We talk about books, Cassie and I. It’s a safe topic, and last time I saw her, three months and two days ago at Luke and Isla’s wedding, we got into a lengthy discussion about my favorite classic. She’s never readThe Art of War,so when I learned it was her birthday, I knew the perfect gift.
“This copy was in Iraq with me. There’s probably sand in the pages.”
She holds the book to her chest. “Thank you.”
“I know it’s not what you usually read…”
“I read all sorts,” Cassie interrupts. “My favorite is, um, women’s fiction. But I’ll read anything, especially off a recommendation.”
I smile at her comment. I know for a fact that Cassie loves reading romance, but if she wants to call it women’s fiction, then I won’t contradict her.
She leans against the wall and thumbs through the book. Her earlier self-consciousness about being in her pajamas is forgotten as she stares at the words on the page.
She curls a strand of hair around her finger as she reads.
I could stand here and watch Cassie read all day, especially my favorite book, but Maggie has baked a cake and Isabella’s gotten everyone together. Isla decorated the place, and there are balloons and drinks and good food waiting.
I clear my throat and Cassie looks up, blinking.
“Sorry, it’s…the opening.”
“I know, right?”
She’s as into the book as I hoped she would be, and a surge of warmth rushes through me.
“You sure you don’t want to stay here with me and read instead of going out?” She’s smiling as she says it, and I can’t tell if she’s serious.
I’d like nothing better than to spend a night quietly reading with Cassie, but Isabella will kick my ass if I don’t bring Cassie back. And yeah, I’m kind of a little scared of the Prez’s old lady.
“That’s temping. But it’s your birthday, and there will be cake.”
She gives me a smile that pierces straight to my heart. “I need to get ready. Give me ten minutes.”
I follow her through to the living room, which is an open area with large gray couches. One armchair in the corner has a blanket bundled on top of it and a coffee table next to it. Cassie scoops a book from it as she goes past before I catch the title. I get a flash of the cover, which features a muscular male torso that’s tinted green. The man has horns and what looks likes tentacles coming out of his body. I pretend not to notice the ‘women’s fiction’ as she tucks it under her arm.
“Feel free to watch the TV while you wait.”
I pull my Kindle out of my pocket and hold it up. “I’m good.”
She nods, and I settle on the couch with my book.
3
CASSIE
The Harley throbs between my thighs as I cling on to Specs. The pavement rushes past beneath my feet, and the wind whips against my cheeks. It’s my first time on the back of a bike and my fingers dig into Specs’s waist as I press myself against him, certain he must hear the hammering of my heart through his jacket.
It’s exhilarating, and when we arrive at the clubhouse, I think about telling Specs to keep riding. I wonder what it would be like to ride with him up the mountain, to find a secluded spot, just the two of us.
I shake the thought out of my head. There is no way a man like Specs would be interested in me. He’s at least a decade older than me, and he’s a veteran. He’s had a life. What would he want with a spoiled twenty-three-year-old?
We pull up outside the clubhouse, and Specs parks at the end of a line of Harleys. Reluctantly, I slide off the bike and hand him the helmet. Our fingers brush, and electricity jumps between us. Specs’s eyes widen, and he looks away. He hangs up the helmets and I retrieve my purse from the saddle bag, wondering if I imagined the heat between us.
My heels clack across the pavement as we head into the clubhouse. I changed into tight black slacks and my only boots with a low heel.
As I walk into the bar area of the clubhouse, I’m greeted by loud cheers. Most of the club is here with their wives and kids. A Happy Birthday banner hangs above the bar, and there are streamers and balloons.
Isabella comes forward to hug me with a huge grin on her face. “Happy birthday!”
