by Ginger Scott
“Thank you…really,” I say, gathering my things and pushing the chair under the study table. “I will do so much better on the next quiz. This totally makes sense now.”
“Sure thing,” he says, putting my reworked quiz in a small folder on his desk and propping his feet up on it while leaning back in his chair. “Here every Friday.”
“Right, got it,” I say. Got it—you’re here every Friday. As in, I should come more often, and you’d like to see me here? Or as in, this is a courtesy to students, don’t blow your studies dumbass, and get tutoring before the quiz. I’m actually laughing to myself as I exit the class, and when I turn to look at him over my shoulder, he’s already returned to reading whatever is on his iPad.
When I return to our room, Rowe is listening to music and looking through a few art books on her bed, and Paige is squealing on her phone about some party.
“Oh my god, of course I’m going. I don’t know what I’ll wear though, hang on…let me ask…” Paige says, snapping her fingers at me while she riffles through things in her section of the closet.
“I’m sorry, are you summoning me?” I ask, my eyes zeroed in on her long lavender nails.
“Yeah, party tonight. Pete’s. That place we went the first week of school. You wanna go?” She’s barely registering me while she talks, inserting yeahs and uh huhs to the other person on the line while inviting me to a party I really don’t think she wants me to go to.
“I don’t know, Paige. I think I’m just going to hang with Ty,” I say, and she’s already shrugged and moved on. Well, that was easy.
“So, how’d it turn out?” I ask, sitting down next to Rowe on her bed. She startles when I do, and I realize she was listening to her music still. “Sorry,” I cringe.
“It’s okay. Had it up kind of loud,” she says, rolling the ear buds up in the cord and setting them to the side. “The room looks fantastic. They are going to flip their lids. Seriously, I took pictures.”
Rowe pulls out her phone, and we scroll through half a dozen shots of a room that looks like it has been hosed down with Pepto-Bismol. I’m kind of proud, actually. “Wow, this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” I say, handing her back her phone. She studies the image left on the screen for another second, and then looks back at me.
“Yeah, me too,” she laughs.
Rowe is still going through the books on her bed. I move back to mine and open my backpack, digging to the section where I’ve tucked away my physics syllabus. I’ve been trying to remember the instructor’s full name ever since the tutoring session. I remembered his first name, Paul, but that’s all that was coming to mind when he was hovering over me with his hot-ass breath and…I don’t know…lurkiness? I browse to the top of the syllabus to find it—Cotterman. That’s right, Paul Cotterman. His cell phone number and email is underneath his name, and it catches my attention. I don’t know why. I have no reason to call him now that I understand the lesson, but something about seeing it there listed out draws my attention, and it makes my stomach twist.
The knock on our door stops us all instantly. Even Paige whispers into her phone, telling the person on the other end that she’ll have to call them back.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” I whisper, my stomach suddenly overcome with the thumping of my heart. “Rowe, what do we do? It’s them. It’s totally them.”
“Maybe not,” Rowe shrugs, and I just push her off balance, because like hell it isn’t them.
Paige is standing on her bed now, biting her thumbnail and pacing in place, like she’s hiding from a mouse. I hold my finger to my lips, like somehow if we’re all quiet we’ll be able to get away with this. I get closer to the door, now able to see the shadow of someone standing on the other side.
“It’s Molly. I’m out of printer ink, and I need to get this paper done. Can I borrow yours? It will only take a few seconds,” says a soft voice, clearly the shy girl that lives next door. I relax, and wave off Rowe and Paige as I put my hand on the door.
“One second,” I respond. But the instant I turn the knob I feel the pressure of the door push in on me, and before I know it, Nate has slid past me, and Ty is staring at me—his arms folded over his chest, his face scowling.
“Run, Rowe! Run!” I try to save her, but Nate is swift, and he quickly carries her over his shoulder out our door. She giggles the entire way.
“You are in soooooo much trouble, ladies!” Ty’s voice fills our room as our door closes behind him.
“Oh please, like you didn’t have it coming,” I say back, standing my ground. I’m still not sure if he’s truly angry or amused.
“Pink. I fucking hate the color pink,” he says, his arms relaxing finally until he locks them behind his neck, and then it’s there—that tiny hint of a smirk that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and clues me in, lets me know that Ty is playing with me.
We’re locked in this staring contest for a few long seconds when Paige interrupts. “Right, well I think I’m done here. Cass, I’ll be out late. You sure you don’t want to come to the party?” Paige asks. She glances between Ty and me, and she already knows my answer. No, I don’t want to go, because standing in front of this man beats the hell out of a dumb party.
“I’m good,” I say, not once taking my eyes off of his. Paige leaves without saying goodbye.
“So, tell me, Cassidy Owens…” he starts, and I wince at hearing my full name.
“Ooooooh, that’s the I’m in trouble tone. I know that one,” I say as I walk backward until I feel the backs of my legs hit the bed, forcing me to sit.
“Oh, you’re in trouble all right,” he says, constantly coming closer until he can reach forward and put his hands on my knees. His touch is a faint tickle at first, but soon his hands have a firm grip on the tops of my legs.
“You started it,” I say, tilting my chin up, keeping the volley going. On instinct, Ty turns and looks at my dresser, remembering his small prank. He curls the side of his mouth into the sexiest smile, the dimple in his cheek shaded by the dark stubble.
“Yeah,” he says, bringing his eyes back to mine. “I sure did.”
I push myself back on the bed, and Ty slides his hands so they’re resting on either side of my body, and then begins to lift himself so he’s hovering over me. I succumb and lie on my back while he pulls himself completely from the chair—holding his chest above mine with his massive arms. They’re perfect, and his biceps are working so hard that his T-shirt looks as if it’s about to rip from his arms, the white fabric hugging it so tightly.
Unable to stop myself, I run my hands up his forearms, onto his biceps, and under the sleeves of his shirt until I can grip his shoulders. Every curve of his body is warm and smooth, the muscle underneath so powerful. “You have the most unbelievable arms. Like, seriously—when I have to write a thesis paper, can I use you as my subject?” I say, letting my gaze wander over his biceps while my hands slowly stroke his skin, admiring every dip and ripple. I know I sound gushy and corny, but seriously, I love his body. It’s a masterpiece.
“Well, fuck,” he says, dropping his forehead to mine and shutting his eyes. He chuckles lightly and shakes his head softly from side to side, our foreheads rolling together. “How am I supposed to be mad about a little pink room when you say shit like that?”
I drag my hands back up his arms until they’re around his neck, and then I let my fingers glide over his jawline, my thumbs in heaven against the rough texture of his chin. God, I swear this man is a lumberjack. “I’m sorry I tricked you,” I say, my lips twitching with nervous energy, just begging him to kiss them again. I have to tuck the bottom one under my teeth just to mask my quivering nerves.
“Yeah, that wasn’t very nice,” he says, licking his lips lightly, his breath hot against my mouth. “I thought that kiss this morning was real.”
“It was,” I say quickly, tilting my face just enough so he’s forced to look into my eyes. I know we’re playing a game right now, but it’s important to me tha
t Ty doesn’t think I’m the kind of girl to give kisses out freely and dishonestly. I’m not that girl anymore, and I’ll never be that girl again. “The only part of this morning that I made up was the part about being locked out of my room. The kissing you part, that was just a perk.”
“Yeah? So I’m, like, on your list of benefits?” he smirks.
“Yeah. It goes: medical, dental, PTO, and Ty Preeter,” I say.
“PTO? What the hell is PTO and how is it before me on the list?” he asks, pushing me flat on the mattress, slowly letting the weight of his body cover mine.
“Uh, paid time off? Like vacation? Sorry, but I need my vacation. I have plans…BIG PLANS! Like Tahoe, the Hamptons, Venice, and London,” I say with a false shrug. Truth be told, Ty’s number one on my list—and he might be the only thing on it at this very moment.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you don’t get vacation. You’ve been a very bad employee,” he says, and his eyes flash this devilish look that warms my entire body.
“What, are you going to write me up or something?” I ask, trying not to break character despite the desire to giggle.
“Something like that. Let’s just say this is all going in your file,” he says, his hands combing through my hair while his lips graze mine, his touch faint, but leaving behind a trail of fire.
“I’ve been written up before,” I say, every muscle in my body weakening, beckoning, and begging for him to take over.
“I think we’re going to need to schedule you some more on-the-job training then,” he says, his laugh slipping through the serious face he’s trying to hold. His smile is perfection, and it melts me completely. “I’m sorry, this whole bad-boss act isn’t working for me. I’m just going to stick with what I know.”
His kiss comes hard and fast after that, his hands strong on either side of my face while his tongue tangles with mine. His body is so warm, and all I want to do is touch every inch of it, my hands instinctively moving to his back and lifting his shirt until he rolls to the side and lets me remove it from him completely. He takes advantage of this move, pulling me on top of him now—kissing me with even more force while he works his fingers slowly around the arch of my back, his thumbs grazing the bare skin just above the waistband of my shorts.
“I fucking love the Beach Boys,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh, falling with all of my weight into his chest while he wraps his arms tightly around me, then works his fingers through my hair until he can see my face.
“That was…pretty much the strangest mood killer I’ve ever heard,” I say, unable to hide my giggle and the smile that is permanently tattooed under my nose. It’s bliss. This…everything…this moment—it’s bliss.
“You know, that song? The one about California girls, and how perfect your skin and hair and shit is. They’re just dead on, that’s all,” he says, nuzzling his nose against my neck and taking small bites out of my ear.
“You should write them, tell them to change up their lyrics. That song would be so much better your way—California girls have perfect skin and shit.” I can’t even fully finish the sentence without laughing, and Ty can no longer hold his in either.
“Was I even close? God, how does that song go?” he pulls me against his side and tugs one of my pillows over so he can tuck it under his head. He’s humming the tune to California Girls, and his chest is vibrating with every note. He’s actually not a horrible singer. I wonder if he’d ever sing me to sleep?
“You have a nice voice,” I say. When he looks down at me with a pinched brow, I reach up and cross my heart. “I swear, I’m not feeding your ego. You have a nice voice.”
“Lots of choir. Nate’s actually better. He stole the solo from me in the community Christmas play one year when we were kids. Little thief,” he says, still wearing that same smile he does every time he talks about his brother. I love it.
His stare at me is intense. His smile is soft, but there’s something working behind his eyes. “Penny for your thoughts?” I ask.
He smiles at my question at first, then watches his hand as he slides his fingers deeper through my hair, fanning the strands out along my bare shoulder. “My mom always says that,” he says. “She’s going to like you.”
God I hope so.
Ty
I have been lying here with Cass, her and me alone, on her bed, for more than an hour. And I still haven’t taken her clothes off.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Normally, I would start to think that I must not be into a chick. No, screw that…normally I wouldn’t even be here by this point. I wouldn’t even worry about making up a good excuse. I’d just leave. But leaving is kind of the very last thing that I want to do. Rowe just came back, and she made a face at Cass, one that I could tell meant, “He’s leaving soon, right?” She left with her things to shower. She does that, showers late at night—I only know her habits because my brother stalks her in the hall. Ever since he ran into her that first night, he leaves our door open in the evening and listens for any sign of her.
I should probably go. But I don’t want to. And I don’t think Cass wants me to go. It’s weird how I can lie in one spot—not even a hint of sex on the horizon—and still be this content to be with a girl. It’s more than content. I feel whole. I haven’t felt that since…since Kelly.
“I should go,” I finally get myself to speak.
“What if I just hide you? I’ll keep you under my covers. Rowe won’t even notice,” she says, and I flip her cover over my six-foot frame, my feet dangling out.
“I think she might notice,” I say, pulling the cover back and stroking her hair from her face so I can kiss her forehead.
“How’d it happen?” I think this question has been on her mind for hours, days maybe. I wish I could get inside other people’s heads, because I wonder if it’s the first question people have when they meet me. Was I born this way, or did something happen along the way? I don’t mind answering. I never do. But I don’t think Cass has really ever cared to know, until now.
“Accident,” I say, simple at first.
“Like, a car accident?”
I smile softly and shake my head. “No, not a car accident,” I say, pushing myself to a sitting position, my weight held by my arms for balance. Cass moves her head to my lap, and it strikes me that this is something nobody has ever done to me. It feels strangely intimate, the kind of intimacy that goes along with trust. “It was at this lake that Nate and I always went to over the summer near our grandparents’ house. There was this one area, lots of cliffs and a deep, pooled area. The summer before, Nate watched a bunch of teenagers jump from the cliffs into the water. He was too afraid to try, and he regretted it for an entire year. It was all he’d talk about.”
“How old were you two?” she asks, and on instinct I thread my fingers through her hair without even looking. It feels so natural having her lie here in my lap.
“I was sixteen. Nate was twelve. At least, when it happened. He wanted to jump because he chickened out the year before, but when the time came, he got really scared. I know I pick on him, but that’s my brother, and I don’t know…. He was this little boy, not really even a teenager yet, and he was just so afraid to try something. I’ve tried to rationalize it in my brain for years now, but at the time I just felt like I needed to help him through this. I didn’t want my brother going through life afraid to try things. I wanted him to be something. So I told him I’d go first.”
“And you jumped.”
“And I jumped.”
“And that’s when…” she says, her voice a soft whisper now.
“And that’s when I didn’t come up,” I say, a shrug of my shoulders really the only punctuation I’ve got.
“Are you ever angry?” she asks, and her question actually surprises me. Over all of these years, no one has ever actually asked me this. I talked to Kelly and Mom about it, but only because I needed to before I crumbled.
“Yeah. Sometimes I’m really angry
,” I say, and I’m so surprised by my honesty that it forces me to take in a deep breath, like a reflex.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about it,” Cass says, noticing my sigh.
“No, no. I just…wow, I’ve never had anyone ask,” I say, almost laughing with my words. I smile when I look down at her, and she looks concerned. “I’m not angry now. Sometimes, yes…I get angry. But I don’t dwell on it. I don’t want to slip into a bad place. I need to stay positive, for Nate.”
“Just for Nate? Nothing for yourself?” she asks, and once again, her words give me pause. I pause because she’s right. It used to be for Nate. But the self-challenging, the drive, the focus I give to everything I can do—that’s all for me.
“You are awfully insightful. Are you sure you’re not a psych major?” I ask, kissing the back of her hand as I squeeze it. I lift her head from my lap gently and move myself to my chair. “Your roommate has been hovering in the hallway, and I like her. If it were Nate out there, I’d make him wait. But Rowe, she’s good people. So…I’m gonna go.”
“Okay,” Cass says, her eyes sleepy as she kicks her feet under her blanket and fluffs her pillow under her head. “Sweet dreams.”
“Oh, I’m going to have dreams all right. Feeling your head in my lap, that did things.” I wink, joking, not joking. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the game.”
I press my lips to my fingertips, and my hand to her cheek; she smiles this perfect goddamned smile. I have never wanted anything as much as I’ve wanted to be able to run again—until now. I want her, and I hope like hell I don’t fuck this up.
Chapter 9
