CHAPTER 21
CASSIE
Aaron: Hey stranger.
I stare at the screen, my stomach dropping. I’m parked in front of the post office and was about to get out of the Rover when his message came in. Aaron’s been trying to get together all week. I keep turning him down, claiming to be busy with my mother. Which isn’t exactly a lie; since she got in, she’s monopolized all my time. Still, I can’t deny it’s been a relief to have a legitimate excuse to avoid hanging out with him. The moment Tate and I started hooking up, I all but forgot about Aaron. That makes me kind of a jerk, I know that. It’s just so difficult to tell him I’m no longer interested.
But I also can’t keep putting him off. He’s going back to New York next week. I don’t want him spending his last week sitting around waiting for me.
Unsure how best to phrase it, I text Peyton instead.
Me: I need to tell Aaron I don’t want to see him anymore, but I need to say it in a nice way. Suggestions?
She must be right by her phone because her response is instantaneous. Or rather, her responses. As usual, six messages pop up in quick succession.
Peyton: All right, this is what I always say:
Peyton: Hey! I’ve had so much fun hanging out with you, but I kind of see this as more of a friendship thing.
Peyton: I’m not really feeling a romantic spark.
Peyton: You’re so awesome, and I know you’re going to find someone you totally click with.
Peyton: I just don’t think it’s me.
Me: Wow. Not bad. Thanks!
I do a bit of tweaking, copy and paste, then take a deep breath and hit send. Instantly, I get that weak feeling in my stomach and my heart starts pounding. The idea of an impending confrontation makes me queasy, but at the same time I experience a pang of pride. I may not be able to tell Aaron he’s a terrible kisser, or tell my mother how much I hate her sometimes, but at least I was able to accomplish this one teeny, tiny thing. There’s the silver lining, I guess.
I try to focus on that feeling of pride, but the nervous energy doesn’t abate. It continues to wreak havoc on my gut as I approach the pickup counter at the post office.
“Hi,” I greet the elderly clerk. “I need to pick up a package for Cassie Soul? I got a notice on my door saying they dropped it off here because nobody was home to sign.” I hand him the notice.
“Let me go check.” The gray-haired man shuffles into the back room.
While I wait, my phone buzzes in my hand. Aaron’s name appears on the lock screen. The nausea returns. All I can see from the notification preview is: Thanks for being honest. I really—
Then it cuts off.
Oh God. I really what? Optimism eludes me as my brain fills in the blanks with all the worst-case scenarios.
I really hate you.
I really think you’re a bitch.
I really hate that you wasted my time.
I click the notification.
Aaron: Thanks for being honest. I really appreciate it. So many people just ghost these days. Thanks for being so cool.
Relief flitters through me. Wow. Okay. That went way better than expected.
Me: Thanks for understanding. You’re really cool too.
Aaron: Enjoy the rest of your summer, Cassie.
Me: You too.
Just like that, I handled the confrontation with such ease I almost want to call Tate and brag. Then I realize how weird that would be, considering I haven’t brought up Aaron since Tate and I got together. And I don’t want him to think I’m still seeing other guys.
“Here you are!” The postal clerk returns with a thin cardboard box. “Sign here, please.”
My entire body vibrates with excitement as I get back into the car, where I tear open the package. I reach inside. The next thing I know, I’m holding the physical manifestation of Kit ’n McKenna. It’s a hardcover, the front image featuring the titular characters, and it looks and feels incredible. Even more astonishing is the byline at the top.
WRITTEN BY CASSANDRA SOUL
At the bottom is a second listing:
ILLUSTRATED BY ROBB SHEFFIELD
Squealing out loud, I quickly snap a picture and text it to my former stepbrother.
Me: LOOK!!!!
Robb: Holy shit!
Me: I had a second copy printed and shipped to the penthouse. You should receive it end of day tomorrow.
Robb: This is so cool. Thanks for including me. Imagine this takes off??
Me: What do you mean? We’re not actually selling it lol
Robb: Why the hell not?
Me: It’s just a present for my sisters.
Robb: Umm … Okay, we need to get on a call to discuss it. This could be a missed opportunity, Cass.
Robb: I’m away this weekend, heading to the Montauk house, but how about Monday? You free to chat?
Me: Sure. Sounds good.
My head is spinning like a carousel now. I didn’t plan on selling this book at all. Dad made that throwaway comment about self-publishing or submitting it to a publisher, but I’d brushed it off. Becoming a children’s book author was never at the top of my career choice list. But now I’ve got a hardback copy of Kit ’n McKenna in my hands, and it looks real. Sharp, professional. This printer did an exceptional job. The pages are glossy, and the interior illustrations are gorgeous. As I flip through and read lines from the story, I find myself grinning like a silly schoolgirl. This is good. It’s really, really good.
So why not? Why not try to make something happen? Turn this project into something other children can enjoy, not just my sisters. I suppose next weekend’s birthday unveiling will be the real test. If Roxy and Mo love the book, that bodes well for the prospective success of this venture.
My phone buzzes again while I’m reading.
Joy: Is that you sitting in the Range Rover giggling to yourself like an escaped mental patient?
I look up and spot her by the smoothie shop. She gives a nonchalant wave.
Rolling my eyes, I hop out of the Rover and dart over to my friend. “Check this out!” I shove the hardcover into her hand.
“Oooh!” Her eyes light up. “This is amazing!”
“Do you think the girls will like it?” I ask anxiously.
“Are you kidding? They’re going to love it. I think a lot of kids would love it, actually.” She flips through it, then stops on one page in particular. She giggles and twists it around to show me the visual of McKenna trying to jam her secret dragon into a too-small cupboard. In the next panel, the doors bust open and Kit bursts out in a flurry of purple scales. “This is great. I would read this to my little cousins.”
“Robb wants to talk about publishing it properly—”
“Do it!” Joy says immediately.
I bite my lip as tiny ripples of excitement dance in my stomach. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“A lot. I’m about to start senior year of college. I don’t have time to think about publishing children’s books on the side.” I shrug. “Anyway, what are you up to now? Want to grab lunch?”
“This is lunch.” She holds up her gross-looking green juice. “But I’ll come and watch you eat.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Sounds hot.”
I snicker. “That’s something Tate would say.” I tuck the book under my arm and nod at the smoothie place. “I’ll just grab a smoothie too. Treat me? I left my purse in the car.”
“Jeez. So demanding.”
We go in, and a moment later we’re at the end of the counter, waiting for my order to be prepared.
“Did you see Tate when you got back last night?” she asks.
“Yes,” I answer, thinking about the brief encounter. Joy and I left the Rip Tide around midnight, and despite needing to wake up early, Tate still snuck in through my window … to kiss me good night. Yup, just a kiss. I swear, he’s the biggest tease I’ve ever met.
“I can’t believe you still haven’t been fully naked together,” Joy says, marveling over what I told her last night at the show.
“It’s weird, right? It’s like he thinks if we have all our clothes off, his penis will accidently fall into my vagina.”
She hoots. “Maybe he’s a virgin too.”
“Definitely not. Honestly, I think he’s scared to deflower me. He’s moving at a snail’s pace. It’s maddening.”
“Then let’s give him a nudge.”
“What kind of nudge?”
“Um. Seduce the guy, Cass.”
“How?”
“What do you mean, how?” She looks amused by my total lack of seduction proficiency. “There are so many options.”
“Name one,” I challenge. “Because it sounds like you don’t actually know—”
“Sneak into his house and be naked in his bed when he comes back from work.” Joy offers a self-satisfied smile. “There. That’s one suggestion.”
“I can’t sneak into the house,” I protest. I step up to the counter to take my banana-strawberry smoothie, courtesy of the teenage employee who just placed it on the counter. “There’s an alarm.”
“Really, that’s what you’re focused on?” she says as we step back onto the sidewalk. “You can find ways around it. Text him and say, hey, where’s your spare key? I need to pop over to your place to borrow some sugar.” She tilts her head. “That’s a neighbor thing, right? They always need sugar.”
I snort. “Okay, I’ll play. So I text him, tell him I need something from his house. And then?”
“You get naked. You lie on his bed. Instead of flowers, you cover yourself in a sea of condoms—”
“Oh my God.” I start to laugh. “No.”
“Fine, no condom décor. But I stand by the rest. Trust me, if he walks into his bedroom and finds you lying there naked? He won’t be resisting you anymore.”
I mull over the idea. Honestly, it does sound kind of hot. Exciting. And it’ll be hot and exciting even if we don’t end up having sex.
“I don’t know if I can be naked,” I admit, lifting my straw to my lips. I take a long sip of fruity goodness. “But maybe lingerie?”
“Yes! Even better! We need something positively slutty! Okay. Go get your purse.” Joy has snapped into dictator mode. “We’re going shopping.”
Later that night, Grandma and Mom embark on a rare outing together, heading to Charleston for dinner. I think it was Grandma’s idea, her attempt at giving me a reprieve.
Mom’s been on my case all week, roping me into numerous shopping excursions, painful lunches, and constant criticism. Mostly directed at my fashion choices, but she’s also been throwing in complaints about Dad, Nia, and my friendship with Robb, just to keep me on my toes. The main reason she’s bent out of shape, though, is because I refused to go along with her dress suggestion for the Beacon’s reopening. I vetoed the floor-length gold gown on sight, which, in hindsight, may have been a mistake seeing as how it led to several more shopping trips to find another dress.
With my family gone the house is completely empty, so there’s no reason Tate can’t come over here, but the idea of him finding me in his own bed is a lot more appealing. More of a sexy shock for him. He’s done working at seven today. He had to stay late so his dad could train him in some payroll matters, but said he’d be home by seven thirty. I told him I’d cook him dinner.
What he doesn’t know is that we’re having dessert first.
Me: Hey. What’s the keypad code to get in through your back door? I need to steal some spices. Can you believe we ran out of both salt and red pepper?
Tate: If I tell you the code, you can never share it with anyone.
Me: Of course not. I was only planning to post it on Twitter, not any of my other social media accounts. Keep it exclusive, you know?
Tate: Perfect. 25591. I’m on my way home now. Grabbing a quick shower and then I’ll head over to you.
Excellent.
I’m all ready to go. I shaved my entire body, so it’s smoother and softer than a baby’s bottom. I chose the color white for the lacy bra and matching thong I picked up in town earlier. According to the saleswoman, the official shade of it is honest-to-God called virginal white. Once I heard that, I would’ve bought the lingerie set for the comedy appeal alone. Thankfully, I look great in white. When I stepped out of the dressing room, Joy and the saleswoman assured me no man would be able to keep his hands off me.
There’s really only one man I care about tonight.
I give my reflection one last inspection in the hall mirror. I’ve straightened my hair and am wearing it loose. No makeup, save for some lip gloss and light mascara. Definitely no blush, because I’ll be doing that naturally anyway. It’s my cross to bear. I don’t even keep blush in my makeup case.
Since I can’t strut next door in my underwear, I throw a loose tank dress over my head and slip my feet into a pair of flip-flops. I walk the path at the side of our houses toward the Jacksons’ back deck, where I punch in the code on the door, and the lock releases.
Tate’s been keeping the place super clean. I like that. I head for the wide spiral staircase in the front hall that’s painted a nautical blue and features white wainscoting. At the top of the stairs, I get an idea. I dart back to the hall and kick one flip-flop off, leaving it on the hardwood floor. I leave the other flip-flop on the first step. My dress halfway up the stairs. Grinning at the little trail I’ve created, I head for the guest room where Tate’s been staying.
His bed is made and the duvet smells good, like fabric softener and Tate’s unique, masculine scent, which always makes me think of the ocean. I’m not surprised everything is so neat and tidy. He told me he picked up the habit at Scouts’ camp. Because of course he was a Boy Scout. Apparently his dad was his troop leader, which also doesn’t surprise me. Gavin Bartlett is the epitome of fun dad.
Speaking of Gavin, Tate said his parents had invited me over for dinner. So far, I’ve been putting it off. Dinner with his parents would make it feel like we’re seriously dating, and I’m trying to keep a proper distance there. I know this is just a fling. I’m returning to Boston at the end of the summer, and it’s not like long-distance relationships ever work. Besides, I already told him I don’t want a relationship, and Tate doesn’t want one either. He’s simply having fun. We both are.
My heart rate spikes when I finally hear the front door open. The alarm beeps a few times, then stops once Tate arms it.
His muffled voice says, “What the…” and I smother a grin. Someone’s spotted my abandoned flip-flops and dress.
“Cassie?” he calls warily.
Footsteps approach the stairs.
“Up here!” I tell him.
“Oh, thank God.” His voice gets louder. “I was worried I was going to find you murdered up there.”
I choke out a laugh. “Why would a murderer take the time to arrange my clothing in a trail?”
I hear him approaching the bedroom door. “I don’t know. To fuck with my head and—” Tate halts in the doorway. His Adam’s apple bobs when he spots me. Eyes instantly blazing. “Holy hell.” He shakes his head. “Wow.”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“Don’t what me. You look…” He swallows again. “So … fucking … good.”
His hungry eyes devour my body, which I’ve posed pinup style just for him. One knee propped. Head resting on his pillows and back arched, a position that makes my boobs jut out enticingly. It’s rare for me to put the girls on display like this, but I love the way he’s looking at them right now.
A cheeky smile springs free. “Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to take your clothes off?” I inquire.
Without a word, Tate reaches for the hem of his shirt.
“Good choice.”
Chuckling, he pulls his shirt off, revealing that tanned, muscular chest. “What did I do to deserve this?” he asks, and I don’t know if it’s a rhetorical question.
“Do you like?” I toy with the tiny lace bow on my bra, flashing a coy smile.
“I love.”
He undoes his pants, shoving the material down. Boxers disappear next. Now he’s naked, his erection out and proud.
He takes a step forward.
“Still want to take it slow?” I taunt.
“Don’t know if that’s possible,” he growls, and then he’s on the bed, covering my body with his.
Our lips meet, and it gets hot and dirty real fast. Greedy kissing and impatient hands running over each other’s bodies. Tate makes no effort to remove my lingerie. He lifts his head, breathing hard, then kisses my breast over my bra.
“This is so sexy,” he groans. His fingertips slim over the lacy edge. “Solid choice with white.”
I’m pleased he approves.
Slowly, his hand glides along my stomach toward the delicate straps of my thong. “Goddamn,” he croaks. “I don’t even want to take these off you. The bra too. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing them.” He strokes my clit over the panties, and a rush of pleasure skitters through me.
His erection is heavy against my thigh, an erotic reminder of what I’m about to experience. I can’t wait. Swallowing through my dry throat, I reach for him, circling his shaft with my fingers and—
The doorbell rings.
We both jump in surprise. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask him.
“No, not that I—” He cuts off. His face, which only a second ago was flushed, suddenly pales.
Then his phone chimes.
“Shit,” Tate curses. He practically dives off the bed and grabs the phone from his pants pocket. He lets out another expletive when he reads the text.
“What’s going on?” I sit up. For some reason, I instinctively lower one arm to cover my breasts, which are nearly overflowing from my skimpy bra cups.
The doorbell rings again.
“Who is that?” I demand.
He raises his head from his phone, features pained. “My date.”