Chapter One
“We’ve got to stop doing this.” Nate took a long pull from his beer before slumping deeper in his seat.
Looking up at him over the top of her book, Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“This!” He swept his free hand out as if to encapsulate everything. “Just all of… this .”
Something was burning in his gut, a dissatisfaction too deep and raw to even name. From the way she was scowling, Cassie was going to make him, though. She sat there in silence, dripping skepticism and giving him that look she always speared him with when she wanted him to use his words.
Words. As if those should be a problem. He made his living with them, and here he was, ready to burn them all down.
In exasperation, he rolled his eyes. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “It’s a Saturday night, for Christ’s sake. The last weekend of the year, and here we are, sitting around drinking—”
“You’re drinking.”
He talked right over her. “—drinking all by ourselves. Look at us, Cassie. We’re young, in the prime of our lives. Successful.”
“You’re successful.”
“ We’re successful.” Sure, maybe he made more than she did, but they were both professionals. He barreled on, picking up steam. “We’re attractive. We pay our rent. We have degrees and jobs. What’s wrong with us?”
She shrugged and directed her gaze back down. “Nothing.”
He huffed, set aside his beer and lunged, grabbing her book right out of her hands. He only gave the cover the briefest glance before waving it around. “ Jane Eyre . You’re rereading Jane Eyre on a Saturday night. Can’t you see anything wrong with this picture?”
Glaring, she reached out and swiped at him, stealing the book back. Without even looking, she marked her place and tossed it aside, directing her full attention at him. “No, I don’t see anything wrong with trying to get some work done so I can relax for the rest of the break. The only problem I see here is that Giselle found another sucker to float her bills for her.”
Cassie’s face went red, like she realized at the exact same moment he had that she’d gone too far.
Eight months. He and Giselle had made it eight months. It was longer than he usually suffered anyone, and he’d been starting to think what he had with her was good enough. That maybe it was time to consider asking her to share his apartment. His life.
Turned out, she’d been sharing a lot more than that with that jackass Parker from accounting.
Cassie had been supportive enough then. Had held his hand and kept his glass full as he’d completed a grand tour of every whiskey they carried at the bar down the street, and had gotten him home in one piece. But the next morning, over coffee and a fistful of ibuprofen, she’d pulled her “told you so” act.
“You never liked her,” he said, accusing. But his heart wasn’t really in it.
The subject was still too raw. Sure, Giselle hadn’t exactly been his intellectual equal, and yeah, so maybe she’d grown a little too accustomed to batting her eyelashes and getting Nate to pick up the tab for her. In his experience, that was par for the course. All women expected it, and he’d resigned himself to it. He was starting to resign himself to an awful lot of things.
Which brought them right back to what he’d been trying to say in the first place.
“Don’t you see, Cassie? We’re in a rut. I date one awful woman after another—”
“If you’d try dating someone who wasn’t a gold-digger—”
He rounded on her. “And what about you? When’s the last time you went out with anyone at all?”
The set of her mouth told him he was in dangerous waters.
She crossed her arms over her chest and squared her jaw. “Not everyone has people falling over themselves to ask them out.”
“I don’t—”
He did, though. Always had. It was embarrassing, honestly. But Cassie wasn’t exactly a slouch herself, and why she was pretending she was utterly mystified
“We’ve got to stop doing this.” Nate took a long pull from his beer before slumping deeper in his seat.
Looking up at him over the top of her book, Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“This!” He swept his free hand out as if to encapsulate everything. “Just all of… this .”
Something was burning in his gut, a dissatisfaction too deep and raw to even name. From the way she was scowling, Cassie was going to make him, though. She sat there in silence, dripping skepticism and giving him that look she always speared him with when she wanted him to use his words.
Words. As if those should be a problem. He made his living with them, and here he was, ready to burn them all down.
In exasperation, he rolled his eyes. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “It’s a Saturday night, for Christ’s sake. The last weekend of the year, and here we are, sitting around drinking—”
“You’re drinking.”
He talked right over her. “—drinking all by ourselves. Look at us, Cassie. We’re young, in the prime of our lives. Successful.”
“You’re successful.”
“ We’re successful.” Sure, maybe he made more than she did, but they were both professionals. He barreled on, picking up steam. “We’re attractive. We pay our rent. We have degrees and jobs. What’s wrong with us?”
She shrugged and directed her gaze back down. “Nothing.”
He huffed, set aside his beer and lunged, grabbing her book right out of her hands. He only gave the cover the briefest glance before waving it around. “ Jane Eyre . You’re rereading Jane Eyre on a Saturday night. Can’t you see anything wrong with this picture?”
Glaring, she reached out and swiped at him, stealing the book back. Without even looking, she marked her place and tossed it aside, directing her full attention at him. “No, I don’t see anything wrong with trying to get some work done so I can relax for the rest of the break. The only problem I see here is that Giselle found another sucker to float her bills for her.”
Cassie’s face went red, like she realized at the exact same moment he had that she’d gone too far.
Eight months. He and Giselle had made it eight months. It was longer than he usually suffered anyone, and he’d been starting to think what he had with her was good enough. That maybe it was time to consider asking her to share his apartment. His life.
Turned out, she’d been sharing a lot more than that with that jackass Parker from accounting.
Cassie had been supportive enough then. Had held his hand and kept his glass full as he’d completed a grand tour of every whiskey they carried at the bar down the street, and had gotten him home in one piece. But the next morning, over coffee and a fistful of ibuprofen, she’d pulled her “told you so” act.
“You never liked her,” he said, accusing. But his heart wasn’t really in it.
The subject was still too raw. Sure, Giselle hadn’t exactly been his intellectual equal, and yeah, so maybe she’d grown a little too accustomed to batting her eyelashes and getting Nate to pick up the tab for her. In his experience, that was par for the course. All women expected it, and he’d resigned himself to it. He was starting to resign himself to an awful lot of things.
Which brought them right back to what he’d been trying to say in the first place.
“Don’t you see, Cassie? We’re in a rut. I date one awful woman after another—”
“If you’d try dating someone who wasn’t a gold-digger—”
He rounded on her. “And what about you? When’s the last time you went out with anyone at all?”
The set of her mouth told him he was in dangerous waters.
She crossed her arms over her chest and squared her jaw. “Not everyone has people falling over themselves to ask them out.”
“I don’t—”
He did, though. Always had. It was embarrassing, honestly. But Cassie wasn’t exactly a slouch herself, and why she was pretending she was utterly mystified
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