Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Shay| Fault lines

Shayne looped an arm around Bianca's shoulders, dragged her in for a kiss.

"Stop," she giggled, pulling back with a hand over her mouth. "I've got shawarma breath."

"Don't care." Shayne eased her back against the brick wall of the side street shop and kissed her again. This time deeper. Richer. Spices and heat rolled across her tongue as Bianca met her demand with need, but as much as she wanted to feel something—anything—she couldn't.

"What's gotten into you," Bianca asked while nipping along Shayne's jaw, a smile thick in her voice. "You're not usually like this in public."

Shayne stopped her wandering hands as before they slid any further down her hips. She'd met up with her at the sports bar almost an hour ago when she wrapped up her shift. It beat lying around at home watching whatever she could to get her mind off things. A distraction. How messed up was that?

Drawing back, she looked down at Bianca. Really looked at her. Taking in those soft brown eyes, full lips, the curve of cheekbones and the dimpled chin. Shayne's fingers cupped her neck, skimming through the soft weight of the purple locks and sighed.

I don't deserve you...

"What?"

The vibrating pulse in her back pocket spared Shayne from a lapse in judgment where she spilled the mess of her emotions at Bianca's feet. As Bianca went back to nibbling and kissing a path along Shayne's throat, she dragged her phone out and frowned at the screen.

Rita. There hadn't been so much as a text or a voice message from her in the last four days after their little brush up at Asher's gym. So why was she calling now?

And when Bianca grumbled that exact question, Shayne rolled her eyes. "Don't be like that."

"It's almost two in the morning."

"Easy." Shayne kissed her quickly before swiping the screen and setting the phone to her ear. "Hey, everything all—," the words evaporated as she heard the clatter of glass and a cursing sob.

"Goddammit, Siri, I said call Shawn not Shayne. Shaaaawn!" Rita's voice broke into wet, heaving breaths of a woman past the point of sobbing and into straight meltdown.

Shayne pulled away from Bianca and wedge a finger into her ear, drowning out the few cars on the street, the hum of people enjoying the late evening. Everything but the sound of Rita's broken voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Rita."

"I'm...I'm fine."

No, she wasn't and worse...she sounded drunk. Her words, thick and slurred, like each syllable was dragged through mud. Heavy and dark. "Hang tight. I'm not far. I'll be there in twenty."

"Shayne." Bianca's sharp bark at her back was every bit as sharp as the fresh explosion of glass breaking over the line a second before the call cut out.

"Sh!t."

"Are you serious?" Bianca whirled in front of her, the whites of her eyes shocking around the dark brown iris. "You're running off to her place at this hour?"

Shayne weighed her phone, stunned. "Something's wrong with her."

"You're not her keeper, or her therapist, or hers."

"I'm not yours, either." The words were out before she had a mind to speak them, and the flash of hurt on Bianca's face should've moved her to feel something other than pity. But it didn't. Maybe it's better this way.