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She blushes. "Shut up."
A laugh spills from my lips. "It wasn't an accusation." It's kind of cute, actually. Tough as nails, Cassie Steele, poring over twenty-year-old celebrity breakup stories. "Which of your muses was hanging out here?"
"No comment."
"You're encouraging me to guess."
"Damon!" Her blush deepens. "I don't have time for your nonsense. I need to… I don't know. I can't let him win." She says it with conviction, but her shoulders stay soft,
I don't ask if she means the job or the relationship race. After all, he's with a real girlfriend and we're… something.
I don't want to look at her ex anymore.
"This way." I take her hand, and I lead her more directly.
She lingers outside the party for a moment, then she follows me along the path to the crystal-blue pool.
It's quiet out here, even with the hotel ballroom booming.
The cozy space is ours and ours alone. For a few minutes at least.
It's a nice night, clear and warm, with a light breeze. Cassie settles into the space slowly. Enough, she stops breathing hard. Enough, she cools down and wraps her arms around her chest.
"Here." I slide my suit jacket off my arms and drape it over her shoulders.
"That's very boyfriend of you. Thanks, Damon. You're good at this."
My cheeks flush. My chest too. I can take a lot of compliments. That isn't one of them. "What was all that?" I motion in the direction of the party.
"Something he said." She swallows hard. "That I was doing this to make him jealous."
"Aren't you?"
"Maybe." She slips her arms into my jacket. "Partially. He brought up this night in Paris. The sex we had in Paris. He was doing that… touching me in public." She watches light reflect off the pool. "The way he said it… he knew he was the best I'd had. He thought it was pathetic that I thought I could make him jealous with you, when he's having much better sex with Tinsel."
Fuck, where do I start with that? "Was he?"
"The best I ever had?" She swallows hard. "For a while, yeah. I still think about that night." Her cheeks flush. "I replay it sometimes."
"There's no shame in that."
"Really?" She looks me dead in the eyes. "You replay your trysts?"
"Sometimes."
"Which ones?" Her voice lifts to a challenge. The Cassie I know.
Does that mean she feels better or worse? "Why do you want to know?"
Her green eyes fill with defiance. She starts to say something sassy and stops herself. "I don't want to be the pathetic girl who holds on to her ex." She sits on a lounge chair and slips off her boots and socks. "I want to know it's normal."
"Of course, it's normal."
"Then it's not a big deal to tell me."
That's perfect logic. I can't counter it with anything less than the truth.
And I can't say I already want to fuck you senseless, Cass. I can't start replaying masturbation-worthy sex, or I will take you right here.
So, I say something slightly less stupid. "What do you want to know?" This is also a bad idea. A terrible idea. My body is still buzzing. My blood is still south of my brain.
Cassie sits at the edge of the pool and dips her feet in the water. "One memory. That's all."
"Then you share one?" That's a worse idea. But I don't open my mouth to say never mind, I'm already losing touch with conscious thought.
She doesn't say the smart thing either. She watches the water ripple as she kicks her feet back and forth.
I find a tiny hint of sense. Not enough to shut this down. I certainly don't have the will to say I want you, Cass, I do, but we can't do this. It's a bad idea for both of us. The first step on a path that leads to ruin. I do pause. At least, I have that. "We can go, Cass. We don't have to stay here."
She shakes her head. "We're supposed to see Bryce."
"Let's see him, then go."
"No. I need a minute. If you don't want to talk about this, that's okay, but can you talk about something? Anything? Even how obnoxious you find me?" Her voice is soft, vulnerable. She's used up every ounce of fight she has.
That's hard to square with my image of Cassie. Does she really get tired the way I do? Make bad decisions? Put her pride ahead of everything? Self-destruct?
I know she's human. But even after a week of working closely, even after all those fake kisses, I don't know how to see the real Cassie, the one who exists today.
In my head, she's still the perfect child, the master songwriter, the girl who never makes a mistake.
But she's not.
She's human.
She's hurt.
Why is it so hard to remember that?
Because it's terrifying. Because I want to do something to take all her pain away, and I don't know how. Worse, I know I'll make it worse in the end.
