Chapter 14
Quinn
Me: I take it you’re still not talking to me?
Me: Come on, Cassie. You know why I had to put a stop to things.
Me: I’ve called you a dozen times. Pick up the phone.
Me: I miss talking to you. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. If you think it was easy for me, you’re wrong.
Me: Fuck this, Alabama. Text me back.
Me: I shouldn’t have let it get to that point.
Ugh! It’s been four days since I let Cassie walk away from me .
Four. Fucking. Days .
And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about anything else since. Not a single thing.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that look on her face. I put that look on her face . Me. I embarrassed her. I hurt her feelings. I made her think that her feelings weren’t being reciprocated.
The thing is, if I hadn’t put a stop to it when I did, then I would have done a whole lot more than just kiss her. I would have buried my nose in her neck and inhaled her. I would have devoured her, worshiped every inch of her body with my mouth. I would have explored her with my tongue and cherished her breasts like they were made for my touch. I would have buried myself inside her and made her scream my name so loudly it would have rattled the windows. I would have destroyed her and then put her back together again.
But when she leaned into me with her lips softly parted, making those damn sexy sounds, I knew I had to get her out of there before I ripped every last scrap of clothing off her perfect body, slammed my mouth down over hers, and took her right there in the front seat.
Tossing my phone down on the kitchen counter, I make myself a cup of coffee. We had a full day of rehearsals at the studio today, and it was terrible. We just haven’t been clicking lately, something’s off, and Nick has been riding us mercilessly to nail the last set before we move over to the warehouse to rehearse on the bigger stage.
My phone vibrates on the counter beside me, and I waste no time snatching it up in my hand.
But it’s not Cassie texting me back, it’s Reed.
Jesus, Reed, I’ve just spent the past ten hours with you, man. I love you like a brother. But seriously, what could you possibly want now?
Reed: Want to go over some lyrics?
I send back a quick message.
Me: No.
Reed: Think about it, why don’t ya? Come over, have a beer. We’ll just work on the chorus for a bit.
I sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingertips. All I really feel like doing tonight is taking a long, hot shower and then hitting the sack until the sun comes up, and we get to do it all over again.
Me: Not tonight. I’ve hit a wall.
Reed: Fine. Asshole. I’ll do it myself.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. And here comes the guilt trip. No one can lay it on as thick as Reed Devlin, not when it comes to the band. The guy lives and breathes Cold Neptune.
I don’t know whether to laugh or groan at his last message.
Another message pops up before I can respond, and the groan I was barely holding in slips out. Clearly it’s time to put an end to this conversation before things get out of hand.
But when I glance at the screen, I almost choke on my own spit. The text isn’t from Reed.
It’s from Cassie.
And I should be over the moon, right? Instead, a deep frown pulls between my eyes as I stare down at the photograph she just sent me .
What the actual fuck? I type out a quick reply.
Me: Is that a dog taking a shit on the street?
Cassie: I was running. It made me think of you.
Okay, so it seems I may have underestimated just how pissed off she is with me. This takes it to a whole other level.
My phone pings again.
Cassie: Lose my number.
Not exactly the response I was hoping for, but what the hell, I’ll take what I can get. At least she replied, and at least she’s talking to me. Sort of.
Me: What can I do to make it up to you?
There’s complete radio silence for the next few minutes. I’ve either pissed her off even more than she already was, or she’s genuinely hating on herself right now because I finally wore her down.
Three little dots appear on the screen right before another message pops up.
Cassie: See previous message.
Ha. She’s a fiery little thing when she wants to be. Fiery with hate at its worst. But who cares? I’ll take any emotion I can get from her at the moment.
Her sassy side, though. So damn hot.
When several minutes tick by and I don’t hear anything more from her, I carry my coffee over to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table in front of me.
The vast city lights glimmer beyond my living room windows, and for a moment I get caught up with the endless stream of traffic, golden lights like tiny ants on a honey trail, forever toeing the line.
I know how they feel.
My phone pings.
Cassie: Don’t contact me again.
I collapse back on the couch, rubbing my hands over my face. Staring up at the ceiling, I valiantly fight the urge to send her another text message. But what would be the point? Cassie has made her feelings pretty damn clear.
I guess I really did blow it.