Falling for Colton (Falling #5) (19 page)

I don’t like where this is going. “What happened?”

She nods. Her tight spiral curls bounce. “They were out with the other guys. Some kind of beef with some other gang, the usual shit. Split and T-Shawn came home carrying Isaac and they were all bleeding. Shot up bad. Isaac died in his own living room. Cleo tried her best, and Mama too, but they knew, they both knew it was too late, even for an ambulance. Split blames himself, even though he’s never really said what happened. Can’t forgive himself for letting Isaac die.” A long, shuddering breath. “They carried him two miles to get back home, even though they were both shot too.”

“Were you—there?”
 

She nods again. “Yeah. I was…I had Isaac’s head on my lap. I watched him…I watched him—”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I—”

She shakes her head, tries to smile, blinks hard. “It’s just a sensitive subject. For all of us, but for Split most of all.”
 

“Are you worried?” I wonder where the question came from, but now that I’ve asked it, I can’t take it back.

“About?”
 

“What Callie is worried about.”
 

“Oh.” She bobs her head side to side. “Yes, and no. I’m an optimist. I try to believe the best. I want to get out of the ’hood. I want to make something of myself. I want to find a man who ain’t like the others in the Bishops. Nothing wrong with them, necessarily, but…that’s all they know. That’s all they’ll ever know.”

“And you want more.”

She nods. “I want more.”

“Me too.” I hear myself say it, even though I hadn’t even dared think it to myself until now.

“You do?” Once again, she sounds surprised.
 

I laugh, a little self-deprecatingly, a little sarcastically. “Yeah, I mean I never thought I’d be…doing what I’m doing. I’m not exactly sure what it is I
do
want. But I want more. I’m from the white suburbs outside Detroit. My dad is a senator. It’s not like I moved to New York and went, ‘Hmmm, I sure do want to join an inner-city gang.’”
 

India eyes me. “A senator? Like in the Senate in D.C.?”

I shrug. “Yeah. Don’t get too excited, though. I refused to go to college and he disowned me.”
 

There’s more to it, of course, but I really don’t want to get into all that shit. Not now, anyway.
 

But she persists. “You got disowned for not going to college?” she asks, compassion and confusion in her voice.

I nod. “I mean, it’s a complicated situation. Even my mom, a career stay-at-home mother, has a college degree. But I’m just—I’m not cut out for college. Never have been, never will be. My dad couldn’t accept that, and one thing led to another, and…here I am.” I shrug.
 

“So what
do
you want?”
 

I think about her question, and look at her out of the corner of my eye. Her long legs are tucked under one thigh, and her hair is loose and wild and incredible, a massive explosion of thick black spiral curls around her face and shoulders and hanging to mid-spine.
 

What do I want? Besides India, that is?

The answer emerges on its own. As I speak it, I find the truth rupturing up through me and into my consciousness. “I want to be a mechanic. I want to own my own garage. I want to custom-tune hot rods and rebuild classics.”
 

“You can do that?”
 

I nod. “Yeah. I’m good with cars. I can take apart an engine blindfolded and put it back together so it works better than it ever did.”
 

“Really?”

“Sure. It’s what I was good at. It was more than just a hobby. It was really all I had.”

India twists to face me. I turn as well, and our knees brush. She pulls herself closer to me and her gaze is dark and serious.
 

“You’re gonna get that garage.” Long, thin, elegant fingers toy with the knot of her robe.

The edges have fallen loose a bit, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her fucking amazing tits, and I find myself hardening, glancing at the hint of cleavage, trying mentally to justify a way to let myself have her despite what I said.
 

“I hope so,” I say.

She shakes her head, curls bouncing. “No, Colt. You’re
gonna
. You’re too good for that shit.” She points at my shoulder.
 

While I had been talking with India I’d almost forgotten about the pain in my shoulder—she’s just that distractingly beautiful.
 

“What do
you
want, India?”
 

She ducks her head, lifts one delicate shoulder. “It’s silly.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” she protests, laughing.

“It doesn’t matter. It won’t be silly.”

“A model.” She whispers it. “I want to be a model.”
 

“You totally could be. You’re so gorgeous, I swear magazines would be tripping over each other to sign you up.”

She laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. “That ain’t how it works. You sign up with an agency, go to calls and hope for a call back. But I think I could do it. I’m tall and naturally thin. I’ve got exotic features, or so I’ve always been told.”

“So why don’t you try it?” I ask.

She tries to pull away, but I feel a rush of daring, and grab her, locking her close to me. She doesn’t pull away. The robe, the fucking robe isn’t staying closed, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
 

“I’m scared,” she whispers, resting her head against my chest. “What if they say no?”
 

“Don’t let them say no. Keep trying until they say yes.”
 

“It’s just a dream.” She says this like it’s an excuse. Or a reason.

“That’s why you gotta work to make it real.”

Her head tilts up, her gaze finds mine. “Which is what you’re doing, huh?” Her voice is sharp.
 

“I’m just saying.” I smile in a pathetic attempt to defuse the sudden tension.
 

“Well, I’m just saying too.” Her smile in response is soft, a little sensual and no longer sharp.
 

“So how about we make each other a promise that we’ll both work as hard as we can to make our dreams a reality?” I suggest.
 

“So what are you gonna do to get that garage?” she asks.

“Save money. Getting a space is the biggest step. I need a hell of a lot of money to buy or rent a space. I’ve got some, enough for a space, but then I still have to get all the tools and equipment, and that takes more than I have. And then I gotta get the clientele. So, all the shit I’ve been through, all the money I’ve saved up, and I’m still only
maybe
halfway there.”

I have my back to the wall, and India is between the side wall and me, her head against my shoulder, curled in against me. Her head is tipped up so she can look at me, one small warm hand on my bare chest. I have one hand on her hip, almost casually, yet my heart thunders. Something about this girl has me mixed up; girls don’t make my pulse thunder, they don’t make my thoughts go wobbly, they don’t make my crotch throb with just a look. But India? She’s different. She does all that and more.

“What’s your plan in terms of becoming a model?” I ask her.

She lets out a breath. “I’m thinking cosmetology school. I like everything to do with make-up, and maybe someday I can go into the city and go to a call or something. I’ve got my job at Walgreens and I’m trying to save money for school, but it’s gonna take a long time. You know?”

I nod. “Me too. Kickin’ it with Split and T-Shawn hasn’t all been bad, and I owe him for getting me clear of some…well, some unpleasant shit. I owe him. I keep thinking I’ve got enough, because I’ve been stashing away as much as I can, but I sometimes go looking at garages and whatever, checking out spaces, pricing out the equipment, and it always adds up to more than I’ve got. And being young, no credit cards or credit history, I’ve got zero chance of a loan, so cash is my only option. And no matter how much I save, it’s never enough.”
 

A silence falls between us. I’m thinking about the future, and I think India is, too.

Abruptly, India lifts up, leans in close, Her arms go around my neck and she’s pulling me toward her. She’s being gentle because of my shoulder, but I can feel urgency in her actions. Strong and demanding, her hands are soft and warm in the hair at the back of my head, guiding me inexorably to her. Warm wet soft lips mash against mine, and her tongue slides between my lips. She’s not holding back.
 

God in heaven, kissing her is like finding a whole new universe, it’s like drifting away into bliss. I lose myself in the kiss. Her breasts squish soft against my chest, and her hips are now wedged between my thighs, hipbones hard against mine. She knows what she wants. And, holy shit, so do I.

“Damn,” she breathes, barely breaking away far enough to move her lips. “You kiss good.”
 

I just breathe a laugh and kiss her again. Harder. Showing her what a kiss really is. I bury myself into the sensation of her arms around me, of her hands sliding under my shirt to feather against my skin.

My fingers find the edge of her robe, sneak under the cotton, find bare skin. Explore, seek, hunt. She’s moaning into the kiss, lifting up to get closer, begging for more. I’m lost. There’s no way I can stop now, no way to go back, now.

I need this.

Jesus, I need this.

But then the front door opens. “Hello!” It’s Maya. “I brought dinner. Thai from down the street. I hope you like pad thai.”
 

India pulls away reluctantly, sitting up, fixing her hair, pulling her robe closed. Sliding off the bed, ducking out of the room with a quick backward glance at me, a secret smile just for me, because we both know we’ve started something big, something hot and real and intense.

Chapter 9: The Last Night There’ll Ever Be

A couple weeks later, I’m feeling pretty much recovered. My shoulder is weak and stiff and aches, but the fevers and the sweats have disappeared—Maya said I was damned lucky in more ways than one. India works a lot during the day, so I’m at home—India and Maya’s apartment is home now, somehow—alone a lot, listening to music, watching TV, and doing a lot of thinking.
 

What I keep coming up to is that the longer I stay away from the streets, the more I know I don’t want to go back.

The best part of my life, though, is India. She’s tightly threaded all throughout my world. We’ve always got something to talk about, and we discuss hopes and dreams and fears, things I’ve never talked to anyone about.
 

But we never get any time alone. People are stopping by to visit or India’s mom is home. One way or another, we never end up getting any time to follow up on that one kiss we shared. Sure, we steal a kiss or two when no one is looking, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s not until we decide to go to a party at a Bishop’s dingy, nasty pad that we finally get time alone. The party is a rager, lots of Bishops and their non-gang friends, lots of girls, lots of booze, pot, and other shit I don’t touch; India isn’t interested in it either. She sticks with her girls, Callie and some others, and I stay with Split and T-Shawn, since I’m not close with any of the others. I like T-Shawn, though. He’s quiet and he keeps to himself, but he’s wise. When he speaks, he’s worth listening to. He does what he’s gotta do. Unlike the others, he accepts me in his own way, without a word about it, and I can tell he feels comfortable around me. I sense he’s a guy who is way more interesting than he lets on, and I’d like to get to know him better. When the others talk shit to me, all he has to do to shut it down is stand by my side and glare at them. They shut up and move on. He has a very unassuming manner about him, and with that comes a sense of don’t-fuck-with-me. He’s got a low tolerance for assholes and he’ll wreck you if you don’t have the sense to back off when he gives the hint.
 

The party rages on. More people arrive, then scatter and vanish. Split and Callie find each other eventually, and as the hours pass, they get more and more wasted. They’re all over each other and pretty soon they’re groping each other, going at it hot and heavy, until someone shouts at them to get a room. Which they do, noisily.
 

It is getting late and I’m dizzy and hot and my shoulder aches. I find the fire escape and climb out and sit on a step, breathing in the cool night air. I hear the door open, glance up to see India, and I can’t help but smile at her.

She’s wearing short shorts that cup her tight round ass, and a shiny, slinky top that just barely covers all the important bits. She sits down beside me, wedging herself between me and the railing. And then she leans against me, and my heart almost bursts.

“Hot in there,” she remarks.

“Yeah, it is.”
 

We exchange comments about the party and the people, the idle chatter of two people utterly comfortable with each other.

And then she turns it serious. “You said you didn’t grow up in this life. How
did
you grow up?”

We’ve talked about a lot things, but never about my life growing up, beyond that first admission. Which is how I find myself with her on that fire escape until dawn, telling her about my childhood, my dad, the fights with him about school and just about every other thing. But I leave out the fact that I can’t read very well because, hell, that’s fuckin’ embarrassing. I just give her the impression that I hate school and leave it at that. And that’s true enough—no lie there. She tells me about Isaac, and about how losing him messed her up for so long. She admits that she’s still not really over him, but figures she’s as over him as she’ll ever get.

Then she looks up at me with those big brown eyes and tells me she’s ready to move on.
 

“Yeah?” I ask, not missing her meaning, but wanting to be clear. “You mean move on with someone else?”

“Don’t play, Colt. We can’t put this off any longer. You know what I’m saying.” A pause, as a thought occurs to her. “But Callie’s gonna kick your ass, when she finds out about us.”