And I would if that was what she really wanted.
I’d known Shaw her entire life. There was very little I didn’t know about her. Including how many guys she’d kissed. The two models she’d kissed for some perfume commercial were on my shit list, and I’d come close to begging Ma to ruin their careers just so I knew they would never get the chance to touch Shaw’s sweet lips again. I was pissed for weeks after the first time I saw that damn commercial. And each time I saw it after that, it only got worse, until I’d been close to murdering someone. Then suddenly the commercial had stopped airing, and I’d begun to calm down.
I hated her job. Hated that every fucking guy with access to the internet could see her in those tiny little excuses for bikinis. Hated that there was probably a guy right at that moment fucking his hand while looking at a picture of her or watching one of her commercials. Or just thinking about her in general. I hated it, but there was nothing I could do to change it. I had no right to step in the way of her career.
But fuck if I didn’t want to.
I knew how many guys she’d kissed—three, including me—and I knew how many guys had gotten into her panties. Zero. Absolutely one hundred percent without a doubt, no one had touched the nirvana that was Shaw Cage’s secret treasure.
But I sure as fuck was going to be the first.
And the last.
“Sixteen,” I muttered to myself, knowing that as much as I ached for a taste, I had to wait. Waiting was fine. If I got this beautiful girl who was the only one to own this part of my heart, got to call her mine for the rest of our lives, it would be worth the pain in my balls.
“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I am. But that’s not what stopped you before.”
“No,” I agreed, my fingers flexing on her. “But it should have been the only reason I kept my hands to myself.”
Chapter 11
Shaw
As soon as my grounding was over, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do anything to get put on my parents’ shit list again anytime soon. I’d been good—mostly—as far as my parents knew anyway. And since worrying about Violet had taken up the majority of my spare time, I hadn’t really had the chance to think about Jagger.
That was such a huge, pathetic lie.
I might not allow myself to think about him at all during the day, but as soon as my head touched my pillow every night, he was the only thing on my mind. Each night, I would torture myself with every memory I’d ever made with Jagger. And then, before I cried myself to sleep, I would relive our kiss and the moment my heart shattered when I found him kissing someone else.
I couldn’t understand, if he really cared about me as much as I cared for him, how he could even stand to have someone else’s lips on his. Fuck, to even allow them to touch him. Just the thought of anyone putting their hands or lips on me other than Jagger was enough to make me shudder.
But then I would remind myself that he didn’t feel what I felt. Maybe he thought he did, but deep down, he couldn’t possibly and do what he’d done.
That wasn’t the only lesson I’d learned from the consequences of that stupid party. I’d been faced with the realization that a person really can live without their heart seeming to beat. I learned firsthand that all guys—even the ones who claimed to love a girl more than life itself—were full of bullshit. And I’d learned that Violet Stevenson was perhaps the bravest person I’d ever met.
Violet was silently going through the worst time of her life. To protect a guy who didn’t deserve her continued love and devotion. My sweet, kind, beautiful Vi was dying inside, but I couldn
’t do a damn thing to help her.
And the thing I hated the most was that it was all my fault.
If I hadn’t chased after Jagger like some love-sick little girl, Violet never would have been at that party. Cannon wouldn’t have done what he did, so she never would have called Luca, and Luca never would have cheated. The guilt of knowing my best friend was only a shell of herself because of my idiocy was a hard pill to swallow, and I didn’t know how to fix any of the damage I’d caused.
Having Jagger show up after weeks of not seeing or even hearing his voice made it hard to think for a few minutes. It took a moment to comprehend that he was there to see me since Cannon was in Texas having that entitled asshole personality of his ground into dust—I hoped, at least.
I wanted to be mad. Jags never would have shown up just for me a month ago. If anything, he probably would have turned and run in the other direction if he saw me coming. But part of me was so happy to see him that I couldn’t hold on to my anger at first.
Then he’d touched me, and I’d lost my damn mind.
As he’d pulled me into his hard body, and I’d felt just how much he wanted me, my mind had blanked, and all I could think about was how good he’d tasted when we kissed. How good he’d felt when he’d been between my legs and his cock had pushed unrelentingly against my core.
“Sixteen,” he muttered half under his breath.
“Yeah, I am.” I knew the significance of my age. He wasn’t even a full two years older than me, but with him eighteen and me sixteen, it was a huge chasm on the legal front. But that was only if the wrong people found out about it. “But that’s not what stopped you before.”
“No,” Jagger said, regret flashing in his eyes as his fingers flexed on my hip, making that ache deep between my thighs throb. “But it should have been the only reason I kept my hands to myself.”
I could hear the apology in his voice, but it didn’t have the effect I was sure he was hoping for. Maybe he thought I would melt against him and tell him I forgave him. Perhaps he even thought I would be grateful he was finally showing me some attention.