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CASSIE
“The last time I saw your lips, they were wrapped around my cock.”
No. No fucking way.
I’m frozen. I can’t move. All I can do is process a voice I haven’t heard in years, three to be exact. A little more than three, but then again, who’s counting? Though I could count it down to the moment if asked.
I’d heard he left town. I’m suspended in place, squatting, reaching for a can of cranberry sauce on the bottom shelf at the local grocery store. The wires of the shopping cart are as good a place to hide as I have, though I wish they could turn solid and block me from view. Anyone’s view, but especially his.
He continues, “I take that back. The last time I saw your lips, you were telling me to fuck off.”
God, that voice. It still does things to me. And though his voice does things to me, it’s like he’s stabbed me with his words. A mortal wound, a reminder of what I did. I hold onto the metal wires, clutching them to keep from losing my balance and falling backward, right on my ass. Which is exactly what I don’t need to have happening right about now.
Why is he here? I suck in air like a pathetic, out-of-water goldfish. I’m pretty sure I must look like one of those bug-eyed, freaky-looking ones. Glad he’s behind me now, so he can’t see my face.
I still don’t turn around.
He. Should. Not. Be. Here.
“No, wait.” He’s talking once more. “Wrong again, because you didn’t break it off with me face-to-face. That’s right. Now I remember.” He pauses. I’m sure it’s for effect.
I brace for the next bomb he’s going to drop on me.
“You cut me loose, pretty much telling me to fuck off in a text.” His voice hasn’t changed.
One more wound—mortal. Fatal.
His voice may not have changed, but neither has the reaction I have to it. This man still makes me wet. He makes electricity run through my body. And I haven’t even fucking seen him yet. I want to hate him. My heart beats too damned fast. A current of voltage runs its course through me, leaving me breathless.
“Cassie.” His hoarse bedroom voice gets louder. “I guess I was right.” And then, even louder. “The last time I saw your beautiful lips they were wrapped around my cock.”
I catapult out of a squatting position, the can of cranberry sauce no longer important. Nor is Thanksgiving, or my grades, or my life—anything—nothing. He’s ruining me again. Or maybe I ruin myself over him. And I haven’t even laid eyes on him again.YET.
In the same motion, I whirl around. “Josh.” I hiss his name. “Shut up. Lower your voice.” Of course, I’m worried about the volume of his voice. My mother lives in this one-horse town. This damned small town with all the busybodies and gossips.
Then we’re face to face. My eyes rest on him. Or are arrested by him, or both. My breath catches—it’s definitely arrested by him.
That dark skin, a tan that could sell suntan oil, it’s like a walking billboard for sunning products. The full lips, gleaming black eyes. Black hair, still long, touching his shoulders. Tats. White tee, jeans, and a pair of work boots. Did I mention the sexy tats? Same Josh. Sexy. And older, by a bit. But that only makes him sexier. He’s still all man, but more man than I remember.
A smile on his face that isn’t really a happy smile showcases the teeth the tan sets off. I’m not surprised the smile isn’t happy. Guess he wouldn’t be very happy to see me, all things considered.
Now that I’m looking at him, now that he’s looking at me, it feels like I’m in some weird wind tunnel that’s taking me through a spin cycle that ends up in the same place I was three or so years ago.
In love with Josh. Consumed by him, as he was by me.
The grocery store feels like it becomes dark. There’s only him and me in the center of that dark tunnel, with no one else or nothing else in the world.
I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not even sure what I would say. There’s been so much. There was so much.
Now? Now there’s nothingness, I suppose. But I still want to say something. I try again, taking a deep breath, working on what I can say while he watches me—silent, intent. I could probably start by saying I’m sorry. Or that I missed him. Torn between what to say, I open my mouth again, willing to let fate guide the words that come out.
I never get the chance.
“Josh?” A female voice, definitely not mine, is calling him. A blonde comes around the corner—the owner of the voice, slim, a little older than me, probably around Josh’s age, mid-twenties. Just enough of a difference to make me feel like I’m still an inadequate teen. And it’s not like she’s doing anything to make me feel this way. It’s all me. The blonde’s got a smile in her voice and a smile on her lips. She’s happy to see him. I’m not happy to see her.
Of course, she’s happy to see him.He has someone. Josh has found someone, and that new someone is right in front of me.
And then I notice.
