12. Twelve #2
“I love my current job,” she admits, and a bit of pride has me standing straighter.
Cass looks down before continuing, embarrassed.
“I’d like a family one day.” Her voice is almost a whisper; I have to strain to hear.
“A family and my own farm. I don’t know—something simple and fulfilling.
My parents are divorced.” She winces. “I think I already told you that. I just don’t like the idea of that ruining how I see love.
I don’t want to give the divorce that much power. ”
“Mine divorced too,” I admit. “Soon after, they left the farm to me.”
“Ah.” Cass organizes some of the items on the table, pausing and then reorganizing them into a position she likes better. “I see your parents' divorce didn’t ruin your view of love,” she says, and my brow furrows. “Considering you’re engaged to me for the night.”
I grin, shaking my head as we finish setting up the table. I’d like to think it's true that my parents' divorce didn’t have an effect on me. Unfortunately, it did a lot more damage as an adult than I think it would have done as a child. I felt… sad.
How could they spend all those years building a life together—all that time working toward growing the farm and making it successful just to throw it all away?
It felt like a waste, leaving me questioning if I got married, would I one day wake up and believe I’d made a thirty-year mistake?
It made me cautious—fearful.
Not Cassidy, though. Per her nature, the darkness that found her in her childhood, her brother's sickness, and her parents’ divorce, none of it could suck the hope out of her.
I admire it.
A haughty laugh sounds from the chairs around the fire pit, and I spot Chandler there. He adjusts the expensive watch at his wrist, the girl he came with leaning into his arm from her seat next to him.
“Well, I don’t think that man would do well on a farm,” I comment, noting Cass’s small chuckle.
“Pray tell, what makes you say that?”
Another laugh booms out of him. It feels forced and deep—too much like he’s trying to take up space and be noticed. I wince.
“First of all,” I start, “with a laugh like that, he’d scare the horses.”
The snort that sounds from Cass causes me to laugh, too. I’d do just about anything to see the joy on her face when she realized what I’d said. Cass has always been joyful, and I feel a personal obligation to preserve that part of her. It’s a rare quality—one worth coveting.
It’s part of the reason I felt so inclined to swoop in and suggest we pretend we are together. I didn’t want Chad sucking that joy away, but knowing what she just told me, I’m not sure that was a risk to begin with.
“God, that was embarrassing,” she says, her giggle subsiding. “I’m sure the snort I just released would scare them, too.”
“Nah,” I say, waving her off. When I smile this time, it’s with all my teeth. “Your laugh is nowhere near as scary as Liz’s farts. That horse scares herself out of her sleep.”
We laugh again, and I realize how much I’m enjoying spending time with her. This isn’t work, and it’s dangerous. The more I see all the ways we get along away from the chores and obligations, the more I want.
I want Cass, and I’m trying so hard to hold on to the line I originally drew in the sand, but I find I’m dancing over top of it. I can’t seem to gauge how far is too far.
Especially not when everything in me screams not far enough.
Chandler spots us and waves Cassidy and me over to the area by the fire. I spot her look of nervousness and feel my hackles rise.
“We don’t have to go over there,” I say, and I mean it. Whatever she wants to do—however she wants to handle the situation—I’ll fully support it.
“I think we can,” she says. “Here.”
Cass reaches for my hand, and I hate the way I relish the feel of her skin on mine. I let her lead me over to the fire until we join the group chatting amidst the orange glow.
“Cassidy,” Chad says, “You remember Derek, don’t you? What a small world we live in.”
She nods to the man sitting by the fire with a beer in his grip. There’s a similarity to the way he carries himself—like Chad had been cloned, but merely dyed his hair darker and grown a larger nose.
“Not a small world we live in,” she says, casting me a knowing look. “Just Ohio.”
I fold myself into the singular chair left over, bracketing her hips where she stands before me.
When my fingers touch her skin, cursed by the cropped t-shirt she wears, all I can feel is warmth threatening to swallow me whole.
A lightning storm is forming in my chest, trapped until the building pressure is almost too much to bear.
I encourage her to sit, and Cassidy moves fluidly until her ass is planted firmly on my lap.
“This okay?” I whisper, my mouth so close to her ear, I can imagine myself leaning in more—tugging and nipping until she’s putty.
When she shifts further back, the blood rushes south.
“Perfect,” she whispers, the word coming out on a breath. “We should be convincing,” she says as the conversation picks up around us.
She sits off to one side, more on my thigh. Which is a good thing, because I’m so fucking hard and nothing has even happened.
This is far beyond not good. I’m relying on the cover of darkness to hide my erection, afraid of every flicker from the bonfire.
“Convincing?” I question.
“I don’t know,” Cass says, her voice still low. “Touch me.”
Goddamnit.
My hand moves on its own, gathering the strands of her hair as I slide my fingertips over her, brushing her hair to the side until all I can see is the smooth column of her neck.
I might as well be dancing on the fire in front of us. For Cassidy, this is pretend. We are making her ex jealous, I suppose. But the way my body lights up at the contact—the way her words had me bending to her will—I’m not sure any of this is pretending. Not on my end.
I lean in closer, lips brushing the skin there. “Like this?”
She doesn’t hide her shuddering breath, and fuck if it doesn’t do something to me. “Perfect.”
“How have you been, Cassidy?” Derek asks, his eyes like a hawk zeroing in on prey.
One hand tightens on Cass’s hip and squeezes in reassurance. “Great!” she says, shifting where she’s perched on my lap. “Recently engaged and loving it.”
“I see,” he responds.
I give another gentle squeeze, and Cass must take that as an invitation to settle in even further. She shifts more to the center, and when her ass slides over me, she freezes.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Thanks for…” Cass whispers, and all I can do is sit perfectly still. There can be absolutely no friction in this position. “Thanks for doing this,” she says, her voice somewhat shaky.
“You’re…” Worry snakes its way into my chest. “You’re okay?” I ask, my voice a low hum.
Cass arches—just slightly. I don’t think it’s intentional, but I can feel everything. My body is a livewire, and I grind my molars together to prevent my thoughts from spiraling. We have to get out of this fucking chair.
“Never better,” she answers, and I’m certain it’s my undoing.
Mustering all my strength, I force myself into restraint as my lips ghost the side of her neck, just slightly.
This is a performance, I remind myself. We are sitting around a fire with her ex.
They’re poor excuses, and I know it. I’ve known for some time that I’m attracted to Cassidy Summers, and unfortunately for all of my well-made plans, I think she might be feeling the same way.
The flush of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest, all of it feels like a perfect dance.
I get to move—speak—and watch her respond in turn.
It makes me want to push the boundaries. It makes me want.
And God, I want. Despite my better judgement in knowing exactly how things go when two people working on a farm get together.
Despite my past relationship imploding. Despite my decision to keep work at the forefront of my thoughts—to make decisions that benefit the farm and to never become my parents, my body seems to fight my brain—whispering and urging me toward whatever it is that’s making Cass’s voice so God damn breathy.
I squeeze my eyes shut and summon restraint.
“It’s getting late,” I say. Every part of me cries out against what I’m about to do, but I know it’s the right decision.
Taking her to the pond to swim, putting myself in this position, it’s all so hopelessly complicated.
I enjoy Cass, and she told me herself how much she loves her job at Miller Run.
I’d hate to ruin that by making her feel anything but safe and comfortable.
And while she agreed to this, I’m the one who suggested it.
Anxiety swarms in me, buzzing with doubt. What if she’s only doing this because I’m her boss? What if I’ve crossed some sort of line? “I will need to get going soon,” I grind out.
“Right,” she says, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how she’s feeling. She straightens her posture, but her lips are pulled down just slightly. She seems… disappointed. “I should probably go soon, too. Early day tomorrow.”
When she stands, I get the feeling I’ve done something wrong, but based on my logic, it is the right thing to do.
It should be, anyway.
The feeling follows me as we part ways with Chad and his friends. It follows me as Cass’s hand lets go of mine by the house, as we say our goodbyes, and all the way into the front seat of my truck.
It’s there that I run my hand over my face, wondering why I can’t shake the feel of her skin or the heady way she leaned into me.
If wanting Cass is so wrong, why does it feel so fucking right?