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But the words die in my throat.
Standing just a few feet away are my mother and Charlie, identically shocked expressions splattered across their faces. Charlie looks like he's been kicked in the balls, his wide eyes darting between Shiloh and me with growing hurt and betrayal. But it's my mother's face that truly chills me–her shock quickly morphing into venomous fury.
“Dominic,” she hisses. “What in God's name do you think you're doing?”
Shit. I’d hoped to be better prepared for this moment.
Instinctively, I step in front of Shiloh, shielding her from their accusing glares. “Mother,” I start, my mind racing to find a level response that won't give them both a stroke…
Or start a Jerry Springer style feud right here on the sidewalk.
21
SHILOH
Fuck,fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK! This can’t be happening!
My cheeks burn hotter than the sun as I stand paralyzed before our indignant parents. Dom has inched in front of me like a human shield, but I still feel more exposed than that nightmare where you forget to wear clothes to school.
“This is not what it looks like,” I blurt out, my voice embarrassingly shrill. “We were just, um…”
“Actually, it's exactly what it looks like,” Dom interjects smoothly, saving me from having to find something halfway believable to say. His hand slides round to rest on my lower back, a possessive gesture that makes my heart flutter despite the mortification searing through every inch of the rest of me. “Shiloh and I are attracted to each other. We're both consenting adults. There's nothing wrong with what we're doing, so you can wipe those outraged looks off your faces before you cause a scene.”
The shock on our parents' faces would almost be comical if I weren't desperately wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. My dad's face has turned an alarming shadeof purple by the time he sputters, “Nothing wrong? You'resiblings, for Christ’s sake!”
“Stepsiblings. We're not related by blood,” Dom argues, his tone maddeningly calm. “And we barely grew up together.”
“Regardless, your dad and I are married. Surely you can see how inappropriate this is?” Viv’s voice is a strangled rasp as she snaps back, her gaze nervously darting around for fear we have an audience.
“No, I don't,” Dom answers firmly. “We haven’t been a family in more than a decade–if we ever were. Shiloh and I are nothing more than two people who care about each other.”
“This isinsane,” my dad takes a step forward, his voice echoing in the quiet street.
I want to disappear, to rewind time and choose and stay hidden in that changing room for just a few more minutes until the coast was clear. But as Dom's words sink in,‘two people who care about each other,’a warmth blooms in my abdomen that has absolutely nothing to do with shame.
Suddenly, Dom's fingers close around mine. “I’ve had enough of this. We're leaving now,” he announces, cutting off whatever tirade Viv was about to launch into all over again. “If you can pull your heads out your asses, we might see you at some point. If not, I don’t really give a shit.”
He pulls me back towards the car, and I follow without resistance, blood pounding in my ears. The defiance in his squared shoulders, the angry set of his jaw–it's all doing things to me that I can't begin to explain right now.
The drive home is deafening silent. I gnaw on my bottom lip while I sneak glances at Dom's profile, admiring the smooth curve of his lips, the muscle that jumps in his cheek as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. I can barely wrap my head around what just happened, everything he said.
Do we really care about each other? Are we more to each other than two lonely people who can’t help but fuck occasionally?
“Dom, I…” I start hesitantly, needing to sort this through out loud.
“Not now, Shy,” he cuts me off, stern eyes fixed on the road. “I need a minute to calm down.”
I nod slowly, settling back into my seat and reliving the way he defended us until a ghost of a smile curves my lips. When we pull up to my house, I turn to Dom with a newfound confidence. “Come inside?”
His eyebrows raise in obvious surprise before nodding wordlessly. Once we get inside, I head straight for the kitchen, desperately seeking something to do with my hands. I pull out two wine glasses, filling them generously with a dark Pinot Noir I bought to recover from our tryst in the library. When I turn back, Dom is leaning against the opposite counter, arms folded tightly over his chest. His posture screams defensive, like he's bracing himself for another fight.
As he opens his mouth, no doubt ready to launch into whatever speech he's been crafting since we climbed into the car, I press a finger to his lips.
“Don’t bother,” I murmur. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not about to shriek about the wrongness of it all and kick you out again. Let's just forget we saw them, okay? We don’t have to deal with it right now.”
Confusion knits his eyebrows together, but he eventually nods. I pick up my wine glass, taking a fortifying gulp before setting it back down with purpose.
This is it. No more avoiding, no more denial.
