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I roll my eyes.
He kisses me softly once, twice, then on the forehead, before finally saying goodbye for now.
I watch him go, and an annoying, niggling thought pops up. Why do I feel like a dirty little secret?
Over the years, Herc has teased me repeatedly, accusing me of having a little crush on Titus. But my brother never knew the depths of my feelings for Titus.
Do I want to keep this from him, too?
Knowing Titus, he would want to break the news to Herc in person. With both of us there. For that reason, I accept Titus’s logic for wanting to keep our relationship under wraps for now.
And yet, I can’t imagine what it would be like to hang out with Herc, just like we always do, and not say anything about what’s going on with Titus.
Relax, Cassandra. Enjoy this.
Just enjoy this bubble without the world asking questions.
I don’t know how long I sit on my bed, with my eyes closed, remembering those kisses. My knees sweat just thinking about how hot that second kiss made me. The way he licked into my mouth and pulled me to him. The world disappeared when Titus kissed me.
I wonder why we didn’t discuss the boob grab.
Yeah. I pretended to be asleep, but oh no, I was wide awake. I was asleep for a while, and the next second, Titus was spooning up behind me, flopping his arm over my middle, and creeping his hand up, up, up. He just held it like a mug of tea.
Any sane woman would have woken him up and told him to keep his hands to himself. I had noticed my nipple grow tight under his firm pressure, his gentle squeezes. I’d wanted to show him I liked it. God, why didn’t I do that? I should have pressed back, squishing my ass against that hard length. Yeah, I could tell it was there. I’d only felt it briefly before he pulled away.
He had to have been awake.
If I could return to that moment, I would jump his bones.
Focus on the happy part, Cassandra. Everything is going to hell in a handbasket, and you have one nice thing.
I’m startled out of my train of thought when my phone rings.
I jerk my phone out of my bag, hoping it’s Titus. It’s not. It’s Dad’s lawyer, Mr. Gamble.
“Hello?”
“Cassandra. Arthur Gamble here.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I didn’t want to deal with Dad’s drama today. “Hi.”
“Listen, we need you to come in and give a statement as a character witness.”
A character witness?
“Why?” I ask, both playing dumb and buying time.
“What do you mean, why?” he says, a little impatiently. “Because he’s your dad.”
I tell him I’ll think about it. I don’t want to believe Daddy did anything he’s being accused of doing. If he did, I don’t know if I can testify.
“Did he do those things they are charging him with, Mr. Gamble?”
“Cassandra. Everyone deserves fair representation.”
Fair representation. The Gamble firm is more than fair, judging by the bill I once saw. He charges $500 per hour. That man could talk a jury out of convicting Jeffrey heckin’ Dahmer.
“But it’s not fair, is it? It’s not fair that nonviolent people with no money must sit in jail while awaiting trial.”
