Chapter 2 Evan
Chapter Two: Evan
I'm not proud of it.
The way I close the door to her room and stand there for a minute. I just saw Cassidy Monroe for the first time in eight years, and she's not the scrawny, braces-and-books kid I remembered.
No. She's all woman now.
All hips, curves, and attitude, wrapped in that tight black T-shirt that clung to her tits like sin. And those jeans? Jesus Christ. They hugged every inch of her like they were custom-made to drive me insane.
I scrub a hand over my beard, exhaling through my nose like that'll help. It doesn't. Not when her voice is still echoing in my head, smooth and confident in a way that makes my chest, and jeans, tight.
I need space. Distance. Something to remind me that I'm thirty-two years old and she's Dylan's little sister, and there are about a thousand reasons why the thoughts running through my head right now are wrong.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is the way she looked at me.
Fuck.
I head to the kitchen. The house feels smaller now with her in it, like the walls have shifted closer together.
I've lived alone for so long that I'd forgotten what it feels like to share a space with someone other than Dylan in the last three years.
Especially someone who now obviously moves through the world like she owns it.
I crack a beer, the sound sharp in the quiet. It's not late, just past nine, but it's pitch black outside. No city lights here, just stars and silence. That's why I live out here. Because people are messy, complicated and loud.
And Cassidy is all three.
The beer is cold and bitter, exactly what I need to wash the taste of want from my mouth.
I lean against the counter, staring out the window at nothing, trying to get my head straight.
She's only here for a week. One week. I can handle that.
I owe that to her brother, regardless. I can be the good guy, the responsible adult, the man who doesn't take advantage of a woman who's clearly running from something.
I've been alone for three years now. Three years since Sarah packed her bags and told me she couldn't handle the isolation anymore, and couldn't handle dating a man who was more comfortable with trees than people.
Three years of telling myself I was better off alone and that relationships were just another way to get hurt.
But thirty seconds with Cassidy and I'm remembering what it feels like to want something more than solitude.
I take another sip, forcing myself to focus on the burn of alcohol instead of the memory of her perfume.
I'm mid-sip when I hear the soft creak of floorboards behind me.
"Hope that's not the last one. I might have one before bed."
I nearly choke. Her voice is closer than it should be. I turn, and the beer almost slips out of my hand.
She's barefoot. Hair messy where she’s dragged it out of a ponytail and she is wearing a soft gray T-shirt that barely covers the tops of her thighs, the fabric thin enough that I can see the shadow of her curves beneath it.
Nothing underneath.
Or if there is, it's tiny. Miniscule.
My mouth goes dry. This isn't the teenager I remember, all awkward limbs and nervous energy. This is now a woman standing in my kitchen. One I'm reacting to.
"You always stalk the kitchen half-dressed?" I growl at her.
Her smile deepens, and I catch a glimpse of the girl she used to be. "I didn't think you'd still be up, mountain man."
"Well, I am."
We stare at each other for a beat. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears and can feel the tension between us.
This moment, this woman, the way she's looking at me makes me want to either run or slam her up against the kitchen wall and slide my hand under that damn shirt.
Cass walks toward the fridge, opens it and grabs a can of soda. The movement makes her shirt ride up, giving me a glimpse of smooth thigh that makes my hands clench around the beer bottle.
"You always keep it this cold in here?" she asks, not looking at me.
"It's summer."
"I'm cold." She turns, and her nipples are hard against the thin fabric of her shirt. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
I glance away, staring at the dark window. "Maybe put on some pants."
She pops the tab on the can and leans a hip against the counter, completely unfazed by my suggestion. "I don’t like underwear.”
I freeze.
Fuck. I was thinking jeans, not underwear.
My jaw clenches.
Her lips curve like she knows what she’s doing.
The smart thing would be to walk away. To tell her goodnight and lock myself in my room until I can think straight. But I've never been particularly smart when it comes to beautiful women who challenge me.
"You're not funny," I grit out.
"I'm not trying to be."
I face her fully, arms crossed, trying to put some barrier between us that doesn't involve me leaving the room like a coward. "Cass, this isn't a game. You know that, right? You are here for a week to get your life together. You brother told me about your ex."
She tilts her head, studying me. "My ex is a dick and I’m already over him. I just needed to get away and Dylan knew I loved it here growing up.” She hesitates. “And what makes you think I'm playing?"
"Because you're twenty-four years old and you don't know what you want."
"I'm not a kid, Evan.”
"No, you're not. That's the damn problem."
The silence stretches, loaded with everything we're not saying. I can see her processing my words, can see the exact moment she decides to push harder.
Finally, she pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. "You kissed me once."
I blink.
"What?"
She takes another step, and now I can smell her shampoo, something sweet and warm that makes me think of lazy Sunday mornings and tangled sheets. "New Year's Eve. Your place. I was home from college. Remember that?"
I remember. Fuck, do I remember. She'd been wearing a red dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, and drinking that sickly sweet stuff her brother warned her about.
The party had been winding down, and she'd found me on the back porch, looking up at the stars.
I hadn't meant to, but she'd leaned in, soft and tipsy and laughing at something I'd said, and I'd kissed her. Just once.
Just enough to make me hate myself for wanting more.
"I remember," I say roughly.
She stops a foot away, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her green eyes. "You pulled back like you were ashamed."
"I was. You are my best friend's baby sister."
"Did you want to try it again?"
My eyes drop, traitorously, to the hint of thigh showing beneath her shirt. Then up to her flushed cheeks and bold, stubborn gaze.
"You're still nearly ten years younger, Cass."
"So?" The word comes out like a challenge. “I was then as well and yet you still kissed me.”
"So, you deserve more than a man who lives in the middle of nowhere and barely knows how to talk to people anymore. You deserve soft."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I just got out of a relationship with 'soft.' A man who thought I was boring and who made me feel inadequate in every sense of the word. I don't want soft, Evan. I want more of what we tried before. That’s what I’ve been chasing ever since. Something that makes me tingle with. Just. One. Kiss.”"
My hand tightens around the beer bottle, and I have to force myself not to step closer. To not close the distance between us and show her exactly how to make her tingle in all the right places.
She steps closer, and now we're toe-to-toe. I can smell her sweet scent, as heat radiating from her body seeps into mine and as I watched the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I want real. I want messy and honest and maybe a little rough around the edges." She looks up at me. "I want you. I want someone to show me how not ‘vanilla’ I am."
I curse and step back, because if I don't, I'm going to do something we both might regret. I'm going to back her against the counter and kiss her until she can't breathe, until she's making those little sounds I've been imagining since she walked through my door.
"This isn't going to happen," I lie.
"Because you don't want it? Or because of my brother?" she asks, chin tilted in that stubborn way that tells me she already knows the answer.
I say nothing because the truth is written all over my face.
She nods like that's all the answer she needs. She knows I want her, but this is just a week and her brother is like family to me.
She turns and walks away, slow, hips swaying like she knows I'm watching.
And I am.
God help me, I am.
I watch until she disappears down the hallway, until I hear the soft click of her bedroom door closing. Then I drain the rest of my beer in one long pull and set the bottle down harder than necessary.
One week.
I'm never going to survive one week.