Her chin lowers and she takes in her tattered clothing. “I didn’t want to ruin my clothes. I brought a bag. As soon as I’m finished, I’llchange…”

“Don’t,” I interrupt. She jumps, so I soften my tone. “I mean, you don’t have to, I think you lookfine.”

“Like this?” She looks shocked that I’d find her attractive in such rags. Yeah, right. If I tell her what’s in my head right now, that Bambi look would darken in two secondsflat.

“Yeah,” I say with a half smile. “Take a day off from the runway. Might be fun to see how the other halflives.”

Frankie’s eyes bounce between us before he slides out of his chair and drops the stack of papers on my desk. “Here are the flyers for the Rugged Maniac Race. I’ll leave you two alone to do whatever it is that you two do.” Walking out with his usual swagger, he stops beside Shiloh and scans her outfit. Grinning, he gives the end of her bandana a playful tug. “Careful, Snowflake. You just might fuck around and become one ofus.”

Once Frankie’s gone, my mind races, trying to find a way to apologize for last night while my dick hardens, telling my mind to stop being a little bitch and throw her across thedesk.

See how men’s minds work? It’s a constant battle between conscience and cock. It’s a crapshoot as to which one usually wins. It depends on the situation, the woman, and how long it’s been since the man has gottenlaid.

Right now, all three are working againstme.

I try to fight it, but the memory of her writhing on that damn white leather couch causes all rational thought to exit thebuilding.

Cock – 1. Conscience –0.