Page 122 of Shamed
Not only will he remain on the sex offenders’ list, but I also found out that he applied for a job at a grocer in a small town on the Californian coast, near Morro Bay, and was promptly rejected.
I’m not sure how the PI found that out, but I had asked for every piece of information he could get on Jacob’s life, and that was part of it.
Maybe it’s wrong, and maybe it’s intrusive, but I’m desperate to help him somehow.
So desperate, in fact, that I tried calling the owner, Josie, a few minutes ago, asking her to reconsider her decision. But all she did was laugh, then hung up on me, leaving me with my heart in my throat.
Maybe the holiday spirit will hit her, and she’ll change her mind, but I doubt it. She thought I was crazy for asking such a thing.
Fisting my phone, I lean my forehead against the cool window, eyes closing.
Is this a glimpse into what life will look like for him now?
I thought things would be better for him once he was out.
I thought he’d finally be able to put everything behind him and finally start his life.
I obviously wasn’t thinking, or rather, I was trying to fool myself, because that never would have been the case.
My heart aches like it’s been pulverized all over again.
I quickly pocket my phone when I hear Mase come out of the bathroom, attempting to pull myself together by sucking in some deep breaths through my tight lungs.
Turning from the window, I watch as he walks into the living room, his wet hair releasing a few drops of water down his neck that I trace with my eyes.
Dressed in a simple outfit of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, he still somehow manages to look mouth-watering.
Mase is another source of my aching heart. Not because he’s done anything wrong, but because he’s done everything right.
I tried to keep some distance between us, tried so hard not to let my feelings for him grow, but it was no use.
Every sweet gesture, every comforting word, every soft touch, along with his protectiveness, has had me blanketed in feelings I can’t resist.
The knowledge that I shouldn’t be entangling our lives more than I already have has made it feel like I’ve been dragging around a heavy weight—and its only getting heavier each day, tearing away at my flesh.
And even though my conscience is constantly at war with my heart, I crave his closeness, his care, his eyes looking at me like they are right now . . . like I mean something.
And it’s killing me.
He lifts a hand to ruffle his hair as he moves toward me, his bicep straining against the short sleeve wrapped around it.
I can’t help but remember how those arms have been holding me close every night, like he can feel the impending destruction, too.
Holding me close generally leads to fucking while half asleep, before falling back to sleep again.
The number of times I’ve sought him out to find a release from this grief is ridiculous. Any time my mind starts to wander into dangerous territory, I initiate sex, just to slow down the deterioration of my mental state. And Mase is just as insatiable as me.
We’ve spent days discovering each other’s bodies, learning every groove and freckle, each pleasure spot and ticklish area.
Even still, when he gives me that crooked smile as he approaches, I feel color tinting my cheeks.
“Hey you.”
“Hi.”
Stepping in close, he wraps those muscular arms around my lower back, pulling me tighter while looking down at me.
I feel every inch of his warmth seep into my skin, and for a moment, I lean into it.
