Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Well, I still don’t want that relationship, and I really don’t want to hurt Cassie either.
Sometimes, having a good friend in your life is more rewarding than a few nights of hot, sweaty sex.
Except Cassie has other ideas. When I return, she’s standing by the water, her back to the fire. She hears my footsteps and turns toward me, a soft smile curving her lips.
Man, she’s pretty. She took her hair out of its ponytail, and the copper-colored strands are loose around her shoulders, once again appearing bright orange in the firelight.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey. Sorry about that.”
“No worries.”
“So …” I step closer but maintain a few feet of distance.
She notices, because her eyes drop to the gaping space between us. “So …” she mimics. She bites her bottom lip and studies me for a moment.
Damn it. I don’t know if I should bring up the kiss and let her know it can’t happen again, or just pretend it never happened. I shove my hands in my pockets, shifting in discomfort. I’m still trying to decide what to say when Cassie beats me to it.
“Will you fling me?” she blurts out.
I blink. “Sorry, what?” I blink again. “You want me to throw you? Like, into the water?”
At that, she bursts out laughing. “No! Why would I want you to throw me into the water?”
I snicker. “I don’t know! It’s a crazy request. That’s why I clarified.”
Still giggling, she offers her own clarification. “I’m asking if you want to have a fling with me. A summer fling.”
Shit.
She went there.
And here her pal Joy thought Cassie would never have the balls to ask me.
I sort of wish she hadn’t found the courage. Because I’m about to look like a total asshole by saying no to a hookup ten minutes after I made a move on her. If that’s not liable to give a woman whiplash, I don’t know what will.
“Uh. Cass.” I scrub a hand over my forehead then drag it through my hair. I’m stalling. But that means I’m also prolonging the agony and that’s even worse. I let out a breath and say, “So, listen, I was actually just thinking that I … well, that I was sort of glad for the interruption.”
“Oh.” Her eyes instantly go shuttered, but not before I catch a flash of hurt.
“It’s good we got interrupted before things went any further, you know? I like you, and I think you’re awesome, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to get involved. Like, sexually.” Christ, this is torture. “It’s better if we keep things platonic.”
“Okay.” She studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Can I ask why?”
I shrug lamely. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, especially with you being next door. I’m going to be busy this summer. I work two jobs, you know? I won’t have a lot of free time to spend with you, and even if we agreed to no expectations, that never actually pans out. This kind of arrangement always leads to conflict, and, honestly, I like you too much to screw up this friendship thing we’ve got going—”
“All right, I get it,” she cuts in. “It’s cool.”
“Are you sure?” I still can’t gauge her expression.
“Yeah, it’s fine. This town is full of suitable candidates for a fling, right?”
“Right,” I say, nodding in relief. “And you’re smoking hot. You’ll have no trouble finding someone. I can help you scope out potential candidates if you want.”
Seriously?! shouts the incredulous voice in my head.
I wish you could un-say words the way some platforms let you un-send messages, but nope. I said what I said and there’s no taking it back.
Man. I basically friend-zoned her and now I’m offering to be her wingman? Way to twist the knife in deeper. I’m a fucking asshole.
Clearly, she agrees, because she eyes me in disbelief before letting out a sarcastic laugh. “Um, yeah … I don’t know about that.” Rolling her eyes, she steps away from the water’s edge. “Come on, friend, let’s go back to the party. I desperately need another drink.”
CHAPTER 9
CASSIE
Freshman year of college, I was plagued by a recurring anxiety dream. The damn thing tortured my sleeping brain at least once a week and it always went the same way. I’m staring at a small suitcase; behind it, there’s an entire wall with stacks and stacks of test answer booklets. Those thin, lined notebooks the profs hand out when you write exams. My task? I need to put the notebooks in the suitcase. All of them. I must make them all fit, no matter what. It is imperative they fit.
And somehow, by some miracle, I manage to jam all the booklets into the suitcase. The anxiety would then lift, my subconscious breathing a sigh of relief, and I’d think, Thank God, I’ve done it.