Good times.
Cassie cracks the door, sighing as she plops down on the edge of the bed. “I saw Atticus just now.”
“Oh. Me too.”
Is this all she wanted to talk about? Why does she suddenly appear shy and conflicted?
I down the rest of my cup, feeling the pleasant buzz begin to course through me.
“Listen,” she says. “I’ve been… wondering. This girl Atticus says he’s seeing—is she real?”
My heart begins to pound. Fuck, has she caught on? Can she see the way I look at him, how badly I want to touch him whenever we’re in the same room?
Do I talk about him too much?
“Uh, I think so,” I mutter, staring at the bottom of my empty cup. I couldreallyuse another drink.
If Cassie really has caught on, could I convince her to keep our secret?
“Oh. I only ask because we never see her, and I wanted to… well, I wanted to ask him…Ugh, I feel pathetic.” She groans, covering her face with her hands.
Her little red dress rides up her thighs, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she whines.
“Ask him what?” I question, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.
I have a feeling this has nothing to do with me and everything to do withher. And it makes me fucking nauseous.
“I wanted to ask him out,” she confesses.
I stare at Cassie, and for the first time since we met in high school, I want to disown her. I want to never speak to or see her again, so that Atticus won’t either.
My brain screamsminewhile my hands shake around my empty cup.
“Why… why would you do that?” I ask.
“Because I like him?” She says it like a question. Like I’m stupid for asking. “He’s kind and confident and successful;anygirl would like him.”
Any girl. Because of course it would be ridiculous formeto like him.
I have to sort this out. I have to steer her away and protect what belongs to me. Who I belong to. But how? How do you convince someone that the man who is perfect is actually distasteful?
My mind reels, and I grasp onto any bit of knowledge that I have that could dissuade her.
“You should steer clear, Cassie,” I instruct. “Seriously. He’s no good for you.”
Cassie uncovers her face, shooting me a piercing glare. “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t think I’m good enough? Or what, doyouhave a secret crush on me I should know about?”
I laugh. I literally laugh in her face. The fact that she’s assumingthat, rather than me potentially liking the same man tells me everything I need to know.
I should not, and will not, ever tell her about Atticus and me.
“It’s not that.” I’m attempting to placate her, to get her to listen to me. “It’s just… he’s, uh…”
I’m floundering. I cannot think of a single thing to say to turn her away from the idea. Sure, I could let her confess and believe that Atticus will turn her down, but I’m too scared.
What if she does and he realizes how much easier life would be with a beautiful woman? I won’t risk it. Ican’t.
“He’swhat,Cam?” Cassie pushes.
