Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) (47 page)

Now, that might sound similar to my situation with Camie, but, it’s
sooo
not. As she went on in her story amid much sniffling from her and quite a few “Are you fucking kidding me?” comments from me, I learned that Samantha had been used. Not by Josh, but by a guy she’d been seeing at the tail end of the school year and over part of the summer before she got together with Josh. And really, it was more than being used; she’d been an honest to God
victim
of the kind of guy who should just be castrated before he procreates. His name?

Evil Scott.

She calls him that because of his last name. Bose. It’s not pronounced the same way, but it’s spelled the same and in German, Bose means evil. But in the beginning he was nice to her. In hindsight, she said he was too nice, however at the time she didn’t see it. She really liked him, thought she might actually love him, and one night she gave him her virginity. And when he took it from her, she said he wasn’t all that gentle about it, which explained where her request for me to not get rough came from. To make her experience worse, there wasn’t even a twenty-four lag before he pulled the switch on her. It started immediately after he came when he took the condom off and tossing it to her, he told her to throw it away so he could get dressed and go home. I know, right?! The guy’s a total cockgobbler! But she didn’t understand…he was her first and she didn’t get it. So, it got even worse.

Over the next week or so, still together mind you, he would make little digs about what it was like for him when they had sex, make her feel bad about herself but call it teasing, and on the whole, he completely blasted her self-esteem. She was hurt but she was confused too, so in an attempt to understand or learn what she’d done wrong, she continued to have sex with him. The last time was when they were at a beach party and in the middle of yet another round of unnecessarily painful intercourse; he stopped and told her to give him head. She’d never done it before and had no fucking clue what to do, but she didn’t wanna lose her boyfriend that she thought she “really liked/maybe loved,” so she gave it her best shot. But again, he stopped her and said something like, “My dick can’t take this anymore, you’re done.” He bailed and after crying and then putting herself back together, she was leaving the party when she saw him in the bed of his truck taking some strange chick from behind. When he saw her standing there in shock, the mother fucker actually had the insensitive balls to say something along the lines of, “Yeah, you probably should watch, but take notes, the next unfortunate bastard who bangs you will appreciate it.”

Samantha went on to explain that Josh, whom she’d known since they were in sixth grade together and lives across the street and a couple doors down from her, was out in front of his house and saw her get out of a taxi that night so he walked over to say hi. She wasn’t about to fill him in on anything that happened so in explanation of her tears, she just said she’d broken up with her boyfriend. He said, “Good.” He never liked Scott to begin with and over the next few weeks, they became really close and Josh finally talked her into going on a date with him. But she never told him or anyone else what Scott had done to her because she felt like it was her fault and she was embarrassed to tell a soul for one thing, but even though she finally understood he’d been a complete scumbag about it all, she also believed everything he’d said was true. Well, until me that is.

In cleaning up the mess Evil Scott had made of Samantha, I had sex with her again to prove to her she had absolutely nothing to be sorry about, I taught her a few things, and then I convinced her that if she talked to Josh, whom she really still wanted to be with, and told him her concern, that if he really and truly cared about her, he would be able to understand and they could go from there. I was banking on Josh being the good guy he sounded like, and when she called him with me hysterically still naked, listening to the call on speaker phone and nodding here or shaking my head there and writing down little things for her to throw in or leave out while I was also putting her panties, bra, and cheer uniform back on her—er, sort of…I’ll admit I occasionally got distracted from my task and she’d have to smack me so I’d stop—I found out he was.

And for as long as I live, I will never forget Jeff’s expression or how hard it was to keep from laughing my ass off as Samantha left the bus all giddy to go see Josh, her reinstated boyfriend. Just as Jeff climbed inside, Samantha turned to me and asked, “Are you sure?” I nodded and said, “Yep, you’re good to go…do it that way and I promise it’ll be the best dome he’s ever gotten.” She smiled, said, “Thanks for showing me how,” and then she kissed me goodbye before skipping off into the night. Jeff, taken by surprise, watched her leave, checking out her ass as she did, and then he bent and picked up a condom wrapper, looked at me
still
naked and asked, “So, how was your
niiight
?” I knew the teasing was his way of expressing how thrilled he was that I’d gotten back in the game and I was about to play along, but before I could respond with, “Eh, I’ve had worse,” I realized how that would sound and after all Samantha had confided in me and all I’d just helped her work through, that would make me almost as low as the fuckwit who made her that way in the first place…which had me thinking about what’d just transpired, which of course had me thinking about how I wound up boning Samantha in the first place, which lead me right back to thinking about the girl I didn’t know. So as I put my clothes back on, I told Jeff to go fuck himself and then asked him to remind me that in keeping with the guy code of ethics, if we ever run across a guy named Evil Scott we were obligated to remove his dick from his body. Jeff, of course, thought it was hilarious.

I finished my story and sighing, I looked into the eyes of that girl I didn’t know; the girl I’d tried and miserably failed at forgetting. Aside from convincing Samantha that she was a victim, how I was the only person she’d ever told about it at that point, and talking her into having the courage to call Josh, I didn’t tell Camie anything that happened after Samantha told me what Scott had done to her because honestly, Camie doesn’t need to know the details of what I did in taking the first steps of giving a girl back her dignity and self-esteem before I sent her off to her boyfriend so he could do the rest.

“Is that it?” Camie asked me and took her eyes from mine to look down at her hands folded in her blanket.

“
It?
Is that i—what do you mean is that
it
?” Jesus Christ, what more do I have to tell her to convince her that the guy is the fucking antichrist?! I mean his last name is
EVIL
for fuck’s sake!

“I mean is that the only thing you snuck into my room in the middle of the night to tell me?”

“Wh—yes! Camie, you can’t go to the dance with that guy! You have to
see
that!”

“Well, I don’t
see
that…I’m not dating him, we’re only friends, and he’s been nothing but nice to m—”

“Yeah, he’s been nice! It’s his fucking MO!”

“Oh my G—
MO
? Jesus, Tristan, this isn’t CSI!” She snapped at me.

“But Camie, don’t you get it? He
used
her and h—”

“So did you,” Camie interrupted, meeting my eyes again, hers being filled with hurt and…judgment.

“Oh God, Camie, no,” I said, shaking my head, “No…I didn’t. If anything, we used each other, but, it wasn’t like that. Honestly, it wasn’t. Camie, please…
please
understand…he took her dignity, her pride, her self-esteem and respect, he hurt her
body
…I mean, she was a fucking train wreck, Camie…all because she made a mistake and trusted a guy who isn’t worthy of breathing the same air that we do. And I’m af—I’m afraid he’s gonna try to do the same thing to you.”

“Honestly, Tristan, you’re worrying about
nothing
. It’s just a dance…what’s he gonna do? Try to nail me on the dance floor while we’re surrounded en masse by the biggest and best of Grossmont’s elite sporting program, most of which are made up of not only my friends but yours as well?! And what about me? Do you not think I’m smart enough to stay out of trouble with a guy? I mean, we were together for what? Three-ish months and I didn’t have sex with you! And I even
loved
you! So seriously, think about it, it’s not like he’s gonna be able to talk me into having sex with him by tomorrow night!”

“Please don’t go with him…
please
. I’ll take you…let
me
take you. I don’t care if I have to get dressed up in a stupid uncomfortable monkey suit and spend the night in horrifically tight shoes and pulling at a stiff collar, I’ll do whatever it takes so that you don’t go with him…”

“Right. Because that’s exactly what I want…” Camie told me and shook her downcast head in disappointment. And I didn’t get it at first…this is what she’d wanted so badly that she was willing to trade her body so she’d get it, and now when I was begging her to let me give it to her without strings, she was shutting me down. “You know, people can change, Tristan, and they deserve chances to do that…”

Then I understood. She doesn’t want me to take her because I feel like I
have
to, she wants me to
want
to, and not only that, she was trying to tell me she isn’t gonna allow me to prejudice her against Scott because he hasn’t done anything to her and until he does, she’s gonna give him the benefit of the doubt and the chance to prove he’s a different person now.

I was choking on the vomit that was intermixing with my words, but when I thought about him laying a finger on her and what I would do if he did, I let the violence I felt spur me on. “So help me God, Camie, I will literally fucking kill him and spend the rest of my life in prison on death row if he hurts you in any way, shape or form…that’s a promise I can and will keep until I’m in the goddamned ground myself…”

“Really? You’re really gonna talk about keeping promises now? This should be good. Just how do you expect me to believe you’ll do
anything
you say you’ll do when you continue to lie to me? Huh?! Explain that to me, Tristan! I mean shit! This whole ridiculous contract of ours is just one
big fat fucking lie and broken goddamned promise
!”

She turned the heat up on me so quickly, I wasn’t prepared. One minute we were simmering, just talking about her going to the dance with pure evil and the next second, all I could focus on was the un-kept promise our lips had made to each other.

And just like that, the water spilled over the top of the pot and we burned.

I say we because she was with me step by step, yanking my shirt off and fiercely kissing me back. I only blinked and pulled back though when I realized she was topless and I had one of her legs wrapped around my waist and that one of my hands had slipped under her panties and it’d already gone to work, while her hands had been busy conquering the button and zipper on my jeans and they were about to move on to releasing me from the cotton prison walls I was straining against. Tormented and torn between wanting to completely lose myself in this towering inferno we’d built and being petrified of doing just that, I looked at her face for direction. She was in tears from the moment I pulled back, her hands immediately leaving my waistband to cling to my face, her lips begging mine to tell her the truth.

“Oh God…Baby, I—I
can’t
…I just
can’t
…”

“Yes you can…
please
stop hurting me, Tristan…
please,
I need you to tell me the truth…I wanna be able to love you again…
please
.”

I pulled further back, disentangling myself from her and sat up. “Camie, Baby…you wo—you won’t love me again if I tell you…and I—I just—I love you too much and I’m
so
sorry, Baby, for all of it, I—I
am
, but I can’t.”

She wiped at her eyes, but the tears weren’t dissuaded or slowed in their journey in the least. However, it wasn’t until she met my eyes that, sobbing, she broke my heart. “Th—then don’t call me baby…be—because I’m not your b—baby and I won’t ever l—love you…I w—want to…I want to love y—you but, I can’t love you w—without trust, Tristan…and I—I don’t trust you any—anymore. I don—I don’t trust you and I c—can’t love you…”

All the times I thought I was heartbroken or in pain; I didn’t have a fucking clue…

Every rose has its thorn (and I have the scrapes and scratches to prove it) ~ Brandon

Ladder

Tree

Carabineer and Rope
 

Jillian
(Note to self; get Jillian’s number)

Zip Line

Grappling Hook
 

Lock Picking Kit
(See note to self re: Jillian)

Batman Utility Belt

Thorny Rose Covered Trellis
✓
(Fuck.)

That’s my mental list of ways I
could
get up to Melissa’s second story bedroom window at…what time is it? Yeah, 1:39 in the morning. Of course, had I just listened to my gut when it started telling me something was up days ago, I wouldn’t be in this ridiculous situation right now, feeling like a character in fucking Rapunzel. Well, minus the chick with really long hair dangling it out the window.

Rapunzel’s Golden Locks

When I finally gave in and let my brain translate what my gut was telling me, I decided to take immediate action. No way in Hell am I gonna let that dipshit quarterback get with
my
girl. Actually, I’m not one hundred percent on it being her knob ex, but it’s someone and it doesn’t matter anyway, Melissa’s my girl, end of fucking story. Yeah, I know. I broke up with her, blah blah blah. I don’t give a shit. She’s mine.

I got out of bed, got dressed, made sure I had everything as I was walking out the front door, and when I went to turn my phone on, I discovered it was dead. Not fucking helpful. Anytime I’ve gone to her place in the middle of the night, I’ve sent her a text so she can let me in. So, that being the basis of my strategy in talking to her tonight, I went back inside, plugged my phone in and waited while it charged for about a half an hour. Then, I repeated my exit, locked up my house, got on my bike and drove to Melissa’s. I sat on my bike and sent her the text and then waited.