Page 18 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

SHANA

T he fox has left the den!” Lemon’s voice sings from my Bluetooth.

“You don’t have to use codewords,” I snort. “You’re not on a multi frequency radio, Lem.”

“Well, what’s got her panties in a twist?” Jeremy’s voice filters in from the background. I can almost see the pouty look on his face from the tone.

“I don’t have any panties,” I whisper into the phone. “You wouldn’t let me wear any with this dress.” Or the last dress they put me in, for that matter, and I’m trying extremely hard not to think about the leather of the barstool flush with my lady parts no matter how much I reposition. Ew.

This outfit was meant for standing and mingling, not table-sitting.

“My nether bits are sticking to the chair!” I whine, about ninety-two percent ready to forget this whole ordeal and live out the rest of my days with a brooding, hulking, friend-with-no-benefits who breaks every hand between me and eternity.

“Oh, hush. You’re being as dramatic as Jeremy,” Lemon chastises.

“Haans texted me. He’s on his way in. Maybe we can see Dustin’s reaction if we pull closer, but—oh, my God!

He’s getting out of his car, Shana. I repeat,” she yells into the phone, panic lifting her to a high-pitched squeal.

“The Fox is on the hunt! I thought we’d have more time to tease him than this,” she hisses, but the sound becomes distorted until it’s completely cut.

“You still there?” I shout, forgetting I’m in public. The bartender turns my way, arching his eyebrow. “Sorry! I’m fine.”

“You are, aren’t you?” His eyes tangle with mine.

It makes me nervous to have someone looking this way. Eyes feel invasive, scrutinizing. Unrehearsed feels unclothed, and I feel the need to perform.

But the look in this bartender’s eyes is an attraction.

I imagine the only other set of eyes I’ve caught looking at me in this manner and shiver.

The corner of his mouth tilts in the barest hint of a smile, and Jeremy’s right, it feels good to be seen the way you feel inside.

A throat clears behind me, like clockwork. Attention from a male that isn’t him and he’s practically summoned. It would be laughable if it hadn’t come to this one too many times before.

“Dustin.” I swivel to face him. “As you seem to be aware, I have a date. And while we’re on the topic, I’d like him to keep both hands if I’m to make proper use them later.”

I say the last part aiming to cut, more surprised than anyone that it came from my own mouth.

He visibly winces, his hand clenching by his side. I drop my gaze to his fist, knuckles so white he’s likely digging fingernail slits into his palm, and I suddenly hate myself for toying with his emotions. “You should leave.”

I spin back toward the bar and away from him, my heart pounding so hard in my chest it might rip my dress in two, but that’s crazy, right?

Dustin ripping my dress in two?

Shit. No, no no no no no.

“I want to talk about the other night.” He slides into the seat beside me and tugs at his hair. “Shay, when I see you with someone else, I just…”

“You sabotage it?” I say it like it’s a question, but we both know otherwise.

“I didn’t mean to do that. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Dustin? You’ll still push me away as if we’ve never been an option, but what? Not break my date’s hand next time?”

He grimaces but takes it.

My words, his actions, after all.

“You deserve better than assholes who degrade your profession, Shana. He snapped his fingers at you for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head. “But you also deserve better than me.”

He reaches to brush a strand of hair from my eyes, but… fuck him .

I want it there.

It’s mine to hide behind. He doesn’t get to cut a knife through my flesh and watch me bleed on his terms.

I belong to nobody but me. I make the decisions of who I want to love. And even if it feels like ten hours of pointe work on blistering, bruised up toes, I will love him every damn time.

But I’m tired of waiting. This time, he comes to me.

This time, he fights because he wants me , not because he doesn’t want anyone else to have a chance.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” I laugh, but it’s hardly jovial. It’s a soft, defeated breath, hanging at the end of my sentence like a ghost, too dead for this world but unable to cross over for the baggage it won’t let go of.

I look at him, this man whose eyes have been pained for as long as I can remember, deep, dark, green orbs that match my best friend’s, eyes I trust in my memories, and in my heart.

The face around them has changed over the years, grown into somewhat of a masterpiece, but I’d be willing to bet the stars and all their constellations that God designed this particular face especially for me.

I run my hand down the side of his jaw, and it flexes beneath my touch before relaxing into it.

I tell myself I don’t like it.

That I don’t love the feel of him baring the weight of his body on mine, even if it’s not pressed between my thighs or sliding across my lips.

I pull back almost immediately, our connection suddenly raw and electric.

But he’s still not ready. Not yet.

“You say we can’t be together, but you call me your moon .” I lick my lips, my pulse racing as I find the words to reach him. “Well, if I’m the moon, you’re the stars.”

His eyes light, but I’m not done yet. This isn’t a happily ever after, and if he keeps pushing the possibility of us away, there won’t ever be one.

Not for me. Not without him.

“You’re all around me, Dustin Campbell. My whole life, this vast expanse of darkness just beyond my reach. But it’s heartbreaking being the moon.”

His eyes water. Nostrils flare, but he says nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Just stares at me with those pathetic, sad eyes. Ones that beg to love me but refuse to see clearly.

“Do you know why , Dustin? Why it’s heartbreaking being the moon?” I grind each word so sharp it could etch his skin.

“Why?”

“Because the moon can never touch the stars. It will watch them burn, tantalizing flecks of flame dancing around in its path for all eternity, but it will never share their light. It will remain on its own forever, surrounded by glowing reminders of sparks that never died out.”

“Shay. Look, I—” Dustin reaches for my hand, but I yank it back, drawing every cell in my body that harbors even the tiniest shimmer of confidence to gather in my feet as I stand.

“No, you look.” I point to the tall, chiseled dutchman walking through the door, arching an eyebrow in challenge, my last cork in the cogwheel before I go.

“I have a date. And whether you like it or not, Dustin Campbell, if you break any of his bones tonight, I will never speak to you again. Love me or leave me .”

Despite my body’s protests, I walk away from the only man I’ve ever loved. The smell of hot fudge and waffle cones permeating my senses as I call myself a liar the entire way to the dining area.

We both know good and well I’ll speak to him again.

Especially if he breaks bones for me.