Page 2 of Forbid It

Dark hair curls around her shoulders and one brow is quirked over eyes I can’t quite make out the color of. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t quite place her. She looks like one of those old Hollywood actresses, all bouncy hair and smoldering pout.

Her raised brow reminds me she asked a question.

I clear my throat. “Do you?”

She glances behind me at the sea. “I did, but I’m guessing you need one too.” She uses her crossed leg to gesture to the empty bed beside her. “By all means.”

I shouldn’t. I should head back inside, speak to a stranger, make a connection.

“This is a nice spot,” I tell her as I settle into the matching bed. It’s surprisingly comfortable and I swing my legs up, crossing them at the ankles. Out here, it’s like the party is a million miles away. It’s just endless dark sea, a sprinkle of stars in the sky and the stranger beside me. I keep my eyes trained on the view but can’t help glance at her dress as it slides over her legs.

“I saw a shooting star,” the stranger says, pointing towards the horizon.

“Really?” I ask.

“Mhm.”

“What did you wish for?” I turn my head to take her in, only to find she’s already looking at me.

“Someone to talk to under the age of fifty-five.”

I laugh as I raise my drink in cheers. “Your wish is my command.”

She clinks her champagne flute daintily against my glass.

“What’s that accent?”

I take a sip of my drink. I’ve learned pretty quickly that people outside the British Isles don’t typically know where Wales actually is. One guy even told me that he definitely knew where it was and that ‘Wales is his favorite part of England.’ It doesn't help that any accent I had as a kid has long since been flattened and molded by the years spent away from home, so I don’t even know if I can claim it’s Welsh anymore. I decide to go with the ambiguous, “British.”

“You’re a long way from home. Vacation?”

I want it to be. I want this to just be a short loan to another team before I’m sent back home, but I know that’s not my reality. I shake my head. “Moved over.”

“Chasing the dream?”

“Something like that.”

She shifts, crossing her long leg over the other, her anklet glittering in the dim light. “How do you like LA?”

“Have you guys ever heard of trains?”

She blinks at me owlishly. “What’s a train?”

I snicker. This girl. I need to find out her name.

“What’s your name?”

“Cassandra, but my friends call me Cassie. You?”

“Robert, but my friends call me Robbie.”

She shoots me a grin. Cassie strikes me as a girl who cracks jokes to make herself laugh even if no one else does.

“So Cassie,” I gesture to the tiny deck. “How’d you find this place?”

“Ooh,” she says, over the lip of her glass, a teasing glint in her eye. “I don’t think we’re friends yet, are we?”

“Fine,” I laugh. “What should I call you?”