Bossy(132)

“Are you calling me a bitch?” I snort. “He doesn’t want to see me, fine. I’ll avoid him for a couple of days. I can do that.”

She makes a frustrated sound. “Listen to me. It’s like college, right? Once you decided you wanted to go to med school, everyone told you how hard it was, how difficult it was to get in. About how you’d have to do all these internships that don’t pay, that you wouldn’t have a social life, and on and on and on. Do you remember how no one believed you could do it?”

I remember. Even Mom was skeptical, and she’s always been all about me finding my own way. “You believed I could.”

“Yeah, because I know you.” She sounds like she’s explaining things to a small kid. “You weren’t giving up. It was always on your mind, even when you pretended it wasn’t, and now you’ve been admitted. You’re going to do it.”

“Okay, but I don’t see what that has to do with my asshole stepbrother.” As soon as I mention him, flashes of his naked body standing in the shower with the water running over his perfect chest rush through my mind. Why does the guy I hate most have to be the one that can make me weak with just a thought?

“You sound exactly the same when you talk about him as you did when you were talking about med school. You’re stuck on him. I’m sure you’ll try to waste the day working on your tan, but you’ll be spending all that time figuring out how to get him back into bed.”

“Cassie!” It’s a fake outrage, because I know she’s right.

“It’s true.”

“He hurt me, Cass...” That’s it. That’s the worst part. That I’d finally opened myself up to him, completely, and the first time something came up, he turned it around and stabbed me in the heart with it.

“I know, hun,” she whispers softly. “And if you talk to him, and he’s still an asshole, I’ll be here to help turn his balls into jerky, promise. But go talk to him. You’re never going to be able to let it go until you do.”

“I wish you were here.”

“Me too. My tan is complete crap!” Her voice is back to teasing. “Go find him. Talk. Be the bulldog, not the bitch.”

“I don’t even know how to take that.”

“You’re worth a hundred pretty rich boys, Angie. I have to go, but I want a full report, alright? And if you guys aren’t fucking on the regular by the time you get home, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Do you even own a hat?”

“I’ll buy one. Later, sweetie. You’re going to be okay.”

“Later, Cassie.” The line goes dead. Throwing myself backwards, I sprawl on the bed, my arms stretched wide while I stare straight up. My eyes follow the blades of the ceiling fan as they spin just quickly enough that it’s difficult to keep up. Just like this trip. It’s like I’m only barely hanging on, and I don’t know if I can keep it up or if I’m getting spun right off.

A gust of wind blows in through the open door to the balcony, making me shiver. There’s a bank of clouds on the horizon moving quickly towards us and the breeze is noticeably cooler than it was even before the phone call. Soaking up sun isn’t even going to be an option today, is it?

Great.

I guess I’ll be looking for my husband, then.





Chapter 25: Gavin


“Another.” I raise my finger to get the bartender’s attention. He’s tall and lanky, wearing a white button-down shirt with those straps around the upper arms like the card dealers wear at casinos. After the bomb Angie dropped on me this morning, the idea of gambling kinda pisses me off.

He gives me a disapproving look down his long nose. “Are you sure? It’s not even one o’clock. A little early to get in a party mood, isn’t it?” He tries to put a friendly spin on it, but he’s judging me. I can hear it. “Newlywed life that bad?” The bar’s pretty empty at this hour, but the few people around to hear him, chuckle.

“I asked for a drink, not your opinion. Another.”

The look he gives me is a mix of curiosity and disgust, but I don’t give a fuck, and when he slides the scotch my way I take it with a nod, then ignore him.

I feel like an asshole. The pleading look on Angie’s face when I left her is burned into my brain. Fine, so I suck at anger management. What am I supposed to do now? Crawl back and beg forgiveness?

A man’s got his pride. Not that I’m so damn proud of myself right now. The doubts creeping into the back of my mind don’t help either. Maybe I went over the top? Projecting Dad’s paranoia? Fuck if I know.