“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “I dealt with it when I had to.”
“But did youreallyhave to?” he asks, then scans my face. “Did you?” He places a hand on the wall next to the side of my head, then leans in so close that I can see every speck of gold in his brown eyes.
“Cass…” I’m breathless, scared. I’m eager, frustrated.
“I’m not going to bethatguyand say that I should’ve been there for you, and I’m not going to tell you that if I knew about the Brandon situation, I would’ve come running to bail you out of it. Because I seriously don’t know what I would’ve done then, but it’s like you said: you dealt with it when you had to. You’re strong, Nia. So damn strong.” He places his other hand next to the side of my face.
“You don’t know me,” I tell him. “You don’t know me at all, Cass. You’veneverknown me.”
His expression hardens a little. “You know that’s a lie.”
“Do I?”
He steps closer still, resulting in us sharing a breath. “Itkilledme to leave–”
“Don’t you dare bullshit me,” I hiss.
“I’m not,” he hisses back, then grits his teeth and brings his left hand between us before pushing back the sleeve of his sweater. “Look at this.” He gestures at it. “Look.”
I release a puff of air and do as he’s asked. When my gaze lands on his wrist, I can’t help but suck in a breath.
“It’syou, Nia,” Cass says with a strain in his voice. “You’ve always been with me, even when you thought I’d moved on. It’s you; it’s always been you.”
I stare at my name – inked in black – written in simple yet stunning calligraphy on the inside of his wrist.
“You’re the very pulse that helps me stay alive,” he tells me. “You’re the very beat my body obeys to, that it reacts to. I’ve had this tattoo for 6 years now. I got it done just so I could remind myself of what, andwho, I left behind, but could never forget.” He drops his arm by his side.
I’m at a loss for words, and he, of course, notices that.
He glances at my mouth, which does absolutely nothing to calm my already hay-wired senses.
“Kiss me, Nia.”
“What?” In the midst of my trance, I do manage to ask a logical question. Not that it matters much, though, as I feel completely flustered under his gaze. But Jesus, he’sbeautifulwhen he demands something, so how the hell am I supposed to keep it together right now?
He shifts on his feet, and his belt buckle presses against my stomach. “Kissme, Nia,” he repeats, but this time in a voice that causes a shiver to run through my body.
“Cass, no.” I shake my head. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” he asks so simply that it makes me blink.
“Because you left, dammit!” I yell. “You left, and I was here feeling hollow and devastated and…andfoolish. I was a joke to everyone at school: a pathetic girl with dreams too big for her cloudy little head.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my chin from trembling. “It broke me even more, their words of mockery. A tattoo doesn’t fix everything you ruined for me. I just…” I sniff and run my fingers through my hair. “I…I can’t.”
“I’m here now,” he says. “You know why I left, but I’m here now.”
“But for how long, Cass?” I scoff. “You’re here only to film a documentary. And what happens when you’re done with that? What happens when you’ve gotten what you came for? I know what’ll happen: you’ll leave – just like you did before.”
“Do you want me to apologize for it?” he sneers. “Do you want me to beg for your forgiveness for wanting to make a life out of myself? Todoandbesomething in life? Is that what you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” I swallow and raise my hands in front of me, but clench them into fists and let them fall at my sides with another shake of my head.
“Touch me, Nia,” Cass urges. “Push me, slap me, kick me, but touch me. Do something –anything, dammit. Just fucking touch me, because I’m going out of my mind here.” He bends, and his nose brushes mine. “Please.”
“No…” I’m surprised my voice hasn’t given up on me yet, despite the pressure in my throat.
Cass’s eyes darken. “Fuck it, then.” He erases the sorry excuse of a space between us and practically crashes his lips to mine.
I gasp, and he uses that as a chance to run his tongue over the roof of my mouth. He tastes like beer and mint, and maybe even cigarette. It’s hard to keep track of everything, let alone commonsense, as he presses his hips against my navel and sucks on my bottom lip. His stubble scratches roughly against my skin as my lips move with his, making it burn insistently. I can’t even compare his older kisses to what he’s doing to me now, because it just wouldn’t be fair. Those kisses were mild, maybe even a little shy. But this – this is possession. The way he parts my lips and takes what he wants – it’s all-consuming. The way he moans into my mouth and presses his teeth into my bottom lip – it’s inebriating.
