16. Cass
CASS
PLAYLIST: SEVEN NATION ARMY – THE WHITE STRIPES
“How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?” I ask her as she groans next to me in the bed.
“Eleven,” she says. “Who had the fucking idea for that fucking glass front?”
I laugh, get up, and close the curtains attached around the bed, except for one little slit so we can see something.
“Better?”
“Loads,” she says, rolling onto her belly. Rolls back. “Bad idea,” she mumbles.
I laugh.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” I say. “That’ll help with the stomach.”
“Unless you’re offering your pussy, I don’t want it,” she says, pressing her hands to her temples.
Heat shoots into my head as I blush. I can be lucky those curtains are closed, because that would be embarrassing beyond.
I say nothing, because my mind went empty the moment she said it. I don’t even know what to think about it. Because I don’t think. I act. And acting feels all sorts of wrong here.
“Um,” I finally say. “What do you remember from last night?”
“Everything,” she then says. “Humor button.”
I pretend-laugh as I release some of the tension that just built between us.
“I’m getting breakfast,” I say, getting up. I need some distance from whatever the fuck happened within the past twenty-four hours.
“Just call room service,” she says.
“Yeah, but I don’t want fancy rich people stuff. I’m more of a bacon and ham sandwich.”
“Uh yes, I’m in,” she says. “Where do we get a good one?”
“At my house,” I say. “My brother, otherwise useless, but his bacon and ham sandwiches are legendary.”
She sighs.
“That’s a long way for a sandwich. Especially considering the brightness of the sun.”
“I thought you were from L.A., don’t you kinda have to love the sun?”
“I’m a creative,” she says and sits up. “I work late, party at night, and sleep during the day.”
“I’m a morning person,” I blurt out like an idiot. “There’s nothing like a beautiful sunrise.”
“Oh, I get to see the sunrise, too. Only I’m about to go to bed afterward,” she says as she stands up. Sways slightly—I grasp her.
“Whoopsie,” she says. Giggles. “You’re cute,” she says, removes her shirt and pants, including her bra and panties, right in front of me. Those breasts—and then she walks to the bathroom. Naked, with an ass from heaven.
I stare after her.
Did she just strip in front of me?
She fucking did.
I stand there like an idiot, impossible to move.
“What’s up with you?” she asks as she returns, fully dressed, hair made, perfect makeup with the mascara that brings out the blue in her eyes even more.
She is so beautiful my mouth drops slightly open.
“You, naked,” I say, croaking out.
“Why?” she asks. “You never seen naked titties before?
“I have,” I snap at her, “But it’s—it’s—you make me—“ Whatever it is she makes me, the words don’t make it out.
She laughs.
I don’t. Because right this moment she reminds me of Elise in ways I can’t grasp.
I roll back my shoulders to remove the sensation that comes with it.
“Relax,” she says, grasping my shoulders left and right. “Won’t happen again.”
I grunt in confirmation.
“Bathroom is that way,” she says as she lets go of me and tilts her head behind her.
“I’d rather do that at home,” I say stiffly.
“Oookay,” she says. “Someone woke up on the wrong foot.”
“No, I didn’t,” I snap at her harshly. “But there is no point in showering when I have no fresh clothes to put on.”
“Take some of mine,” she says carelessly, shrugging her shoulders and walking away.
“Come here,” she shouts. I follow her voice only to find a massive closet next to the bathroom, with another door leading to a fitness and wellness room.
I shake my head in total disbelief.
Fucking rich people.
“Here, that could fit you,” she says and throws a hoodie to me. “And this here should fit your tomboy needs, too.”
“I’m not—“ I say as I see the sportive panties in her hand.
“You are,” she says, interrupting me. “Shut up and go shower.”
I rip the clothes from her hand and stomp to the bathroom.
She chuckles behind me, which makes me want to kick the door closed. Only there is no door to kick.
It’s some sort of weird sliding door—one I can’t figure out.
She walks up to me, presses a—
Her scent washes over and everything in my mind goes blank.
I look up—she is so close I can see every single one of her nonexistent pores.
One corner of her mouth tugs up as she leans back and the door closes.
I am too flabbergasted by what just happened.
I shake off the sensation, walk to the other side of the bathroom with a real door, and slam it close.
My eyes wander to the huge glass window next to me. Behind me a fucking bathtub that would fit four people, with city views.
“This is fucking crazy,” I murmur.
It takes me several breaths to get back to my own senses. Only then do I undress, pee, and get into the shower.
A shower with seven nozzles in the wall and countless buttons labeled Shower, Jets, Rain 1, and Rain 2.
“What the fuck,” I say as I glance up to find a rain shower head.
Why is that fucking necessary? Water is fucking water.
I press one button. Figure it needs turning, so I do—
Cold water shoots down at me from the shower head.
I scream and jump away, hit one of the other buttons with my shoulder, and suddenly the jet nozzles shoot cold water at me.
I randomly hit and turn some buttons—scream again, as I fight against the water that now appears from above me.
“Goddamnit!” I shout.
Suddenly, the glass door opens.
Addy leans in, turns off the jets and everything else.
She is laughing so hard, a magnetic laughter that goes straight into my chest.
I am only then realizing I am naked in the shower.
“Here,” she says. “This first—and then you turn on that. That’s the perfect temperature setting.”
“I’m naked in here!”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she says, ignoring me entirely as she walks away, still snickering.
“I hate rich people!” I shout after her.
“You hate the feeling of not knowing how to use it,” she calls back at me, right before she closes the door—leaving me standing here in the shower like a total idiot.
“You hate the feeling of not knowing how to use it,” I mouth angrily after her. “Entitled elitist!”
I’m still fuming when we ride down the elevator to the garage half an hour later.
She just grins to herself, apparently finding immense pleasure in teasing me.
I get into my Hellcat without a word.
She gets into the Eleanor.
Both motors roar.
“Cass,” she says, letting down a window. “I bet I’ll beat you.”
“Yeah, not happening,” I say, and we race out of the garage.
She cuts me off close to the exit, and I have to brake because otherwise I would’ve crashed into a beam.
She is at the exit first.
But I ain’t letting her win this one.
She shoots onto 58th, and I am right behind her. I wonder which way she’ll choose. I am local, racing those streets for my entire life. She is used to Los Angeles. New York is different.
There are essentially two main routes. FDR Drive, or the objectively longer route via LaGuardia. They both have their perks, depending on the time; they can make you stuck either way.
She, however, doesn’t take either of the main routes, clever girl. We drift and speed around corners, take FDR for just a moment when the road ahead was blocked, and it’s a close call for her when she decides to rip the Eleanor off FDR and exits right to follow the Brooklyn Bridge route.
A wise choice, because the tunnel at daylight wouldn’t do any good.
I follow her. We drift around the corner leading us up onto the Brooklyn Bridge in complete symbiosis. It brings me immense joy to race with someone who knows her way with cars.
From the Brooklyn Bridge home will be what decides. And I am pretty sure she will fuck it up because the one-way streets of Red Hook are a pain in the ass to figure out.
Although she is intelligent. Even cunning because she lets me get ahead, on purpose.
I shake my head, a grin on my face.
“Watch me,” I tell her without her hearing it. Because this here is my home. I know every inch of road here.
I pretend I’d take the exit for Hicks Street, but I don’t. Because Hicks sucks. Instead, I rip up the racing handbrake, spin my girl 180 degrees, shoot back from where I came from, and turn immediately left into Henry Street. It’s a tad longer, but less frequented and no speed bumps.
I just need Hicks for two blocks—and when I speed on it, I can see she’s stuck way behind me. People notoriously drive very slow over the bumps.
I smirk to myself as I turn into Sackett Street and onto Van Brunt Street afterward.
From here it’s just one long straight until Reed Street.
Because she is so far behind, I take the official way with the detour over Beard Street into Reed, because Reed Street is technically a one-way, not that any of us would care about in cases like this.
I am turning into Reed, and I cannot believe my eyes, because Addy shoots around the corner into the wrong side of the one-way, slightly overdoing it, the Eleanor turns—
And instead of crashing into the fucking fence, she catches her and races in reverse towards the driveway.
I am too flabbergasted to react in time, and when I reach the entrance, she slips in with a drift and shoots up the driveway. In reverse gear.
Fuck me, what a move.
Am I impressed? Yes.
Am I mad beyond? Double yes. So naturally, when my girl comes to a halt with screeching tires, I jump out, rounding on her.
“You are fucking insane!” I shout at her as she gets out of the Eleanor, grinning proudly. A proudness I want to hit out of her face.
“Love to be,” she says carelessly as I bump into her.
“You know no bounds,” I say. “Reckless fucking idiot!”
“Calculated risk-taking,” she says. “Counted on your inflated ego.”
“FUCK YOU!” I shout, and suddenly everything that happened before regurgitates. “You and your fucking arrogance! Who do you think you are? Come here and break all the rules and walk around fucking naked in front of me and you—“
She built herself up in front of me, her head tilted. Her chest pressing into mine. A self-sufficient grin on her face.
“Me what?” she asks me from above
“You elitist, arrogant, entitled—“