Reunited (The Love You Left Behind #1) (2 page)

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO…

Cassandra

I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking coming here tonight.

I smooth a hand over my short denim skirt and wish the ground would swallow me whole.

“Come on, bitch!” my best friend, Laura, demands. I roll my eyes at her version of an affectionate nickname. Laura’s been calling me “bitch” for years. I’ve yet to adapt to it being a positive attribute rather than an insult.

“Look, you said you wanted to let loose,” she reminds me, pressing a hand to the middle of my back and steering me toward the ranch house in front of us. “We’re two days from graduation. Finals are over. You are eighteen years old and you’re going to college in, like, two months. It’s time that you had a little bit of fun.”

I sigh, then shrug. She’s right. I
know
she’s right. I’ve spent the last four years of high school focusing on grades and extra curricular activities and practically full-time work. I haven’t had time for the massive parties that punctuated every weekend in our small Virginia town.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I had time. I just never really felt like I had a place there. I never really felt like I belonged.

But tonight is going to be different. That’s what I’ve been telling myself all week – tonight’s the night that I’m going to redefine the reputation I’ve inadvertently honed over my high school career.

Cassandra Erickson, the good girl.

Cassandra Erickson, the responsible student.

Cassandra Erickson, the virgin.

The truth is that I’m ready to shed all of those labels tonight.

“You’re sure I look okay?” I ask Laura nervously. I touch my dark brown hair with both hands in a desperate attempt to keep my silky-fine locks from getting staticky.

Laura, on the other hand, shoves her fingers back through her thick, dirty blond curls. She’s the kind of girl that rocks a ripped pair of jeans just as well as she pulls off a mini-dress. Tonight, she’s got on a pair of tight black pants and a red tank top – a top similar to the one she demanded I put on with the too-short skirt I’d decided to wear. My skimpy pink halter top has a deep V-neck that shows off my cleavage in a way I’ve never had the courage to do before, mostly since I’ve been cursed (or blessed) with a double-D rack since I was in the eighth grade.

Tonight, though, the outfit paired with high-heeled sandals makes me feel both sexy and terrified. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this conflicted by my own emotions.

“You look amazing, chica! Seriously.” Laura wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “I promise you that no one is going to be able to take their eyes off you.”

I swallow hard. Part of me wants her to be right. Part of me is terrified that she could be.

As though reading my mind, Laura gives me a pointed look.

“You are hooking up with someone tonight. Finally. It’s happening.”

I snort in disbelief. “Please. How about we say that I’ll
talk
to a guy? I think that’s a little more plausible.”

As we approach the front door of the house, I realize that this party feels significant somehow. It feels like something important could happen here, something memorable. Something real.

Of course, Laura is determined that that “something” is going to be losing my virginity. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it – I guess I just can’t imagine a situation where it will actually happen.

When we reach Peter’s door, Laura doesn’t even bother knocking. We walk right inside and into a room filled with people and smoke and incredibly loud music.

“Yo!” David Pfeifer, a tall, lanky lacrosse player Laura and I have known for a decade, comes barreling through the crowd. He tackles me in a bear hug before lifting me off the ground. “I can’t believe Laura actually got your scholastic-ass out to a fucking party. She might be a miracle worker!”

David grins at Laura who bats her lashes innocently. Only I know that she’s been in love with him since our freshmen year. Unfortunately, they seem to have fallen into the proverbial “friend zone” but Laura is determined to change that before she heads to UNC in the fall.

“D, let’s grab a drink,” Laura says.

She turns to me and winks before grabbing his arm.

“We’ll be right back.”

She steers him back into the crowd. Suddenly, the throng of people swallows me up and I feel totally awkward. Strength in numbers was a good tactic and I pretty much don’t got anywhere without Laura, especially not anywhere social. Now, though, I chew on my bottom lip and try to school my nervous expression into something less terrified.

I squint through the dim lighting at my classmates. Our graduating class isn’t all that big – less than 200 people – but I think they’re all crammed into this house right now. The A/C is blasting but I can still feel a sheen of perspiration over my brow. Around me, the faces stop blurring together and I try to relax. I know these people. Most of them have gone to school with me for a decade.

Over in one corner, I see Manda Grayson and Kirsten Spencer holding court with the rest of the cheerleading squad. A few feet from them, a handful of basketball players are daring each other to crush beer cans against their foreheads. In an adjacent room, I can see half of the drama club and almost all of the football team’s first string playing a vigorous game of beer pong.

A few seconds later, my eyes land on Carter Kline, one of the senior point guards of the undefeated basketball team. I’ve had a bit of a crush on him since we had English together our sophomore year, but we never interacted much. This year, we were both in the same senior seminar, which was a college prep course that all students were required to take.

Carter was the kind of guy every girl wanted to go out with. Or hook up with, really. He had a full head of black hair, the body of a Greek god, and eyes so dark and deep blue that you could probably fall into them without much effort.

Tonight, he looks gorgeous. He’s already gotten a great tan, or maybe he always had it, and his smile is like a light source. He’s grinning at a handful of girls that are clearly hanging on every word. Every time he says something, they all collapse into giggles.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, then turn to see Laura. Her eyes are on Carter, too, as she hands me a plastic cup brimming with beer.

“Fuck. He looks hot as hell tonight, doesn’t he? Man, those eyes.”

I swallow hard, then look back at Carter. His deep, denim blue eyes are wide and he almost always looks like he’s about to smile or laugh. I could drown in those goddamn eyes and I know it.

“He should be the one you get with tonight,” she says, nodding thoughtfully. For a long moment, I just stare at her. Then I start laughing.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious.” Laura hands me one of the plastic cups she’s holding. “That’s for you. Liquid courage. Drink up. He might be surrounded now, but eventually you’ll get your window. You’ll talk to him tonight. I guarantee you that.”

I sniff at the contents of the cup, then make a face. Laura wags a finger at me.

“Don’t be a snot. Chug-a-lug.”

Grimacing, I press the drink to my lips and force myself to swallow. It’s not entirely unpleasant and I manage to down about a third of the contents before coming up for air again.

“Atta girl!”

Laura grabs my hand and pulls me away from the crowd. We press up against a wall and I continue to sip my drink as we watch people pass us by.

“Tonight’s the night,” Laura is saying, nodding emphatically. “David and I are absolutely hooking up tonight – he’s looking fine as hell and I swear I caught him checking out my ass when I was walking in front of him.”

I grin at her. “Well, your jeans are skin-tight – they’re practically painted on.”

Laura shrugs. “The better to attract some very wanted attention.”

I run my thumb along the rim of my cup. “What are you doing talking to me then? Go get him!”

She leans in and presses her lips against my cheek. “You’re a peach. You know I love you, right?”

“Of course.”

She bounds away then with a spring in her step and I have to giggle a bit at her enthusiasm. Well, that and my drink is kicking in. Over the last few minutes, a warm, pleasant fuzziness began to travel up my skin and into my cheeks. I feel the flush blooming over my face and I press a cool hand to my forehead.

I need some air.

I manage to push through the narrow hallway, to the kitchen where games of quarters and flip-cup have turned into raging tournaments and the smack talk is flying, drowning out the already blasting music. I squeeze past a crowd of people and head out through the sliding screen door.

The air on the deck is far cooler than the air inside the house, which is sort of surprising considering it’s June. But, then again, you pack the entire senior class of Lincoln High School into about 500 square feet and it’s bound to feel like a hormone-driven sauna fueled by Usher music and Boone’s Farm.

I inhale deeply and try to school my anxiety, which is pegging, as per usual. I wish I could just relax like Laura and take life as it comes. The truth is that I’m leaving for college in less than three months and I still feel completely directionless. Sure, I know that I’m going to school to get a degree in something. I just don’t know what that something is…

I hear a roar from inside as someone wins beer pong and I peer back through the screen at the group of students in the kitchen. I can’t help but feel like the proverbial outsider. Not just because I’m on the outside looking in, because I am, but also because of the truth – the blatantly obvious truth. I’m not meant to be here.

With a sigh, I walk over to the furthest edge of the deck where it’s shrouded in complete darkness. I let my eyes adjust and lean forward against the wooden railing that’s around the perimeter. The pungent odor of cigarette smoke burns my nostrils as I lean forward and look over at the fenced-in property. The suburban backyard is just like so many in this neighborhood – in this whole community, really. That’s one more thing that makes me feel like I don’t fit in – I don’t actually live in one of these cookie-cutter subdivisions.

I mean, sure, yes, I’ve been going to school with the majority of these people since I first boarded the kindergarten bus a dozen years ago. But, unlike many of them, my parents don’t work in offices or have their own successful law firm or accounting business – instead, my father’s insisted on keeping the family Christmas tree farm alive, even when it’s put us in debt up to our eyeballs.

My grandfather’s father started Erickson’s Tree Farm when he got back from serving overseas during the Korean War. Since then, the whole community comes to my family’s property to cut their Christmas trees, buy their swags and boughs, choose their wreaths, and order pine mulch for spring planting. It means that, for me, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is like some kind of weird, tree farm jail. I work all the time – even this past year, when I was busy submitting all of my college applications and applying for every scholarship known to man.

Now, six months later, I can still hear the sound of axes and chainsaws in my dreams. The new crop is barely past the seedling stage, but I feel like the last few years especially have revolved around my responsibilities. I missed out on parties and sporting events and dances. I didn’t really mind at the time, but now? Well, now I’m starting to wish I’d had a reason to go to those dances. Or someone to go with, for that matter.

I exhale long and slow, considering what I should do next. Should I go back inside? Should I get another drink? The warm fuzzy sensation I’ve been basking in for the last few minutes seems to be dimming. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. Whatever ever happened to letting Cassandra go for the night?

Clearly I’m failing miserably at that endeavor.

Jay

I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking coming here tonight.

I’ve managed to escape the clusterfuck masquerading as a party inside by supporting my bad habit of a pack a day of Marlboro Reds. Smoking by myself was not my original intention coming here - I actually thought maybe Diana and I could patch things up. I know she’s pissed about the whole “joining the military” thing, but I told her I’m willing to move up to Baltimore this summer while she works for her uncle. At least until Basic Training starts in August.

But instead, I’ve been forced to watch her grinding up against Nate Bender while some Britney Spears bullshit blasts on the stereo for a good twenty minutes. Rather than slam my fist into Nate’s goddamn face, which was certainly my preference, I headed out back.

Most of the smokers have been using the side door, where there’s a circle of chairs for people to sit and socialize. If my buddies were here, then, yeah, maybe. But Justin’s working late tonight and Adam’s off doing something lame with his girlfriend, so my only choice is to hang out solo or try socializing with the assholes I’ve been going to school with for the last ten years.

Yeah, not interested. Thanks, but no fucking thanks. Solo it is.

              I manage to find a quiet spot – a corner of the back deck where a steep flight of steps leads to the backyard – and I’ve been leaning up against the cool siding of the house and chain smoking for a good twenty minutes before anyone decides to come outside and join me. Well, not join me, exactly, since she doesn’t even see me.

              I don’t remember her name at first. I watch her move as I try to remember. Callie? Kathy? Something like that, I think. We had Spanish together – briefly, anyway. I ended up dropping after a few weeks of utter failure with the language. My mouth wasn’t made for speaking anything but English. Sometimes I don’t even do that particularly well.

She’s a good girl. I know that for damn sure. And, right now, through the slightly boozy haze pulled down over my eyes, I’d bet my life that she’s a virgin. The way she’s tugging on the hem of her skirt, like she can make that shit anything less than skin-tight and revealing – she’s obviously not used to showing off her goods in any capacity.

And, I gotta admit – there are goods there that I never would have noticed otherwise.

As she leans forward onto the railing, I can see a span of pale skin and ample cleavage in the dim light. My eyes have adjusted to the dark and all of the things she’s clearly trying to hide about herself – the things that are making her uncomfortable in any way – well, I can see them. And I like what I fucking see.

              Cassandra. That’s her name. Cassandra Erickson. Her family’s got that farm off of Route 85. I always remember it because we used to go there to get Christmas trees when my Dad was still around. I haven’t been there in years, but I remember how close her family seemed. They all worked together and Cassandra would sell Styrofoam cups of hot cocoa and baked goods from her mother’s kitchen. It seemed like such an idyllic existence. I was jealous as fuck.

Now, though, looking at her is like seeing a stranger. She’s always worn more conservative clothes – not ugly or frumpy or anything, but nothing like what she’s got on tonight. It looks like she’s trying hard to get someone’s attention. Like she had plans for the night.

Like I did, I suppose.

“There you are!”

I hear a high pitched half-squeal and Laura Bennett comes barreling out the screen door. Laura’s a little dramatic for my taste, although she’s got a banging body and I hear she knows exactly how to use it.  David Pfeifer is following behind her, holding two plastic cups in his left hand while chugging from yet another cup in his right.

“Cass, where’d you disappear to?” he sort of slurs, grinning at Cassandra, who has turned to face her friends, a fake-ass smile plastered across her face. I recognize that smile – it’s the same one I’ve been sporting all night, while gritting my teeth and watching my girlfriend – no,
ex-
girlfriend – ride up on the junk of every guy that will dance with her.

“I’ve just been out here getting some air,” Cassandra says. Her voice is soft and breathy and something about the sound immediately shoots straight to my dick.

Jesus. I need to get fucking laid if some chick’s voice is enough to get me hard.

“Hey, I think I see Paula!” Laura says, tugging on David’s arm. Half of his cheap keg brew sloshes out of one of his cups and he grimaces. “Come with me to get her.”

David glances over at Cass, then shakes his head. “I’ll just hang here and keep our girl company. Until you get back.”

The way he looks at Cassandra is like a goddamn beacon of unrequited boners.

Yeah. David Pfeiffer’s gonna attempt to score out here on the deck with a girl that I’m willing to bet is a virgin in every sense of the word. I’d bet that she’s hardly been kissed – kissed good and hard, anyway. I want to snort a laugh, but I take a quiet inhale. Watching this inherently cocky guy strike out might be the most entertaining thing that happens all night.

              “So…Cassandra…”

              David’s impression of swagger, of confidence, is laughable. I watch her lean a hip up against the railing and cross her arms over her chest. It’s warm outside, but her nipples are hard beneath her sheer top. For a moment, I flash to a vision of flicking my tongue over them like little hard candies.

“I’m digging your outfit,” David is saying, and she reflexively smooths a hand over her skirt. David’s eyes follows her fingers as they tug at the hem of her denim mini again. I’m following them, too. Her self-consciousness is obvious. Somehow, it makes her even more attractive, more desirable.

“Thanks, “ Cass says, smiling up at David. “I sort of feel conspicuous, honestly.”

David steps closer to her. “Is conspicuous a good thing or a bad thing?”

Cass shrugs. “I mean, Laura seems convinced that it’s a good thing. I’m not so sure.”

I can tell as David half-slinks into her personal space, almost snake-like, that this is when he is going to make his move. As he reaches up to brush Cassandra’s hair over her shoulder, I roll my eyes. What a fucking cliché.

“I’m with Laura on this one,” he says, his voice a low and obvious attempt at something seductive. “You’ve never looked hotter. I’ve never wanted you more that I do right now – which is saying much, considering I’ve wanted to get with you for a good year and a half.”

Predictably, Cass blinks at David as though he’s speaking in tongues.

“Wh-wh-what?”

David cocks his head a bit and reaches out to slide a hand down Cass’s bare arm. He rocks back, swaying into a stumble. Clearly he’s been drinking. Liquid courage and all that.

              “Come on – you had to have noticed.”

              Slowly, she shakes her head. I can see her throat working over a swallow. She looks nervous.

              “No – I…I didn’t notice. I thought you and Laura…”

              She trails off as David’s brows pop halfway up his forehead.

              “Me and Laura? For real?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, then rocks back on his heels. “I mean, she’s great – fun as shit, can totally drink me under the table, got a stellar rack.”

              David steps forward then and tilts his head down to gaze at Cassandra. As he leans closer, he blocks my view of her face, but the last glimpse I got definitely wasn’t an expression of desire or even interest.

              “David, no – I can’t do this to Laura,” Cass protests. I can see her trying to step back or shift to the side, but David’s far larger and taller body blocks her.

“She really likes you,” Cass is saying, “like,
likes
you likes you. I can’t -I don’t want to…”

She stops speaking and I realize it’s because David is kissing her. I can feel my hackles begin to rise, especially once I realize that she’s pushing back against his shoulders with both hands.

Up until now, this was funny, watching David Pfeiffer swing for the fences and strike out. But now? Now the humor has dissipated as Cassandra attempts to fight off this douchebag as he continues to force himself on her. He’s got a hand coasting down her back to her ass and he teeters a little before reaching out to steady himself.

Sighing, I drop the butt of my cigarette on the deck and clear my throat.

“Man, I don’t think she’s interested.”

Both David and Cass turn to face me, looking startled at the sound of my voice. He attempts to glare at me with a boozy, heavy-lidded focus, but I stare straight past him at Cass. Her face is pink, probably from a mixture of embarrassment and the effort to keep David at bay. Her hair looks a little messy and I can’t help but imagine myself shoving a hand up into her silky locks and tugging hard as I fuck her.

              “Mind your own fucking business, Shumaker,” David slurs at me. I cross my arms over my chest as I step closer.  I ignore him as I meet Cassandra’s clear blue gaze.

              “Are you okay?” I ask her. She nods, giving me a nervous smile.

              “I’m fine, Jay. Thank you.” Her voice is so soft that it’s practically a whisper. I didn’t even know she knew my name.

I nod at her, then raise a brow as I look at David.

              “You might want to learn what the words ‘stop’ and ‘no’ mean, Pfeiffer. She’s not interested. How about you go back inside and see if someone in there
is
willing to be groped?”

              David narrows his eyes and I can see his hands, balled into fists and clenched at his sides.

              “Look, motherfucker,” he begins, but I hold up a hand as he starts rubbing one fist with the other hand.

              “I’m not going to fucking fight you, dude. You’re drunk as hell. Besides, I’m preventing you from committing a sexual assault. If anything, you should thank me.”

              David just stares at me as he sways from side to side. Dude, this guy is shit-faced. He can barely stand up. I move a little closer and motion for him to put an arm over my shoulders.

“Let’s get you inside before you start hurling, man.”

“I’m not gonna hurl,” David mutters. “I wanna get laid.”

I snort a laugh and shake my head. “If you could get a hard-on right now, it’d be a fucking miracle. You just need to sleep this off.”

I glance back at Cass. “Any idea how much he had to drink?”

She shakes her head. “I can ask Laura, but he was here before we were. He might have been drinking for a while before we even saw him.”

She moves forward then and tucks her shoulder beneath David’s other arm. Awkwardly, we manage to get him back to the sliding screen door and inside the kitchen.

One look at David’s face and the other partygoers give us a wide berth. He’s wearing an expression that just screams, “I’m gonna blow chunks in the next 30 seconds.”

“We need a bathroom,” Cass half-shouts over the music. I nod, then point down a narrow hallway.

“Back there.”

              We half-drag, half-direct the inebriated David down the hall to the furthest bedroom. The door’s closed, but I give it a swift kick dead center and it flies open. Two chicks are on the bed with their shirts off, bending over a half-naked football player.

              “Unless you want to experience a projectile vomiting incident, I suggest you beat feet,” I say to the threesome.

With groans and grimaces, they crawl off the bed and head for the hall. One of the girls, Mallory Kensington, pauses to wink at me. Her tits are barely covered by her forearms crossed over them.

              “You wanna join us, Jay?”

I raise a brow at her. “Looks like you already got your hands full, Mall.”

She shrugs, then leans in to brush her lips along my ear as she says, “There’s always room for one more.”

As she sashays out into the hall, I shut the door behind her and turn back around – to see Cass staring at me with wide eyes.

“What?” I ask her. She opens her mouth to respond, but David interrupts her.

“Fuckin’ A, man. You need to go tap that shit. God, what I wouldn’t give to get my mouth all over her –”

But we don’t find out what David wants his mouth all over. Instead, his alcohol consumption finally catches up to him. He begins to heave and gag, so I start dragging him into the master bathroom.

“Head in the toilet, buddy.”

I shove his arms up onto the seat and the floodgates open.  I grimace as I slide out the door and shut it behind me. Cass is sitting on a wingback chair next to the bed and her expression echoes mine.

“Ugh. I hate hearing people throw up. It always makes me gag.”

I gesture to the door to the hall.

“You can split if you want – I’ll sit here and make sure he doesn’t drown himself in the toilet water.”

Cass chews on her bottom lip, making it look even more rosy and plump than it was. I force myself to focus on the words coming out of those lips rather than what they’d look like wrapped around my cock.