Catching Cassidy

by Melissa Foster

  None of my business.

  Tristan makes another round. “Remember when I was first learning to be a bartender?”

  “Yup. You used us as guinea pigs. That was fun.” Brandon scoffs, shakes his head.

  “Yeah, well…” Tristan hands out the next round. “We all remember when you were learning to play the guitar.” He laughs.

  “I remember a few eardrum-cracking notes,” Jesse teases.

  “We all gotta start somewhere.” Brandon picks up his shot glass and holds it up.

  We follow suit, and I have no idea I’m going to say anything, but words spill from my mouth like a leaky faucet. “To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings,” they all say in unison, and we down the shots.

  The cinnaburn feels so good I close my eyes and revel in it for a minute. New beginnings. I meant it about me, breaking up with Kyle, but I realize that it’s a very apropos toast for Delilah and Wyatt, too. Delilah reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I know she has figured that out, too.

  Tristan fills our glasses again, and this time Jesse holds his glass up high. “To good friends and a safe summer.” He gives us all another earnest stare. “Y’all know, wherever you are, you call me or you call a cab, but don’t ever get behind the wheel when you’re drinking.”

  Tristan, Wyatt, and Brandon all groan. Brooke flashes an approving smile.

  “What is up with you this weekend?” Brandon asks.

  Jesse glances at Wyatt, and I know exactly what’s up. Wyatt hasn’t talked about it, but at the funeral I heard his uncle tell him that the driver who caused his parents’ accident had been drinking. Now I feel really stupid and guilty. That must have been why Wyatt was looking at me funny when I suggested that we do shots. I really want to apologize to him, but I don’t trust myself right now. I promise myself I’ll apologize as soon as I gain some control over the lust steaming up my girlie parts every time I’m near him.

  Sometime between my fourth and fifth shot, I make my way around the table and stand next to Wyatt. I’m a little unsteady, and I lean against him to keep from falling. His hand naturally drapes around my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Wy.” My voice sounds too loud, and I want to cry because I feel guilty about suggesting the shots.

  “About what?” His eyes are glassy and serious.

  “Because I suggested shots, and after what happened with your parents…”

  He pulls me tight against his side, and it feels way too good to have all his muscles pressed against me. “No worries.” He downs another shot and leans in real close to my face.

  On some cognitive level I know I should ignore the way my pulse speeds up and my mind records everything in an instant—the feel of his body against mine, the sweet smell of cinnamon on his breath, his fingers pressing against my hip. But it has the opposite effect. I want his full, sexy lips on mine. I want to taste his cinnaburn.

  “You should stop drinking,” he whispers.

  I don’t know why that makes me angry. Maybe it’s because Kyle used to tell me what to do when we were together, and right now I don’t want to think about Kyle. In fact, I don’t want to think about Wyatt, either. It feels like I’ve had to think my way through life since I was little. Wyatt and Delilah’s parents planned things for them. Wyatt didn’t have to interview for jobs during the last three months of school, hoping and praying that someone would find him worthy of an offer, like I did. I don’t begrudge him for it. I know his father was well connected and Wyatt is brilliant and savvy, and besides, I’m used to looking out for myself.

  I look around the table at everyone laughing and talking. Ashley’s moving to the music, and for the first time since we left Connecticut, Delilah looks happy, dancing with Ashley, Brooke, and Tristan. Jesse and Brandon are talking about the band and the bar, and here I am, overthinking myself into a corner.

  Just this once, I want to not think, not feel, and just be.

  I push my glass over to Tristan again.

  “Cass?” Wyatt says in a worried tone.

  I wave him off. “I’m fine.”

  I have no idea how many more drinks I have, or how I end up on the beach, sitting in the sand near the water. A breeze makes me shiver, but I feel hot inside. The music from the house sounds very far away, and I wonder if I’ve wandered too far. I turn and look behind me, and everything is blurry. I make out a few fuzzy lights. I guess I had too many fireballs, but I sure do feel good. I can barely feel at all, and that’s wonderful. Now I know why people drink a lot. I usually stop when I feel buzzed, but this is so much better.

  I sit for what feels like a long time, but it could have only been minutes. I can’t tell. The sand is cool beneath my bare legs, and I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my toes in the sand, wondering if I can stay in this drunken state for a while. A year would be good. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about why I feel funny around Wyatt, or why Kyle won’t stop texting me, or if Delilah is ever going to be okay again.

  It’s so quiet out here. I listen to the waves breaking against the shore. Something presses against my leg and I push it away. I turn and everything spins. Oh no. I feel sick.

  Whoa. This is not a good feeling at all.

  Oh yeah, this is why I don’t drink a lot.

  The thing next to me presses against my leg again, and I turn and try to focus. It’s a person. For a split second I think it’s a stranger and I think I’ve wandered onto another private beach. Instincts bring my voice before I can stop it.

  “Wyatt?” I call into the darkness, knowing that if he can hear me, he’ll come.

  A hand grabs my shoulder, and I swat it away. It’s too dark to see who it is. Where’s Wyatt? Oh no. Did I piss him off? I scramble onto my hands and knees, and big hands grab my arms. I struggle to get free, but they’re holding too tightly, and suddenly I’m on my feet and pressed against a wall of muscles. I close my eyes, and his scent finds some fraction of my mind that still seems to be grounded in sobriety.

  Wyatt.

  “Will you please stop fighting me?”

  He’s cocooned me in his arms. I couldn’t break free if I wanted to, and I’m too drunk to know if I want to or not. My body revels in the feel of his firm thighs against mine and the breadth of his chest, which feels so good against my cheek. I close my eyes and give in to the comfort, listening to the fast beating of his heart. I wonder if he can feel mine, too. And then, out of nowhere, my body floods with anger.

  I shouldn’t be cataloging how good he feels, or the fact that something hard is pressing against my belly, when it totally shouldn’t be. Oh my gosh! That means he feels this intense connection between us too. Why does that surprise me? I swear, since we’ve arrived, it’s like sparks fly every single time we’re near each other. Wait…What if he’s just looking for sex from anyone? It’s been a while since he’s been with a girl.

  Oh no. That’s even worse.

  I try to push away from him again, and he eases his grip but doesn’t release me. It’s a good thing, because my legs have forgotten how to work. My knees are weak, and I’m not sure if it’s from being so close to Wyatt or from the alcohol, but it doesn’t matter. I’m fairly certain that if he wasn’t holding me up, I’d fall.

  I don’t look up at him. I’m afraid if I do he’ll see what I’m thinking. Then I think of his hard-on, and I wonder if I just felt his zipper. I want to know for sure, but I can’t look there, and I can’t exactly press my body against his again.

  Oh, this sucks.

  I stumble backward. Wyatt catches me as I almost face-plant in the sand.

  “Whoa.” I cling to his arm. “Thanks.”

  “I’m not going to tell you that I told you so, but…”

  “Shut up.” It comes out with a girly giggle that shocks me. I cover my mouth with my hand, and his eyes are holding my gaze with that prickly heat again. “I’m okay.” I force myself to stand up tall and try to get my legs to work again. My knees collapse, and he scoops me into his arms.

/>   Oh…

  I like this.

  Way, way, way too much.

  “I’ve got you,” he says against my cheek.

  He smells like warmth and strength and hot cinnamon. I wonder what it would be like to taste that cinnamon from his lips. I think I’m staring at his lips, but I can’t stop, and we’re moving. Well, he’s moving. Carrying me toward the fuzzy lights. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his chest, wrapped in warm thoughts of kissing the one guy I shouldn’t want to and memorizing the feel of being in his arms. Because somewhere in my drunk mind I realize that I’ll probably never be here again.

  The thought makes me sad.

  “You okay?” he asks, like he can read my mind.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “You moaned, like I hurt you.” He’s climbing the outside stairs up toward the second floor and stops midstep to look at me.

  I moaned? Holy crap. That’s embarrassing. “Um, no. I’m fine.” It dawns on me as he starts walking up the stairs again that I’m probably heavy, but he doesn’t act like I’m heavy. He carries me across the deck to his bedroom, and some part of my brain registers that we’re not going into my bedroom. I’m both excited and worried about this. I trust Wyatt. I’ve slept in a bed with him a million times before, but never when my body was begging me to get naked with him.

  “My room?” I manage.

  “Can’t, Cass. Apparently, Tristan thought it was a good idea to take the only bed that had sheets on it. Brandon and Jesse are on the couches downstairs. Ashley’s with Delilah, sleeping on her futon, and we never made up the other beds downstairs.” He lays me on his bed, and the whole room spins.

  “Whoa.” I try to sit up, and he must have gone into the bathroom, because he comes out a minute later with a cup of water and hands it to me.

  “Ibuprofen.” He hands me two pills. “Take it and drink the water. It’ll help in the morning.” He sees me struggling to sit up and sits on the bed beside me, then pulls me up against his chest and lifts my hand with the cup in it. “Take them, Cass.”

  “Why aren’t you taking any?”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  I take the pills and drink the water, and my stomach rebels for a minute. I squeeze his thigh as I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. He wraps his arms around my chest and rests his cheek on mine. Gosh, I love that. I could turn a little and our lips would touch.

  “You okay?” he asks softly.

  No, I’m not okay. I want to make out with my best friend in the whole world really, really badly. I nod, or at least I think I do. My heart is racing and my stomach did not like that water, but I’m also warm and feel wonderful pressed up against him and I have no desire to move away.

  Except…

  “I might be sick,” I warn him.

  “I know, but if I get up and get a bucket, I’m afraid you’ll fall over and really be sick. It’s better to sit up.”

  I don’t think about this for very long before my body relaxes against him as it’s done a million times before. A few minutes later I hear him talking in a quiet, thoughtful voice.

  “I miss them, Cass.”

  I want to turn and see his face, but I’m afraid I’ll puke, so I wrap my arms over his and hold them tight. I feel tears burning my eyes and know it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Hearing the longing in Wyatt’s voice is sobering.

  “I know,” I whisper.

  I feel a hot tear on my shoulder and realize it’s not mine. I want to see him through my camera’s lens, where everything else disappears and I have one singular focus. I want to be in that lens with him and hold him until his sadness goes away. I’ve never seen Wyatt cry, and I want to turn around and hug him, but I hesitate. Will he be embarrassed if I see him crying? Will he pretend he’s okay? Will I puke on him? I can’t make heads or tails of my thoughts. I just know that I want to make him feel better, so I push all the confusion away and turn in his arms, which leaves us face-to-face. His eyes are wet and full of sadness. There’s no embarrassment. He doesn’t try to hide his tears, and that’s when I realize how much of an idiot I am. Wyatt trusts me. He trusts me enough to cry in front of me. This big, strong, alpha male isn’t worried about looking weak, and here I am, thinking about doing all sorts of dirty things with him.

  I’m both embarrassed and disgusted with myself. I feel unworthy of his friendship, but I’m so glad for it that I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him closer, offering him the same comfort he readily gives me. I listen to his quiet breaths and I don’t say anything, because I know that Wyatt doesn’t need my words. He needs my love.

  I will never, ever think those thoughts about you again.

  I repeat this silent promise over and over. One of his hands slides up my back and presses my chest to his, and his other covers the entirety of my lower back, keeping my whole torso close, and I know I’ve just lied.

  Chapter Eight

  ~Wyatt~

  I LIE IN bed watching the sun rise and enjoying the feel of Cassidy sprawled across me. She’s wearing my T-shirt, and it barely covers her butt. Her arm is lying across my chest, and her cheek is resting on my arm, which is numb, but I don’t want to wake her by moving it. Last night I wanted Cassidy all to myself. Not to fool around, although my body was craving her in the most torturous way. I just needed Cassidy. I should have walked away or asked someone else to take care of her, but despite my intense longing for all the things I can’t have, I needed to be with her. Sadness slipped out of the darkness and conquered me last night, and I knew the only way to survive it was with Cassidy.

  Last night after everyone went inside, I was sitting on the deck watching her out there in the sand by herself, trying to make sense of all the feelings I’ve been having. I felt too far away from her. She’d told us that she wanted to think down by the water, because she said the breakup had messed with her head. I get that. I mean, the breakup should have messed with her. They dated for a long time. So I let her have her space. But I couldn’t be away from her for long. And when I was carrying her inside, I wanted to be even closer to her. I didn’t care that she was drunk, or that she might puke on me, which she did. That’s what friends are for, having each other’s backs, and even though I’ve been thinking of all the things I’d like to do with her while she’s on her back, friendship trumps desire.

  I brush her hair off her cheek and I get that warm sensation in my chest again. I want her so badly that I can barely see straight, but I have no idea why I want her now, after all these years. I chew on the thought awhile and realize I’m stroking her hair and it feels really good. Soft and familiar. I think my feelings for her began to change the second I realized that Kyle had cheated on her. I had more than a visceral reaction to the hurt in her eyes. I wanted to be the man in her life. I wanted to protect her, to show her how she deserved to be loved. To make up for the hurt Kyle laid on her.

  But that’s not a good thing.

  I’m not good at relationships.

  Cassidy is very good at relationships.

  I would end up doing something stupid and hurting her and then I’d lose my best friend. I can’t chance that.

  She breathes in deeply and stretches. Her breasts press against my chest, and her hips put enough pressure on mine to get me hard again. I shift on the bed, and she gazes up at me, blinking the sleep out of her gorgeous eyes.

  “Hey,” she says sleepily, then presses her hand to her forehead. “Ouch.”

  “The morning after kind of sucks.” I regretfully move out from under her, trying to cool the heat racing through my body.

  She looks around the room, and her brow wrinkles in confusion. She looks down at what she’s wearing and her hand slips down and covers her eyes.

  “Did I puke?”

  “Yup.” I lean back against the dresser and cross my ankles, hoping my jeans camouflage my hard-on.

  “Oh Lord.” Her eyes are still covered. “Did we…?” She spreads her fingers and peeks out from between them.

>   She’s so cute it makes me laugh.

  She cringes. “Really?”

  I laugh again, because why on earth would she jump to that conclusion? I have to tease her a little bit. “I spent the night fending off your advances.”

  She falls onto her back and lays her arm over her eyes. “Oh no. Dragon breath and all? That must have been attractive.”

  I smell coffee and realize that the others must be awake. I debate torturing her a little more, but then I decide that it would just be cruel, so I sit on the edge of the bed and move her arm from her eyes.

  She closes her eyes tight. “Don’t look at me.”

  “I like to look at you.” I steal a glance and immediately regret it. My T-shirt is hiked up above her panties, sending a bolt of lightning straight to my dick. I get up and go into the bathroom without a word, turn on the cold water, and spend the next five minutes freezing the image of Cassidy Lowell lying in my bed in her pink panties out of my head.

  Five icy minutes later, when that doesn’t help, I take five more minutes to jerk off so I can function again.

  Make that ten minutes.

  When I come out of the bathroom Cassidy is gone. I assume she’s gone to her bedroom. I have a towel around my waist and I am pulling a pair of boxers and shorts from my drawer when I hear Ashley and Delilah laughing. I peer into the hallway.

  They’re hanging on to each other’s arms, whispering and laughing.

  “Mornin’, girls.”

  Ashley turns around and her eyes hang on my chest.

  Delilah bumps her with her elbow. “He’s my brother.”

  Ashley shakes her head. “I wasn’t staring because I like him, although he is hot. I told you that I paint. I was thinking about how great it would be to paint him.”

  “That’s a new one,” I say jokingly as I walk back into my bedroom and close the door. I’m glad Delilah has a friend, and as I dress it dawns on me that normally I’d be all over a girl like Ashley—cute as hell, hot body—but last night I couldn’t take my eyes off of Cassidy. And even now my mind is drenched in thoughts of her.