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
“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
Similar Books
Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528)
Jonathan Sal; Lane Lizard, Jonathan Lane
