Page 17 of Text Me Baby One More Time

I shovel the ice cream into my mouth to avoid answering her, taking the biggest bite I can while keeping the truck on the road.

We’re quiet for a few miles, sitting in that same uncomfortable silence as before.

“What happened anyway, Shep?” she asks in a hushed tone.

It’s an easy story to tell, really. I was in a club up north hanging with some pals and we started bragging about our best college conquests. Are we immature pigs? Probably, but it was fun and innocent.

Until someone brought up Denny.

I saw fucking red.

All over my hands. All over the floor.

I beat the shit out of the guy and broke a few things in the process. Luckily, he didn’t press charges, but the club did for destruction of property.

My coach and PR team decided I needed some time off to “clean up my act”. With thisandwhat happened with my brother and his girl my senior year of college—another stupid fucking mistake of mine—I'm on thin ice.

“It’s nothing,” I tell her eventually.

“Shepard…” It comes out as a plea, and I want to spill all my secrets to her right here.

I don’t.

“What are you doing? Why are you messing this up? It’s all you’ve ever dreamed about.”

I snort. “Messing it up—like I’m doing it on purpose or some shit.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No!”

She flinches as the word vibrates across the cab of the truck.

“No,” I repeat quietly. “I’m not. It’s just…I get…”

“Stupid?”

My lips twitch. “No. I get…emotional.”

Her hand flies to her mouth as her lips drop apart in false shock. “Why, are you telling me you, Shepard Clark, king of assholes, have…feelings?” She pokes at me. “You telling me there’s a heart in there somewhere?”

You know I have a fucking heart, Denny. You of all people know I do.

My skin burns from the touch, which is so fucking stupid considering it was just a poke, and I shift away from her as best I can before it’s painfully obvious that my cock is straining against my jeans, begging to be touched.

I toss her an easygoing grin, hoping she doesn’t look at my lap. “Under all the ice, sure.”

“Layers and layers…and layers of ice,” she quips. “So, you gonna tell me what really happened?”

“If I tell you my secret, will you tell me one of yours?” I bargain like old times.

“You don’t deserve my secrets anymore, Shep.” I glance over at her to see she’s staring distantly out the windshield. “We both know that.”

I don’t disagree with her, because she isn’t wrong.

I lost that privilege when I screwed up.

Add that to myverylong list of mistakes.

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