Love Wasted
Page 5
As I bump into her, she lets out a tiny yelp and stumbles forward, but I instinctually grab her with my hands, pulling her into me—a little too close. I don’t like being this close to Cass. She looks up at me, and for a moment I see something in her eyes other than her usual glare. It stirs something in me until I hear my sister say something causing some of their other friends in the room to giggle and Cassandra to huff out a breath of frustration.
“What?” I ask, looking over at my sister, confused.
The grin on her face grows wider before she says, “You’re standing under the mistletoe holding Cass. The rule is you have to kiss.” Her words are full of mischief and glee.
I stare at her like she’s lost her mind until I feel Cassandra try to pull away. When I look back at her and into her crystal blue eyes, I see something unexpected: fear. For a split second, there’s also unwanted desire. Hell, now I feel it, all of it. It’s like all those emotions seeped right out of her and into me. She tries to pull away again.
“I don’t think so,” she announces shakily. “What is wrong with you, Laney? I’m not touching Paxton!” She says the words, but there’s no conviction behind them.
I’m not sure what it is, but that does something to me. Her words feel like a challenge, and if there is one thing I never back down from, it’s is a challenge. I tighten my grip. Cassandra’s attention turns back to me, and I look directly into her eyes.
I find myself glancing down at her full, rosy lips then back up to her astonished gaze. I forget there are four other people in the room with us. I don’t say anything out loud, but Cassandra reads my thoughts in my eyes. I know it the moment she realizes I’m going to kiss her.
“No, Pax. Don’t,” she begs in a quiet voice, her hands squeezing my arms, which are holding her against me.
I still don’t say anything. I only shake my head, letting her know I deny her request. I’m going to kiss Cassandra Porter, right now, under the mistletoe.
I hover for a split second when our lips are mere inches apart as doubt tries to break through my desire to prove a point. I ignore that too, just like I ignore Cassandra’s plea and the audience around us. I’ve made up my mind.
Lightly, I press my lips against her soft ones. Hers are tight at first, but I move to angle my mouth over hers and she softens. I pull her closer, and she comes willingly. A surge of lust suddenly burns up my body. This is a girl I swore I’d never kiss, and now I’m kissing her. We both pull away abruptly, eyes wide, and my lips are stinging with want.
Our gazes are locked in a battle of confusion and emotion, and then I see it. In the depth of her eyes, I see the hope, worry, and regret. She isn’t happy about what just transpired between us. In fact, she hates me for it—I think she also hates herself.
“Whoa!” I hear Delaney exclaim from somewhere in the living room.
Now I feel confused and a little spiteful. The tiny spark of hope I see in her eyes makes me want to take control back because it forces me to feel anything but in control. I don’t lose myself. I won’t lose myself to lust or to love; it’s weak.
Leaning forward, I press my mouth to her ear. She freezes at my nearness and I whisper, “I guess you finally got that kiss you always wanted.” I don’t know why I say it…I guess because I was beginning to feel the same kind of hope I saw in her eyes, and that can’t happen. When I pull back, the look on her face has abruptly changed. One moment her face drains of all color, and then within seconds she recovers, full of fire.
“You don’t know what I want,” she spits out before shooting daggers at Delaney, who doesn’t have a clue what she just started and is laughing uncontrollably on the couch while Cass storms away.
I’m an asshole, but I don’t care. If I’m honest, I’ve thought about kissing Cass before, I just never went there. I’ve been gone at college for a few months, away from everything I know for the first time, and I’ve thought about her. Some things never change, and yet some things are different. Most things aren’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I have my reasons for never going there.
Cassandra Porter is fire, and I’m too smart to get burned.
Present
It’s Christmas Eve, a little over a month since I’ve been home, since Cass and I had the conversation about where we stand with one another through the window of her bedroom. It should’ve stopped me from even putting us in this position. I said things could be different. I said we could try to be friends. This little stunt will not help my cause, but I just can’t bring myself to give a damn at this moment.
We’ve been here before, in this same position, the same look and the same unspoken challenge. The only difference is we aren’t seventeen and almost nineteen any longer. We aren’t young kids. We are two adults fighting the same war we seem to have been fighting for years, and this time we’re alone in the room. Our families gather in the kitchen, laughing and chatting in celebration of the holiday as we’ve done for years.
Our gazes lift to the traditional greenish plant with white berries hanging above our head then back to one another. A shared memory is flashing between us with a simple look.
I wish I could remember the day the lines were drawn between Cassandra and me, putting us on different sides, because the gleam of loathing I see in her eyes seems to be preparing for war. My grip on her wrist tightens and she doesn’t even try to pull away; she knows it’s no use, but the look in her eyes sharpens. She’s throwing down the gauntlet.
Oh, Cass, you really should stop with the silent dares. It only makes me want to win this game, the game we just can’t seem to stop playing with one another, both of us dancing around the other, waiting for the other to make a move first but not understanding what kind of move to make, never making our move.
Never say never.
I breathe out her name. “Cassandra.” She takes a step away from me, her back hitting the wall behind her. I stalk her, matching her steps, her eyes widening until I move my lips to hover just above hers. Then Cass’s eyes close as if she might be surrendering. I whisper her name again, wanting her to open her eyes so I know she’s present for this moment, but when her eyes flash open, I don’t see what I hoped to see. I can’t even explain why I’m doing this, but the moment presented itself and the memory of a shared kiss tempted me.
Her hand rises between us, rests on my chest, and gives me a little push.
“Not this time, Pax. I’m saying no, and I mean it. You don’t get to do what you want because you want to feel like you’re in charge. You’ve always controlled every situation when it comes to me, like you own me, but you don’t always get to be in control. I won’t let you. Why do you do this? I just don’t get you,” she states assertively.
Control her? Her perception of our relationship over the years is completely different than mine—rational thinking has always been a struggle for her. I wish I could control her in some ways. There’s a part of me that would like to dictate how this situation will go right now and spank that tight little ass of hers until she begs me for more—but it’s not the right time or the right place. Hell, it’s not even the right person, but contrary to her belief, I’ve never felt in control of much when I’m around Cassandra Porter. It’s the reason I’ve kept my distance. I’ve wanted one thing for as long as I could remember—to be an architect. It’s something I knew the first time my dad bought me a book about architecture around the world. He thought I would like it because of my eight-year-old self’s obsession with Legos and building things.
Then one day, I noticed her too. Her long blonde hair. Her pretty eyes and the vulnerable way she looked at me. I thought of her more than I thought about building things. It made me mad and I felt funny. I didn’t like it so I vowed to stop. She wouldn’t win.
Maybe that’s the game. I’ve never let her get the best of me, and I’m not about to start now.
A quiet, harsh, devil-may-care laugh slips through my lips. I step toward her with my shoulders back and antagonizing mischief fueling my next words. “Cassandra Po
rter, if I wanted to control you, I would. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise.”
With that, I leave her standing under the mistletoe, kissless and no doubt feeling downright indignant while I feel utterly bereft.
When I walk into the kitchen, laughter rings through the room. I instantly school my features, hiding my frustration, and put a smile on my face. Delaney turns at that moment and walks over, looping her arm with mine.
“Pax, please back me up and tell Dad we knew he was lying when he said Bambi went to a farm to run free and be happy. Tell him we are aware Bambi was hit by a car while we were at school,” she demands, giggling.
Bambi was our annoying but cute little terrier when we were kids. She was run over by a car, and our dad tried to convince us it was unfair to keep her cooped up in the house all day and so she went to a farm with other dogs.
Smiling, I glance at our dad and shrug. “Sorry Pops, but we knew. I mean, let’s face it, the cover story was awful. Laney and Cass cried for days and made me promise not to let you know we knew.”
“What did I cry for days over?” Cass’s voice echoes through the kitchen and Delaney smiles brightly at her friend. I don’t turn around to watch her enter the room.
“My dad doesn’t believe we knew he lied to us about sweet Bambi’s fate,” Delaney explains, glancing over to him and rolling her eyes. He folds his arms across his chest, giving her a look I assume is supposed to make her feel scolded, but he’s failing completely.
“Oh, Mr. Luke, really?” Cass giggles while wrapping her arms around Delaney and squeezing. “We did cry for days. Laney and I annoyed Pax so badly, I think he wanted to strangle us.”
“I didn’t,” I say so indignantly everyone turns to look at me, but the only gaze I return belongs to Cassandra. Her bright blue eyes connect with mine, daring me to explain why I suddenly changed the tone of the conversation with two simple words.
My mother pulls my attention to her when she clears her throat. “Honey, you were always either ready to kill these two or to kill someone else because of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if their crying annoyed you. I know your patience with Laney often ran thin.”
“Yeah, you were such a mean and bossy brother!” Delaney chimes in, winking at me as she speaks. I catch a glimpse of Cass’s expression, one that makes it clear she agrees.
I laugh. “Well, you were such an annoying little brat,” I respond. Everyone laughs, our parents’ and Cass’s heads nodding in agreement. I glance over to Cassandra again; she’s beaming with happiness, looking lovingly at my sister. A burning sensation begins filling my chest, but I quickly push it away and turn my attention back to my parents. “So is it time for dessert yet?”
Mrs. Porter smiles, shaking her head. “Paxton Luke, I see your appetite hasn’t changed a bit in the last ten years.”
Mrs. Porter takes a pie from the refrigerator, grabs a knife, and begins slicing it. My dad and Mr. Porter grab the plates while my mom pulls forks from the drawer. Delaney and Cass give everyone a slice.
My family—my parents, Laney, even Mr. and Mrs. Porter and Cass—the people who were the happy constant in my childhood, they’re the people I missed.
Everyone is chatting, smiling, and enjoying the tradition of being together. Time has passed—a lot of time—but as I look around the kitchen, it’s like nothing has changed. Mom and Mrs. Porter talk to one another with fondness and familiarity. Dad and Mr. Porter are still happy to remain in the shadows, watching everyone. Delaney and Cass still whisper to one another while they stuff their faces with pie and whipped cream.
Cassandra.
Once again, she turns her gaze in my direction, and our eyes meet. What I see in them tells me not everything is the same. Some things have changed.
Present
I avoid him the rest of the evening, or maybe he avoids me. Either way, Paxton and I have very little interaction. We’re cordial when necessary and share the occasional glance, but after his little game under the mistletoe, I haven’t been able to relax. I escape to the corner of the family room, pretending to be working on my manuscript so no one will bother me.
If it weren’t for our families and the fact that it’s Christmas, I would leave.
What is his problem anyway? He’s been torturing me since the moment he got home, antagonizing me as if we are still the same kids who lived next door to one another. Well, I have news for him: I’m not that girl anymore. I can’t be baited. I won’t let him make me feel like a fool. I refuse to let him manipulate me in any way. I’ve spent years perfecting the ability to ignore Paxton Luke and all his charms.
“Okay, spill it—now.” Laney’s whispered demand startles me from my thoughts.
Breaking her ginger snap cookie in half, she offers some to me. When I look up at her, taking the cookie offering, I think about the fact that I wouldn’t have survived all of these years without Laney. Sure, she’s arrogant, and her filter has holes in it the size of the Grand Canyon, but she’s also loyal and funny and kind. That same holey filter may have gotten her in trouble a few times too many, but it also means she tells you exactly what you need to hear when you refuse to see the truth. We’ve been best friends for nineteen years, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I talk to her about everything—everything except Paxton. As much as I try to make that a smaller issue than it is, it’s an enormous part of me.
We only spoke about it once. It was the day he humiliated me in front of Laney and his friends, the day I decided I hated him, the day he crushed me and all the hero worship I had for him. She asked me if it was true, if I loved him, and if that was the reason she and I were best friends. I explained that I had loved him before, but that our friendship had nothing to do with it. She never asked if I loved him again. Only once she asked me if I hated him. Of course, I said yes, and we laughed. It wasn’t a lie; I did—I do hate him.
Taking a seat on the floor next to me, she pulls me toward her, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. It’s almost motherly, which almost makes me laugh because Laney is anything but maternal, but she is capable of an immense amount of love she doesn’t share with most people.
“Seriously, Cass, what’s up with you?” Her voice is concerned. “Is Richard being an asshole again?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “It’s not Richard…not this time anyway.” I try to add a bit of humor to my tone to lessen her worry. I can’t tell her what’s really on my mind. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by life right now. Margo is hounding me about this manuscript, my mom is hounding me about getting older, there’s the apartment renovations, and, well, Richard is hot one minute and cold the next. You know us, we’re never quite on the same page, but for some reason, we keep rereading our story, hoping that will change someday.”
Laney squeezes then releases me. “I can call Margo and tell her to shove it because, without you, she’s nothing. Your mom’s a little scary, but I’ll go up against her for you if I have to, and Richard…” Laney takes a small breath before continuing, “I’d say if you’ve outgrown the story then maybe it’s time to pick up another book, but that’s for you to decide.”
I don’t say anything, and she doesn’t expect me to.
Except, tonight, I want to say more. Sure, everything I said a moment ago is the truth. I am worried about all of these things, but tonight, like many times during our friendship, I left out one thing. I never tell her about Paxton—my love, my hate, my exasperation with his presumptions about his role in my life, and most importantly, the attraction to him that has followed me through the years like a shadow.
If it were anyone else, I would’ve told her, but it’s not someone else. It’s Paxton.
My heart and mind feel heavy, but I try to lighten the mood. “You’re a sorry excuse for a friend.” I lean out of her embrace and look at her with a hard look. “You didn’t even mention how you can help me with my apartment renovation situation.”
“How dare you? I told you I saved a cardboard box for you to live in. Market S
treet Maurice said he’d share his corner, what more do you want?” We bust out laughing so loud our family members, including Paxton, turn and look in our direction.
Although it’s not even that funny, I can’t stop laughing—even when I realize Paxton is watching me with a smile on his face that would generally make me feel more than I want. Instead, I pretend he isn’t here and laugh with my best friend. They all soon lose interest in our outburst and go back to their card game.
When our laughter finally subsides, Laney proposes a solution. “I know you said Richard offered to let you stay with him, but I hope you realize you can stay at my place.”
Relief? Is that what I’m feeling? I knew I could stay with Laney if I really needed to, but hearing her say it kind of gives me the permission I think I needed. I’m not sure Richard was entirely thrilled with the prospect of us living together, even if it was only going to be for a month.
“Really?” I say, and Laney rolls her eyes. “Okay, but the idea of this would be more fun if you were actually going to be home.”
An expression I rarely see on Laney’s face—a mixture of fear and anger—appears briefly before she wipes it away. “Yeah, but instead I’ll be thousands and thousands of miles away in our New York office, working on a deal that will change everything, the deal of a lifetime.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Are you worried about something?” I question her.
Incredulously, she gasps. “Are you serious? No, no…I have this in the bag.” She turns her head and begins scrolling through my open Word document.
Watching her, I debate pushing the subject, but know if she really needed to talk, she’d tell me.
“You realize if you read that, I’m going to have to kill you,” I joke, lightly elbowing her in the side. She looks up and sticks her tongue out in my direction. “Laney?”
Smiling, she faces me again. “Yeah?”