Catching Cassidy

by Melissa Foster

  I realize this is more of a problem than I’d thought it was, and I’d better get my shit together before I lose my parents and Cass during the summer from hell.

  Downstairs Brandon and Jesse are drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Delilah and Ashley are sitting outside on the back deck, eating bowls of cereal.

  “Where’s Tristan?”

  Jesse points upstairs. “He’s still sleeping, I guess. He hasn’t made it downstairs yet.”

  My brain immediately puts Cassidy wearing nothing but my T-shirt and pink panties in the room with Tristan, who might be gay but is still a dude. This borders on ridiculous, but claws of jealousy are scratching at me and I’m wondering if she’s showering just a wall away from where he’s sleeping. Or if she’s lying on the bed talking to him.

  I want to be lying on the bed with her, and the idea of her naked and showering with only four inches of wall between us makes me hard again. I’m screwed.

  My legs want to carry me upstairs, but my brain won’t let them move. I seriously need to get a grip. I fill a second cup with coffee, add cream and sugar, and bring them both to the table.

  Jesse glances at the second cup. “Thirsty?”

  “It’s for Cass,” I say, like he should know. He nods, like he does know. “Where’s Brooke?”

  “She went home last night. She had to open the café this morning. We should talk, Wyatt.” Jesse looks outside at Delilah. “Is she okay?”

  I shrug and sip my coffee. “As good as can be expected.” That’s when I remember that Cassidy saw me crying last night. My hand freezes midair as embarrassment drags on my skin like a spiny rake.

  It’s Cassidy. It’s okay.

  And just like that, it does seem okay.

  “I don’t want to push you too fast into all this stuff, but we should figure out what’s happening with the Taproom. I’ll stick around as long as you need me to, but I’m usually back at my own properties by next weekend, so I’d kind of like to make sure you have a handle on things, I’ll help find someone else to step in if you need me to.” Jesse fiddles with the thick leather band on his wrist.

  “Oh. Right.” I haven’t spent any time thinking about the bar much past knowing I’d have to deal with it at some point. “There can’t be that much to learn, right? I mean, you and the employees seem to have a good handle on things.”

  Jesse laughs as he lifts his coffee and takes a sip. “Sure we do, but you need to have a good handle on things, Wyatt. There’s inventory, purchasing, accounting, all sorts of things that need to be handled. Your mom used to go over the books, but she was tied up the last few months, so the books haven’t been reviewed for the past quarter.”

  “Oh, shit.” I run my hand through my wet hair and hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Cassidy’s hair is wet, I assume from the shower. She smiles, but it’s not her usual light-up-the-room smile. It’s a shy, embarrassed, half smile with downcast eyes. “Cass, come here for a sec.”

  She smells amazing.

  “Where’s Tristan?”

  “Zonked,” she says. “Did you know he sleeps in the buff?”

  I grit my teeth against her comment.

  “Maybe I should go upstairs and check it out,” Brandon says with a devilish grin.

  She laughs. “I’m kidding. He’s fully dressed and out like a light.” She points to the coffee. “Mine?”

  She takes a drink and closes her eyes. “Thank you. Mm. This is heavenly.” She opens her eyes again. “Ibuprofen would make it even better.”

  Brandon reaches into his pocket and tosses a square packet of ibuprofen across the table, the type of travel pack with two pills in it that you buy at a gas station.

  “You’re like Santa Claus. Thank you.” She struggles to open the package, so I take it from her, tear it open with my teeth, turn her hand over, and shake the pills into her palm.

  “You carry those with you?” I ask Brandon.

  “A man’s gotta always be prepared.” He tosses a condom on the table.

  Jesse shakes his head. “Boy, you have got to learn to control yourself.”

  “Hey, I didn’t do anything. I slept alone on the couch, remember?” Brandon leans forward, and his straight black hair falls in front of his eyes. “Would you rather I walked around unprepared?”

  “I’d rather you found some morals,” Jesse says.

  “Look who’s talking. When’s the last time you had a long-term girlfriend?” Brandon downs his coffee and gets up from the table to wash his cup.

  Jesse ignores his jab. “Wyatt, when do you want to come by and go over things?”

  I look up at Cassidy. “Cass, can you help me go over the books for my parents’…for the Taproom?” That was weird. But not as painful as it was a few days ago.

  “The books?” She looks between me and Jesse.

  “My parents left the bar to me and Dee, so…”

  She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I can see questions ticking off in her mind, probably about our inheriting the bar. She blinks several times, her brows knitting together. I can tell she’s holding herself back from asking.

  “You cleaned up my puke. It’s the least I can do. I don’t have that much experience, but I’m happy to try.”

  I’m wondering when she’s going to bring up the fact that I had to take off her dress and her bra because they were both covered in puke. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look. I tried not to, but I’m only human.

  “You did the bookkeeping for that coffee shop the last two years of school.” I look at Jesse, hoping that her experience is enough for what we’re facing.

  “I think if it’s just reconciliations and stuff, I can do it. And if it’s too complicated, I can always call my old boss. She’ll be happy to walk me through whatever we need, so I should be fine.”

  “Well, we won’t know until we try. Want to meet me there this afternoon?” Jesse looks out at Delilah again. “What about Delilah?”

  “I’ll talk to her. We’ll meet you there around three. Does that work?”

  “Sure. You’ve got my cell if you get hung up.” Jesse carries his coffee cup into the kitchen, rinses it, and puts it in the dishwasher. “I’m glad you came down here, Wyatt. I know your dad would have wanted you to be around everyone.”

  I nod, because really, what am I supposed to say? I have no idea what my dad would have wanted, but I know that staying at home was impossible, and after being here for one day, I already feel better. I like that my friends aren’t staring at me like I have three heads or tiptoeing around me because my parents were killed. Back in Connecticut, it felt like everyone was waiting for me and Delilah to fall apart, which made it even harder not to.

  Jesse tosses everyone’s keys on the table and waves as he heads out the door.

  “Cass, your dress is hanging in my bathroom. I washed it in the tub last night. I wasn’t sure if it could go in the washer.”

  Cassidy sits at the table, her cheeks flushed. I know she’s thinking about me undressing her.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t grope you or sell tickets for everyone to see your boobs.” I smile, and she covers her eyes as I push away from the table and walk toward the deck. “You probably owe me for that. I bet I could have made a lot of money.”

  “I don’t owe you. You saw me without my shirt on,” she hollers.

  “No wonder you came downstairs smiling.” Brandon follows me outside. “She puked?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” I sit beside Delilah at the table. She and Ashley are talking about drawing pencils. It’s so good to see her smiling that I debate not talking to her about the Taproom, but I know I shouldn’t keep it from her.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Delilah asks.

  “I’m trying to decide if I should talk to you about something or not.” I clasp my hands behind my head and glance inside at Cassidy, who’s talking to Tristan as he fills a coffee cup. I look out at the ocean, feeling more normal than I have for a week.

  “Dee, we need to
talk about the Taproom.”

  I see the moment the smile leaves her eyes. It’s like they cloud over. She shifts in her seat, looks at Ashley, and then back at me. “Okay.”

  “Well, Mom and Dad left it to us, so we have to figure out what to do with it.” I’m relieved when she doesn’t immediately tear up at the mention of our parents.

  “What do you mean, what to do with it? We’re not selling it.” She pushes her hair over her shoulder and sits up taller. “Neither of us has a job, so we can run it.”

  I nod, not really knowing how I feel about any of it at the moment. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes? No? Maybe? I don’t know for sure, but right now, yes. Why not? Do you really want to work in an office somewhere?”

  “Hell, no.” That much I do know for sure. “I’d like to surf all day and hang out.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I reassure her. “I won’t, but hey, you asked.”

  “I don’t know what I want, Wyatt, but Mom and Dad wanted us to be involved with the bar. That’s the whole reason Dad pushed you into getting a business degree.”

  “I know.” All too well.

  “Then why is there even a question?” She cocks her head and looks at me like I really do have three heads.

  “It’s not. I just wanted to talk to you about it. I’m going down at three to go over things with Jesse, and I think you should come. You’re much better at these things than me. If we’re keeping it, then we need to figure out who’s going to do what.”

  She crosses her arms and smirks. “I have a feeling that this is going to be a lot like when we were little and pretended we worked at McDonald’s. You’ll make all the rules and tell me what to do.”

  “Would I do that?” I snag the back of Brandon’s shirt when he walks by. “I’ve got a few hours. Want to go surfing?”

  “Absofuckinglutely.” Brandon raises his brows at Delilah and Ashley. “Wanna go?”

  Ashley holds her hands up. “No, thanks. I have no idea how to surf.”

  “You don’t?” Delilah asks.

  Ashley shakes her head. “The whole idea of it scares me.”

  “I was afraid at first, too. Maybe I can show you how to surf sometime and you can show me how to paint.” Delilah turns to us. “I’m going to skip surfing, too. I want to go down to visit Brooke at the café this morning. But I’ll meet you here, and we can walk down to the Taproom together. Two thirty?”

  “Sure.” I head inside and find Cassidy and Tristan sitting on the couch together with their feet up on the coffee table. Cassidy’s leaning against Tristan’s shoulder, looking at something on his phone. I’m irritated with myself for being jealous over two of my best friends.

  “You guys up for surfing?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got to meet Ian in a few minutes. He’s not very pleased that I didn’t come home last night.” Tristan holds up his phone and shows me a picture of a good-looking, dark-haired guy. “That’s Ian.”

  “You live with him?” I know they’ve been seeing each other since the end of last summer, but from what I’ve heard from Brandon, Ian’s a bit of a douche bag who doesn’t always treat Tristan very well. He makes plans and then stands him up a lot. I’m surprised Tristan moved in with him.

  “My roommate moved out a few months ago, and Ian suggested I move in.” Tristan shrugged. “Saves on rent.”

  “Yeah, for Ian,” Brandon scoffs. “He’s so self-centered. He treats you like shit.”

  “Says the guy who never thinks of anyone but himself,” Tristan says with a smirk. Tristan’s right about Brandon being self-centered, but his smirk tells me that he’s also irritated, and that irritation tells me that Brandon may be right about Ian.

  “Yeah, well, at least with me the people I hook up with know what they’re getting into. Ian pretends to be into you and then talks shit behind your back.”

  Tristan looks away, which is all the confirmation I need. I didn’t meet Ian last summer. They got together after Delilah and I went back to school. Tristan’s my buddy, and I feel protective of him, like I would of any of our friends at Harborside. The idea of anyone treating him badly pisses me off. Not that Tristan can’t handle himself. He definitely can. The dude’s as big as I am, but when he cares for someone, he’d never hurt them. And if he’s living with Ian, he’s got to care. I want to judge this Ian guy for myself.

  “Tristan, why don’t we all go out for a drink at the Taproom tonight? I’m going to be there anyway, and I’d like to meet Ian.”

  Tristan shrugs. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “Cass? Surfing?” As much as I want to spend time with her, the idea of seeing her in a bikini isn’t something I can handle without sporting a woody, so I hope she doesn’t want to go.

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll hang out here with the girls. Maybe I’ll make up the other bedrooms, just in case anyone needs a place to crash.” She puts her hand on Tristan’s leg, and it’s that small gesture, the compassion in her eyes, that gets my insides all tied up in knots this time.

  Turns out I don’t need to see her in a bikini to be knocked off-kilter by her.

  “Sorry, hon.” Tristan leans his shoulder into hers. “I won’t take your bedroom anymore.”

  “I didn’t mind.” Cassidy lowers her chin and looks up at me through her long lashes. Her cheeks pink up, and her look says so much more than it ever has—flirtation, lust, desire, all wrapped up in a neat bow of hesitation. I realize she feels the electricity between us, too, and the way her eyes just darted away tells me that she knows we shouldn’t be feeling this way.

  I remind myself of what Brandon said to Cassidy. The easiest way to get over a guy is to get under another. I’m thinking that goes for guys, too. The easiest way to chase away these feelings for Cassidy is to hook up with another girl.

  ~Cassidy~

  I FEEL LIKE I’m holding my breath until Wyatt leaves the house. All I could think about the whole morning was the fact that he’d taken my clothes off last night after I puked. He saw me naked. Well, almost naked, except for my underwear, but that’s pretty darn naked. As close as Wyatt and I are, he’s never seen my bare breasts before. I hate that just thinking about it stirs butterflies in my stomach, and when we locked eyes earlier, my nipples got hard and my whole body went hot. If I were a guy, I’d be sporting a hard-on.

  This is so wrong. I try to imagine what went through his mind last night. Was he turned-on? Did he want to touch me? Did he touch me? No. I’m sure he’d never do that. What if he didn’t even want to touch me?

  I groan at the thought.

  I try to conjure up the image of his eyes seeing me bare from the waist up. Did he look at me hungrily? Needful? Was he so lost in desire that he couldn’t see straight? I need to stop this craziness. He’s my friend, and despite the fact that every time we’re together lately sparks nearly ignite the room, I have to believe he took it all in stride. Otherwise, how am I supposed to function? Or face him again?

  After Delilah and Ashley leave to go see Brooke, I whip through the house cleaning everything I can. I wash all the sheets, scrub the kitchen, and make up the guest bedrooms. I sweep the floors and the decks—upper and lower. Delilah and Ashley beg me to go out to lunch with them, but every time I look at Delilah, I feel like she thinks Wyatt and I fooled around last night. They saw me leave his room in his T-shirt. She hasn’t said anything, but still. Now I feel uncomfortable around her, for an entirely different reason than I feel uncomfortable around Wyatt.

  Maybe I should start calling Wyatt Army. Maybe if I call him Army I’ll stop thinking about how much I love his real name. I remember when I first heard it. My mom told me we were going to meet the new family around the corner and that they had kids my age. I thought he and Delilah were so lucky to have such cool names, but Wyatt Armstrong? Just thinking about his name makes me feel all swoony. I don’t think it used to, at least not like it is right now. My heart is fluttering like I am a schoolgirl with a crush. Over the years, Wyatt came to represent
everything I respect and love about him. His strength, his generosity, his caring nature. Just thinking about him makes me hot all over.

  I finish cleaning and take a cold shower. It’s almost time to go down to the Taproom, and it sounded like we were all going to walk down together, so I make the water icy cold, hoping it’ll stave off that flippin’ heat that zaps me when Wyatt and I are together. I don’t want to feel this way about him. I’ve been single for only a week, and I want things to stay the way they’ve always been with Wyatt. I want to be best friends forever. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that boyfriends come and go, but real friends, friends who will beat up the assholes and not let anyone see your boobs when you’re too drunk to know? Those friends are rare. That friend is rare.

  I’ve always been able to tuck my feelings for him away—so much so that I never realized I was doing it. But I know I won’t be able to do that anymore, and that’s scary. I don’t know how to walk this tightrope.

  Oh, Wyatt. What is happening to us this summer? Why are we looking at each other this way?

  On the way to the Taproom Wyatt and I don’t make eye contact. That’s how I know he’s just as confused and feels the same heat ricocheting off the pavement between us as I do. I wonder if he regrets taking care of me last night. His gaze zeroes in on a group of girls in bikinis as we cross the parking lot toward the pier, and I know that I need to stop thinking about him.

  He’s obviously figured out a way to push our attraction aside.

  The pier is bustling with tourists. We walk toward the Taproom at the end of the pier and I try to pretend I don’t see Wyatt looking everywhere except at me. I focus on the bar. I’ve always loved its rustic character. It’s built of dark, wide planks of wood, and each side boasts a large driftwood sign with the taproom painted on it.

  Brandon is talking with Wyatt about some girls they met on the beach, and I try not to eavesdrop. I wonder why Brandon is even coming with us. Aren’t we here to talk about the business and go over the books? Doesn’t he have to work at all? As in ever?