by Claire, Ava
"Cass-"
"This was a mistake," I cut in tersely. I turned to go but he caught my arm and spun me back toward him. I crashed into a wall of him--muscle, spicy warmth and memories.
I looked down, away from those bronze flecked eyes but he forced my gaze to his own.
"I need you to look at me and know that I'm sorry, Cassandra." His eyes searched mine intently, not letting me hide. Making sure I heard every word. "I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I can't do this fence stuff. I need you to at least try to accept my apology."
I wrenched my chin from his hold, but I didn't look away.
"And if you can't, I'll let you go,” he continued, staring at me intently. “I swear it."
I expected to see some quiet sign that he’d never truly let me go—an inflection in his voice, twitch beneath his eye, fingers crossed. But he’d do it. If I told him to leave me alone, he’d never talk to me outside of school.
It would be a fate worse than death.
My lip trembled along with my resolve and any niggling desire to hurt him. I wasn't ready to forgive him, but I was ready to try.
I uncrossed my arms and gestured at the expansive lobby, doubly so since we were the only ones except for a half asleep security guard behind a desk on the other side of the room. "Moving on up, huh?"
He smiled, his shoulders relaxing. "Something like that." He held out his hand. "Wait until you see the apartment."
I glanced at his hand, a white flag fluttering in the wind. I took a breath and accepted it, following him to the elevator. Just holding his hand was enough to make me burn red as a tomato and when my eyes flickered over to him and I saw he was watching me, I was glad it was only a few seconds before we were on his floor.
He released my hand to open the door and I quickly swiped my palms over my jeans as I stepped over the threshold.
The small smile on my face bloomed to one that took over everything else. His old apartment had been full of black and white shots of all of the places he wanted to visit: Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, monasteries, and museums. Now, his apartment was a museum with photographs in technicolor and framed instead of tacked up with push pins.
“You did it,” I said softly, the happiness bittersweet because I’d always hoped we could do it together. “Everything you said you would do.”
He stepped up beside me, a smirk at his lips. “You sound surprised.”
“Well, when I saw your address, I was expecting some swanky penthouse setup.”
“Complete with overpriced furniture and Van Gogh originals?” he joked. “I’d like to think I’ve grown in the three years we’ve been apart, but some things are the same.” He gestured toward the living room area.
I turned and gasped when I saw the Beast staring back at me. The Beast was a futon he’d found on Craigslist that I’d been unlucky enough to help him move. I hated him with every passing moment as we lugged the monstrous thing from the bed of his F-150 and tried to squeeze it through his tiny door frame.
I ran my hand along the back of it, remembering movie nights, cram sessions, cuddling, making love…
I barely even noticed the shiny LCD affixed to the wall or the sleek glass coffee table, gravitating to the futon and sighing as I sunk onto the chair, feeling the familiar dips and contours.
“Pretty much everything else here was new.” He let out a small chuckle. “Couldn’t let the futon go though.”
I followed him with my eyes as he came over and plopped down beside me. “Remember when we finally got this damn thing through the door?”
“We dropped it and we were sure we’d done some sort of structural damage?” he grinned
“I just knew we were about to crash through the floor,” I laughed, remembering both of us freezing, worried any sudden movements would send us plunging to our death.
We pointed out different tears and frays and stains and accompanying story. He tapped on a grayish stain on the cushion beside me. “Remember this?”
I glared at him, the red in my cheeks darkening. “No I don’t!”
“You had that all-nighter and your mouth was wide open, the side of your face floating in drool.”
I pinched him. “How many nights were you out here? That’s your saliva for all I know!”
"Nah," he said, shaking his head and sending water from the tips of his dark hair flying. The droplets created wet pin drops on the fabric. I didn't even know he was tracing my lips until it was too late and I went stiff as a board. My lips formed no words but the way they trembled said everything. Every part of me fluttered yet still I leaned into him. Like a flower leaning toward the sun.
"I'm going to kiss you," he said, every word crashing into me. "And then I'm going to lay you across my bed-" He paused as his finger grazed the plump curve of my lips. "-and I'm going to do things to your body that make you scream my name."
Our lips collided as he claimed me, leaving me breathless. I felt nothing but the warmth of his touch as we went to his bedroom and saw nothing but the amber glow of the candle against his fiercely handsome features. There was no talking, only a flurry of my hands and his hands removing my jeans. We kissed again, our tongues dancing wildly around each other. When he pulled back, he gave gave me a look so savage, so vulnerable that I imprinted it on my mind, never wanting to forget this moment.
“This,” he whispered, cupping my breast. Tugging at the peak. “Only this.”
His fingers found the heat between my legs and he dove in. In and out. Out and in until I was grunting and humping him. I was so drunk off him that I didn't see him rearrange, his toned body adeptly moving until it was the curve of his arousal at eye level instead of the curve of his lips. I pulled it from behind its cotton restraints and as soon as I took hold of the base of his cock, he took hold of the lips of my sex, spreading them. His tongue, warm and hungry, danced over and into my pink folds. There were so many things I wanted, needed to do to his cock, but all I could manage was holding onto it for dear life. The solid, hardened part of him that pulsed in my palm was as writhing and alive as every new sensation that washed over me. That consumed me.
He rose up and eased onto the bed beside me, folding his arms behind his head, I snuggled up against him, my bones still vibrating. Still liquid.
My eyes popped open when I remembered and I glanced down, spying his meaty erection. The angry purple head of him made me clench with want.
I brought my lips to his ear. “I’m not finished and I have a feeling you aren’t either. We could do more.” I licked my lips. “If you want.”
He turned his head, his lips covering mine. Silencing me. “Not yet.”
I twisted my lips to the side, disappointment coloring my face and slashing my vocal chords. “You don’t want to have sex with me?”
He perked an eyebrow, giving me an incredulous look. “Do you see how hard I am for you? Even when you’re talking crazy?”
I cleared my throat, willing away the goosebumps as I propped up my head with a pillow. “Then why not tonight?”
His eyes glittered with mischief. “Because I want you to beg for it.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “There goes the pigheaded Chance I know and love.” I hitched a breath in surprise and froze when I realized I’d said the ‘l’ word.
And all amusement drained from his face.
****
The alarm cut through sleep and I tried to ignore it, even though my dream already slipped through my fingers. In it, I had a do-over and in those blissful moments after Chance and I were together, I didn't freeze after I said the l word. He pulled me back in and wave after wave of pleasure crashed into my doubts. But the feel of pleasure was being replaced by a mechanical stutter.
I popped an eye open and stared up at my ceiling fan. Last night when I went to bed it was circling lazily, but now it was just shuddering in place and making an unhealthy humming sound.
I reached for my cell, wanting to call maintenance before I forgot and as soon as my fing
ers wrapped around the cool plastic, I remembered. I turned to the door and I could make out the gruff lines of my father's face as he took in the room for the first time. He'd glanced up at the ceiling fan and shook his head.
"I don't know about this place, Cassie. It's a shoebox, the ceiling fan's about to go-"
I'd interrupted, reminding him it was within my budget and if the fan went, the complex would take care of it. A twenty-four hour, seven days a week maintenance staff, on call to fix old ceiling fans or any other maintenance-ish need that arose.
He’d grunted some reply that I couldn’t remember, but I did remember the bittersweet look on his face as he pecked my forehead and continued on the tour. I saw pride that I might actually be growing up after all and a fear that I didn’t need him. I wish I stood there for longer, let him have his moment. Tell him that I’d always be his little girl. But I darted off, on my way to find some cool amenity that would make up for a less than stellar ceiling fan.
I looked up at the shuddering thing. It had gone from a maniacal spin that made me worry it was going to spin off its axis at any moment to a slothful rotation every few minutes. But it never crapped out. Well, until now.
When my dad wasn't around to give me a smug wink and cajole me into moving back home.
I swiped at the tear that dashed down my cheek, but it was too late. A tear became five and before I knew it, I was curled into a sobbing ball. I was back in that place, where every time I said I needed space to breathe, to become someone other than Rhyder Woods daughter, played on loop. The hurt creased in his face, his heavy sighs, his brown eyes dark with disappointment. I'd take it all back--every fight, moving out--if I could just see him again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed it away, willing the tears to stop. I pretended I believed my therapist's words, that there was nothing I could do. That it wasn't my fault.
I threw off my covers and moved to the shower. The screeching hot water pounded my skin and I leaned into the warmth, not shutting it off until I was completely numb. I brushed my teeth and pulled my dark hair into a bun. After I put on a pair of jeans and a maroon colored sweater, I was close to myself.
I swiped my tote, full of books and tablets, then snapped my fingers when I realized I’d forgotten my British lit textbook. When I daydreamed about the class, I always imagined lining the crease of the book would make me think of English greats, but now, just being in the vicinity of it made me think of Chance. Even though the temp had gone from steamy to sub arctic after I'd awkwardly told him that I didn't love him, Chance still brought a smile to my lips. The goofy faces he held in all of his globetrotting photographs. Still keeping that crappy futon even though he lived in a ritzy apartment. The way he could make my body quiver with only words; with only a glance.
"Quit it," I hissed futilely because it was too late. I was already remembering the feel of his lips pressed against mine. I was already getting chills remembering how it felt with his fingers deep inside of me.
I reached for the radio and swerved when I saw the time flashing back at me. 10:05. Five minutes into my British Lit class.
It couldn't be right. I'd set my alarm and…and I had a breakdown throwing a wrench in my effort to show Chance I was serious about his course.
I jerked in and out of traffic, trying to clear the last few miles to campus. When I finally careened onto campus, it was eleven minutes past ten.
I dashed from the car, speed walking turning into a bizarre gallop. I put aside worry that I'd see Dr. Stark and took the first stairwell, going up two at a time. I spun around the corner and pushed into the classroom, the sound of the door banging against the door drawing every eye. But there was only one set that I was worried about. His caramel brown gaze settled on me and his lips bristled in disappointment.
"Miss Woods." I tried to not be offended by the cool, unaffected way he tossed my name out. "I believe this class starts at 10am, not whenever you decide to climb out of bed."
I gulped, my cheeks betraying my shame and something else. Did I really look like I just rolled out of bed? “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Oh don’t apologize to me,” he said in a deep, grandiose voice that filled the quiet room. “Apologize to your classmates, who managed to show their respect for this course by being on time.”
Apologize? ‘Respect for this course’? I knew he was angry, hurt about how I acted like associating him or us with anything remotely resembling love was unacceptable but that was between him and I. He had no right to publicly flog me for what went down between us in private.
My classmates murmured, a few snickers flitting about until he gave them a stern look. He turned back to me, pinning me in place. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
I opened my mouth and closed it twice, his callous condemnation robbing me of the ability to speak. I understood the need to not show favoritism, but this was some sort of revenge. And that pissed me off.
Just as I readied a retort, he flung a hand dismissively at my desk near the window. "Just take your seat. The class is finishing up a quiz on the reading assignment."
I hesitated, paling at the mention of homework. I'd completely forgotten. I quickly rocked to motion, not wanting to let him see the lapse and have something else to crucify me with.
I reached for the stack of quizzes as I breezed to his desk, already feeling a little nauseous about the inevitable zero, but he put a firm hand over the papers.
"The quiz began at 10 am," he said scathingly. "You will receive no credit."
I spun on my heel and marched to my desk, the blood in my veins boiling. He didn't even make eye contact with me for the remainder of the class. I didn’t say a word, practically daring him to look at me so I could shoot daggers directly at his unfairly attractive body. Now that we were intimate again, focusing was damn near impossible. Even when he made me so mad I could snap a pencil in half, I wanted to kiss him more. That thought was scarier than standing in front of the whole damn school as he chewed me out.
I stuffed my things in my bag with relief when class ended and tried to book it out of there, but he stepped into my path.
"A word, Miss Woods.”
I had a crapload I wanted to say, but people were still filing out of the room so I held my tongue. “Another time, Dr. Crawford.”
One of the students looked at me, clearly surprised I was being so fresh. Chance’s eyes flashed with anger. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
He steered me toward the corner, giving us a sliver of privacy, at least for a few minutes anyway.
"So now I exist?" I whispered between clenched teeth. "I was beginning to think I was invisible."
"Don't be silly, Cass," he said gruffly. "Everyone else made it to class on time. I can't give you special treatment."
"Ah, so that's what was going on," I said, dripping with sarcasm. "See, I thought you were trying to pay me back for last night."
His jaw tightened. "This has nothing to do with last night."
"Whatever," I snorted. I crooked my thumb toward the door. "I'm going to go."
"We're not done here," he said angrily, stepping to block me. "I want you to take this class seriously or what the hell is the point?"
I frowned. "The point?"
"What’s the point of me standing at the front of the class and pretending you mean nothing when you mean everything?”
His confession was a sledgehammer, demolishing any animosity and leaving only the ache in my chest. And when his eyes flickered to my lips, desire overwhelmed me. Desire to kiss him. Desire to knock everything from his desk and let him have his way with me.
I leaned in and pursed my lips before I caught myself, taking a few steps back. The door swung open, bringing a rush of conversations and footsteps and I let out a sigh and gave him a long look before speaking.
"I won't be late again."
“Good.” He moved closer and I just knew—I wasn’t getting off that easy. “Tonight when you come over we can discuss further discipli
nary action.”
My body rioted as I moved from him, every step physically painful. I paused at the door and glanced back, my heart skipping a beat when he mouthed a single word: tonight.
****
"How about a little coffee to go with your sugar?"
"Hm?" I murmured, blinking rapidly, glancing at Alicia.
She took a sip of her frappe then nodded at the raw sugar packet in my hand. "That's the tenth one you've put in."
I scoffed then looked down at the stack of brown sugar packets sitting beside my latte. Instead of a frothy layer of foam speckled with raw sugar, there was a solid golden crust. I quickly swiped it off with a stirrer and popped my lid on, ignoring Alicia's suspicious gaze. "Where do you want to sit?"
It was a silly question since Royal Bean was almost always packed to capacity and there was only a loveseat near the front and a small table near the back, but I needed a subject change or she'd see the truth on my face. While I was trying to forgive Chance for the past, I knew it would take a while before he earned back her trust--if at all.
I lowered myself into my seat and wearily shrugged my cardigan off. "We're barely back and I'm already drained."
"You and me both,” Alicia said with a groan.
She was definitely wearing her exhaustion better than I was. Her blonde locks hung in glossy waves, skirting past her shoulders. She looked fresh off the runway in her sheer polka dot dress paired with leggings and a leather cropped jacket.
Her eyes smoldered as she narrowed them to baby blue slits. "How's British Lit?"
"It's fine." I fondled my cup sleeve. "A ridiculous amount of Jane Austen right now. Pride and Prejudice."
She crossed her arms. "The last thing you need right now is Downton Abbey's Romeo and Juliet."
"Okay first, wrong century," I snickered. "And there are no murders or suicide."
She made a dismissive grunt in the back of her throat. "Speaking of murder, I'm hoping you've killed off whatever you had going with Chance."
I tightened my hold on my cup. "I thought you agreed to no Chance talk."