Bad Things

5. Too Late.

  It's all your fault
You called me beautiful
You turned me out
And now I can't turn back
I hold my breath
Because you were perfect
But I'm running out of air
And it's not fair  

- P!nk.

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Camila Cabello.

Cabello.

Shit.

As if messing up his game wasn't bad enough, she had to be a Cabello on top of it. Damn it, this sucked in all the wrong, very non-fun ways.

Shawn moved silently through the copse of trees, trying to wrap his mind around what the hell he was doing. Initially, his plan had just been to make sure the girl—whoever she was—didn't talk about what happened that night. It didn't seem like too much to ask, and he still meant to do it, but first ... first he felt this need to know how she managed to make him lose himself like that in the first place. No one had ever gotten to him that way, drunk or not. How the hell had she done it?

That vision of her moving over him ... Lord ... it still made him hot.

But none of that, not the fact that she'd made him laugh, nor that she'd driven him so crazy he couldn't control himself, would ever erase the fact that she was a Cabello. The thought almost made him shudder. There were just some things that should never happen, that were unnatural. A Mendes and a Cabello was one of them. His father could never, ever find out or Shawn wouldn't have to worry about sex ever again. He grimaced at the thought of what his father might do to him if he knew.

Noises from the party grew further away as they walked through the trees. Only the dim glow of the fire at their backs gave any light. But it wasn't enough to really see where they were going. Shawn kept his right hand out, feeling ahead of him for trees or cobwebs. After only several feet, Camila let out a soft gasp and pitched forward. Shawn reached out automatically and caught her arm, his other hand fanning out across her lower back.

"You all right?" he asked, an exact echo of what he'd asked her earlier at the game.

"Yeah. I'm okay," she said, her voice squeaked nervously.

Camila started forward, and Shawn moved with her, keeping his hands on her and making sure she didn't fall. Or maybe he just wanted to touch her, he couldn't be sure at that point and it was making him feel like a total ass. Why was he feeling like this? Acting like this? Shawn Mendes wasn't polite. He didn't "protect" anyone, especially a Cabello, so what the hell was his problem? He had no idea, but he couldn't deny the heat that seared up his arm from the contact with her.

God. Get a grip, you asshole, he thought.

It had to be the mystery of it all. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew things had gone down with this girl, but he didn't know if he'd gone down. Shawn knew he'd touched her, but he wanted to know how he'd touched her and whether or not she'd liked it when he had. He couldn't help it, he was a man, and, damn it, he needed to know these things! The lack of details was driving him mad.