15. Cassidy
CASSIDY
Well, I really fucked up my plan to keep Sam at a distance. One touch from him and I was putty in his hands.
What the hell was wrong with me? Were orgasms really worth the heartache I was sure to go through?
My eyes trailed over his thick cock still in my hand, still pulsing, still needing more. And he would take it if I let him. But I had a mess to clean up, and I couldn’t allow something as simple as sex distract me from reality.
“I need to—” I let out a hiss of pain when I pressed against his shoulder, further irritating the cut on my hand.
He grasped my injured hand, studying the depth of the cut. “You might need stitches.”
“It’s fine,” I said, brushing it off as I tried to push him back so I could get to work.
“It’s not fine. Sit still so I can clean this up.”
I chuckled in amusement at that. He’d already tried and failed to clean up my hand. What were the chances he would succeed this time?
But as he said, he looked under the sink for something to clean me up with, and when he didn’t find anything, he grabbed a bottle of vodka from the counter and a clean dishrag, then poured it over my hand.
I hissed as the alcohol washed over the cut, cleaning it out. But the worst part was when he pressed the towel to the cut and held it there.
“You’re a sadist.”
“Hardly,” he grinned, still staring at my hand. “Just thorough.”
Sighing, I brushed my hair back from my face and cataloged the destruction around the room. “So much for my first Thanksgiving.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I saw his jaw ticking in anger as he continued to stare down at my hand. “Who did you have over?”
“What?”
He jerked his head at the mess around my table. “I saw someone leaving. Who was it, Cassidy?”
I was momentarily shocked by the anger in his voice. It was almost as if he was pissed at me, but I had no clue why.
“My mom invited the Callahans over—”
“I fucking saw that,” he snapped, his eyes finally reaching mine. The anger brewing in their depths confused the hell out of me.
“Why are you so upset?”
“Because you let Austin fucking Callahan into your house!”
My jaw dropped in confusion as my own annoyance swept through me. “Excuse me, but who I allow into my house is none of your business. Especially not when I invited you over first!”
“Oh, so you invited him because I said no? Is that the way you operate?”
“I don’t operate any way,” I said, shoving him back as I hopped off the counter. But I didn’t get far. He gripped my arm and spun me around, caging me against the counter.
“Why would you let him into your house?”
“My mother invited him over,” I hissed. “It’s not like he’s someone I would have voluntarily allowed into my house.”
“Then why didn’t you kick him out?”
“Because, unlike other people in this town, my parents believe that no one is guilty unless there’s proof. So, my mother saw John and didn’t want him to be alone. Which meant inviting his whole family!”
“And you just couldn’t say no?”
Scoffing, I walked away from him and started cleaning up the mess.
My hand was throbbing, but that was the least of my worries right now.
I had a door that was broken, dishes scattered all over, and enough food to feed an army.
The problem was that half of it was on the floor, and the rest of it was spoiling on the table.
I didn’t have the room in my fridge to keep all this food.
“Would you just sit down?” Sam growled.
“No,” I snapped, spinning to face him. “I have to clean up. I have to find a new freaking door at six o’clock at night on Thanksgiving, and I have a gigantic mess of food and dishes to get cleaned up. So, no. I will not just sit down!”
“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he snarled.
“And you’re an ass,” I snapped.
“An ass? I’m trying to help.”
“On your own terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I took a step toward him, even more pissed off than before. “It means that when I asked you to come over, you were too concerned about anyone knowing about us. But then you snuck over here and had everything to say about who was in my house.”
“Because Austin is fucking crazy!”
“I know that! I’m not stupid enough to let a man like that into my house if I can help it!”
“Yet you did. You could have told your mother no.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “I could have, and then she would have had to rescind the invitation.”
He scoffed, shaking his head at me. “You know your problem? You’re so fucking worried about civility that you allowed a fucking psychopath into your house. God forbid you offend anyone. He could have fucking killed you!”
“I was with everyone else in here!”
“At all times?” he asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
I remembered opening my door to him standing right outside my bedroom. My skin crawled as I thought back to him peering inside my room. Or the lewd comments he made at dinner.
“You weren’t,” he said quietly. “Tell me what he fucking did.”
“He didn’t do anything,” I said, shoving past him.
But I didn’t get far before he grabbed my arm again, tugging me back to his chest. When his arm banded around my back, I had few moves I could make to escape his clutch.
Not that I really wanted to, which still grated on my nerves.
His skin vibrated under my touch, luring me back into a situation I knew I would never be able to escape. Not if my body kept reacting like this.
“Tell me what he did, Cass.” His voice rumbled low in his chest, making my knees weaken with every word. I was helpless to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.
“He—he was waiting outside my bedroom door. That’s it.”
His finger and thumb pinched my chin, drawing my gaze up to his. “That’s not it.”
No, it most definitely was not. But did I really want him to know how much Austin creeped me out by looking around my room? By letting his eyes roam over my body like a treat he was going to dive into?
“Look, it’s done. He said some things, but then there was this fight between him and Wyatt and…well, you can see the destruction.”
The way his eyes bored into mine, I knew he was well aware that wasn’t the complete story. But I also wasn’t going to get into any more of it tonight. I just wanted to clean up and lounge around for the rest of the night.
As if sensing how worn out I was, he took a step back, finally releasing me. “I’ll find some wood to board up the door.”
“My dad already went to find some plastic.”
“I’ll run to the lumberyard. Message me if he finds anything.”
I nodded, finally feeling like I could breathe again when he took another step back. Once he was halfway across the room, my head started to clear and reality sank in. My house was a disaster, and I had to clean it up if I had any hopes of relaxing the rest of the night.
But first, I had to bandage this hand.
I slumped down on the couch, my eyes drifting shut as the aches and pains from the day fled my body. I was exhausted, and no amount of food, wine, or television could make it better. I just wanted sleep.
But that was impossible while Sam finished boarding up my door. My dad had come back with plastic, and after he helped Sam nail it to the inside of the frame, they started putting plywood over it. When the majority was done, Sam sent Dad home.
It seemed odd to me that he was able to find plywood so easily on a holiday, but when I asked, he told me he was on friendly terms with the owner of the lumber yard after they met at Seafood & More while gambling in the back room.
Thankfully, not many people in this town wouldn’t go the extra mile for a fellow citizen, even if it was a major holiday. When the drill stopped, I let my eyes drift closed and pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, snuggling under it to shield off the worst of the cold.
The throbbing in my head from this morning was returning full force, but I didn’t have the energy to move, let alone find some pills to knock out the worst of the headache.
“Cass,” Sam rumbled, his voice louder in my head than necessary.
“Hmm?”
“It’s boarded up.”
“Mm-hmm,” I added for good measure.
“Cass,” he repeated, trying to draw more out of me, but the fact was, he was barking up the wrong tree.
This was no longer just a hangover headache. This was moving into migraine territory. I could feel the spike driving into my eyeball, and if I opened my eyes and allowed the light in, things would only get worse.
“Go away,” I grumbled.
All I wanted was to turn out the lights and grab an ice pack from the freezer.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Lock the door behind me.”
I mumbled something incoherent and waved him off, grateful when I heard the door shut. Sighing, I fumbled for a pillow on the other end of the couch and pressed it against my face, blocking out the light in place of hauling my ass off the couch to turn out the lights.
“Finally,” I muttered into the soft fabric.
But that’s where my peace ended. The door swung open again, but I didn’t bother to move the pillow. I already knew who it was.
“You didn’t lock the fucking door.”
I raised my hand, giving him a thumbs-up. “Good catch.”
“Cass, I’m not fucking messing around. Get your ass up and lock the fucking door.”
“Why don’t you just flip the lock on your way out?” I suggested, muttering into the pillow.
“You still need to throw the deadbolt.”
Sighing, I shoved the pillow down, squinting out of one eye at the angry beast of a man standing in my doorway. “I have a broken sliding door with nothing preventing anyone from coming in but some plywood. I hardly think a deadbolt is going to stop an intruder.”
His body shifted, setting off dangerous vibes that I couldn’t care less about at the moment.
“Look at me,” he snarled.
I sighed heavily at his command. “Go play Macho Man somewhere else. I’m going to bed.”
I flopped back down, but was laying in peace for less than three seconds when two strong arms dragged me up, shaking me slightly.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”