Reunited (The Love You Left Behind #1) (3 page)

“That’s okay,” she says, tucking her legs up beneath her. “If you’re stuck back here, the least I can do is keep you company. Especially considering you sort of saved me.”

I walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge.

“I wouldn’t say all that,” I say, leaning back on my elbows. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Cass shakes her head. “He had to be trashed to be all over me like that. David knows we’re just friends – and he has to know that Laura’s had a thing for him forever. He probably didn’t even realize who I was.”

I cock my head, watching her. “He knew exactly who you were. Trust me.”

She blinks at me, then looks down at her hands, which are still playing with the hem of her skirt.  For a long moment, we’re both silent. I can hear David heaving again and I get up to check on him. When I open the bathroom door, he’s laying on the linoleum, curled up in the fetal position.             

“How you doing, man?”

He sort of grunts a response that I can’t decipher, so I grab the cup from the side of the sink and fill it with tap water.

“Sip this,” I say, sitting the cup on the floor next to him. He closes his eyes and I can pretty much guarantee that he’ll be passed the fuck out in the next few minutes.

“How does he look?” Cass asks as I come back into the room. I shrug.

“Like shit. But he’s alive and he’s puked up everything but his internal organs. I think he’ll probably sleep it off for a while.”

Cass frowns. “But we shouldn’t let him do that, right? I mean, I don’t want something to happen to him  - isn’t that how people die of alcohol poisoning?”

I glance at the clock. It’s almost 11 pm.

“How about we give it an hour? We can check on him every fifteen to thirty minutes – as long as he’s breathing and looks okay, we can assume he’ll make it to see another drunken day.”

Cassandra tilts her head up to look at me and I’m struck with how much I love this view – of her sitting in front of me while I’m standing over her. And how I’d love it even more if we were naked…

“Do you want to take shifts?” she asks then, her voice soft. She’s chewing on her lip again. “I mean – I’m sure you want to get back out to the party. I don’t want you to miss it.”

“Please,” I scoff. “I came here on a whim – and up until a little while ago, I was planning on getting out of here ASAP.”             

“Oh, right…well, don’t feel like you have to stay here. I mean, I can sit here with David if you want to jet…”

I watch Cass’s face. It’s full of something unsure, something nervous. It takes me a second to realize that it’s me that’s making her nervous. And something about that makes me hard as fuck.

“I think we can manage to keep each other company for the next hour or so. What do you think?”

I move back to the bed and sit down, letting her mull over her options. When I look back at her face, her cheeks have a rosy glow again and she looks almost shy as she nods at me.

“Yeah, I think we can manage that,” she says, smiling.

I shoot her a grin and lean back on my elbows again.

The fact that I came here for Diana suddenly doesn’t matter. Hell, you know what they say – the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And I’m about to prove it.

PRESENT DAY

Cassandra

              I stare up at Jay, unsure of what to say. Finally, I decide on the obvious option. The easiest option.

              “Hey stranger.”

              He cracks a smile, one side of his mouth lifting as he cocks his head.

              “Cassandra-fucking-Erickson. How the hell are you?”

              He drops his bag on the elevator floor and steps forward to wrap me into a bear hug. His body feels warm and substantial and my belly drops to my knees. I’m not sure if it’s a side effect of Jay’s touch or the fact that the elevator is quickly ascending.

“I was wondering if you’d be here,” he says as he pulls back. He glances at my single small bag and a small furrow creases his brow.  “Is Carter not here yet?”

              I almost wince at the sound of my fiancé’s name.

              “Oh, yeah, no,” I say, feeling my cheeks turn slightly pink and warm. “He, uh, had some work stuff to deal with. He’s not coming this weekend.”

Jay nods, watching me. I feel like he can see right through my excuses, right through my clothes, right through all of my layers to my very core.

              “Well, that’s too bad,” he finally says. “I wasn’t going to come, either, to be honest. It was sort of a last minute decision.”

We reach the 7
th
floor and the elevator deposits us into a long corridor with cream walls and burgundy carpet. Room doors line both sides. I glance down at my key card.

“I’m in 721,” I say, glancing down the hall. “How about you?”

Jay squints at his key, then smiles. “723.”

He gestures for me to go forward ahead of him and I sling by laptop bag over my shoulder. I feel hot prickles on the back of my neck knowing he’s behind me. Every sensation feels heightened, like there’s electricity running through the very air I’m breathing.

              The odd numbered rooms are on the left, so Jay’s room is just past mine. He side steps me as I stop in front of my door, then turns to smile at me.

              “So, I guess I’ll be seeing you later?”

              I clear my throat, then nod. “The cocktail party starts in an hour or so, I think.”

              Jay glances at his phone, then back up at me.

              “Yeah, I think you’re right – you wanna walk down together?”

              I blink at him stupidly, as though the question doesn’t entirely compute. He raises a brow and shrugs.

              “I mean, we don’t have to – I just thought strength in numbers…”

              He trails off as he heaves his duffel back over his shoulder. I clear my throat, feeling like a moron.

              “I – um – yeah. That would be good.”

              I manage to practically spit out the words in his general direction and Jay’s one thousand watt smile is my reward.

              “Sweet. I’ll come pick you up.”

              The way he says it makes me feel eighteen all over again, like I’m home on my parent’s tree farm and getting ready to go out on a first date. Well, except this is not a first date. Or a date at all. I feel like reminding myself of that is an important step to keep taking. Probably repeatedly.

              I let myself into my room with a smile over my shoulder and a lame little wave, then securely shut the heavy door behind me.  I lean back against the cool metal surface and breathe deeply.

              The first curveball of the night, and it’s a doozy.

              I pull my suitcase further into the room. There’s a king size bed in the center and I stop dead, staring at it.

              It’s covered in rose petals.

              I totally forgot – I’d ordered the “anniversary package” when I’d booked the hotel room on Carter’s card. As I take a closer look, I notice the champagne and crystal flutes on a small table by the window and the fluffy white robes hanging just inside the closet door.

              As I look at all the romantic details, I can’t help the tears that spring to my eyes. I can’t believe I actually thought at one point this might be a renewing weekend in my relationship. Swallowing hard, I grab my laptop bag and drop it on the wooden top of the desk. I unzip the front pocket and pull out the slim manila folder. With a sigh, I flop down on the leather desk chair and slide the photos out onto my lap.

              Up until today, I’d been trying to think of every possible reason not to talk to Carter about the pictures. I can’t even tell you why. I think it’s more about admitting that we’ve failed. That the perfect couple we’d strived to be, the boxes we’d checked throughout our relationship – well, they were all useless exercises in the monotony that became our life.

But it isn’t just that.

I don’t want to look at the photos again. I haven’t so much as glanced at them after the first time they appeared at the house. But now I slide them out again and force myself to look, to acknowledge the truth about what my fiancé’s been doing on all those business trips.

The first few are sort of grainy, blurry from the motion of the people in the picture. But in the third one, I can recognize Carter with his arms around his boss’s daughter, Penelope. She’s all of 23 years old. I’ve only met her twice, when she was home from law school during a holiday break. I hadn’t even thought Carter took any notice of her.

Clearly I was wrong.

There are another dozen photos. Photos of Carter and Penelope laughing, kissing, holding hands. Photos where the intimacy is like nothing I’ve ever known with my own fiancé. My own partner.

I’ve had these pictures for three months. And since then? Since then I’ve just been waiting.

Waiting for the decision to get easier. For the leap to be less scary. And, frankly, waiting to figure out what exactly I’ll do with myself. With the rest of my life. The possibilities are both endless and terrifying.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare down at all of the haunting pieces of my life from back home, then force them back into the folder and under the bag. My hands are almost trembling now and I realize that dwelling on this is only going to make everything feel worse.

Standing up, I walk over to the large full-length mirror on one wall and stare at my reflection. My eyes look far sadder than you’d expect for someone about to reunite with former friends. My dark circles and frown lines echo the same sentiment. Over the next hour, I need to pull myself together into something presentable, and that starts with remembering why I’m here.

To have fun.

To let loose.

To forget all of the things about my life that are less than perfect.

The goal is to try to capture a part of me I barely got to explore for a brief moment in time.  To make myself feel something again.

This weekend, I don’t know if Jay will be a part of this new/old Cassandra. Maybe he’ll just be on the periphery of my life in the very same way he has been. But something tells me that I already know that’s not the case. Not even close.

I grab the remote off the bedside table and flip on a
Real Housewives
marathon, then shoot Laura Bennett a text message. She was my closest friend back in high school, but college and life seemed to draw us further and further away from each other. Now, we meet up once or twice a year for lunch or coffee. Still, I know she’s here with her husband, so I feel like I should at least reach out. Maybe we can meet up at the spa tomorrow or something.

While I wait for her to respond, I start pulling my clothes and toiletries from my suitcase. Tomorrow night is more formal, so I brought a black cocktail dress that I’ve been saving for a special occasion. For tonight, however, I’d grabbed some denim leggings and a fuzzy, off-the-shoulder sweater to wear with the riding boots I’d worn down here. I dig out my make up and jewelry bags, then head into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.

I take my time for once. I’m so used to hopping in and out, running downstairs with wet hair to start the coffee for Carter, then running back up to blow dry before heading to class. If it’s a writing day, I usually run the same kind of schedule. But, for once, I can actually savor the beating water against my back, the almost-too-hot temperature that’s turning my skin red and rosy. After washing and conditioning my hair, I lather my entire body with the rich soap the hotel provided, then shave and rinse. By the time I get out of the steamy shower, I feel a little drunk on the heat and almost sleepy. Glancing at the clock, however, reminds me that Jay is meeting me in 30 minutes.

My phone pings with a text message and my stomach seizes for a second. I expect it to be Carter. Instead, it’s a response text from Laura. She wants to meet down at the bar during the cocktail hour. I send back a “sure, see you then” before dropping my phone face down on the bed.

I don’t want to keep half-hoping and half-dreading that Carter will realize I shouldn’t have had to come here alone. Maybe this weekend should be my breaking point – maybe the way things work out this weekend will be my sign, my message to either make it work or make a run for it.

I tuck my phone into my bag and head back into the bathroom. Tonight, I’ll leave the phone upstairs in the hotel room while, downstairs, I try to recapture what’s left of my youth.

And my life.

And that begins by remembering one night a million years ago – a night when I felt something I will never, ever forget.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO…

Cassandra

How have I never noticed how freaking hot Jay Shumaker is before?

Well, okay, I wouldn’t say I’ve
never
noticed. I think it’s more a matter of proximity.

Jay and I never had many classes together, save a Spanish course that he switched out of in the first month. Throughout high school, he played soccer and hung out with the team most of the time. That, and he’s been dating Diana Wentz for the last year or so. Admittedly, I’m not a fan of hers. She’s one of those girls who wears fake glasses to look smarter, but in reality couldn’t care less about school or learning. She rarely attended classes. I think she might have gotten into a fistfight last week with another girl, but I can’t remember for sure.

But I know they broke up, so somehow asking Jay about her seems sort of out of bounds.

So, instead, I fall silent and look down at my hands, hoping for some sort of interesting topic or idea to pop into my head. If this guy is going to hang with me for the next hour, I feel like I should at the very least have a few talking points to hit on.

But, instead, Jay manages to beat me to the punch.

“So, tell me, Cassandra Erickson – what brings you to this party tonight when I don’t think I’ve seen you at a single party for the last…oh, I don’t know – four years?”

Surprised, I look over at him. He’s leaning back on his elbows, his short-sleeved concert t-shirt showing off his muscular arms and deep tan. His short hair is darker blond, but has golden highlights throughout that reminds me of shafts of sun coming in through window blinds. When he smiles, one side of his mouth lifts slightly higher than the other.

“This isn’t the first party I’ve
ever
been to,” I say slowly, “but, yeah, it’s true that I don’t go out a lot.”

“And why is that?”

I shrug. “Because I ‘m usually busy – I work at the tree farm and I study and I guess I was just…”

“Too good for partying?”

My mouth pops open to defend myself, but when I meet Jay’s gaze I can see that he’s kidding. He’s practically grinning from ear to ear and I shake my head at him.

“You know that has nothing to do with it.”

He quirks a brow. “Oh, do I now? How would I know that? I’m pretty sure this is the first real conversation you and I have ever had.”

I’m not really sure what to say to that. I mean, he’s not wrong. I glance up at the bathroom door, then hop out of my chair and knock quietly.

“Hey David? You okay?”

He sort of grunts a response and I take that as a “yes.” Or at least as much as a yes as I’m going to get from him right now. I crack the door to peek in at him and he lifts his head from its resting spot and gives me a thumb’s up. I close the door, then sit back down in the wingback chair and face Jay.

“I guess I just wanted to try something different tonight – come out and party with the people I’ve seen in school for the last four years every day. We’re about to graduate – it seemed like a good idea.”

“And, yet, here you are, hiding in a back bedroom with me.”

I can feel myself blushing.

“I’m not hiding,” I protest. “
You
know I’m here.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. But what about out on the deck – are you telling me you were trying to be social out there all by yourself?”

“Were
you
?” I shoot back. He grins.

“Nope. Definitely not.”

For a long moment, we go silent. I can feel his eyes on me and I wonder if he’s looking at all the parts of me I’ve put on display for the first time this evening. One glance up confirms my suspicions. His eyes are focused on me – or, on my cleavage, more specifically. I decide to dive right in and ask what I’m really thinking.

“So, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

I take a deep breath and try to consider the best way to word this.

“Back when we first came in the room, Mallory said something to you…”

He raises a brow. “Uh-huh.”

I clear my throat. “Something about how there’s always room for one more.”

              Jay eyes me, his gaze somehow darker than it was only moments before.

              “That’s not a question,” he says, his voice sort of gravelly and deep.

I glance down at my lap, then force myself to look at him – into his eyes – when I ask him, “So…was she inviting you to join in? Like, making a threesome into a foursome?”

Jay shrugs and picks at the pilled surface of Peter’s parent’s bedspread.

“Sounded like it, huh?”

I swallow, giving myself a minute to process that. Then I nod.

“But…is that…normal?” I finally ask.

Jay leans forward and braces both of his elbows on his knees. I notice a tattoo – something dark and tribal – peeking out from beneath the left sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Normal for me? No.” His mouth twitches at both corners. “But I have a feeling it’s pretty normal for Mallory. From what I hear anyway.”

I nod. I’m not entirely sure what I’m nodding about, to be honest. Nodding at the idea of a girl I sat next to in geometry my freshman year is having sex with multiple partners at the same time? Nodding at Jay saying that’s not something he participates in on the regular? God, who the hell knows?

“You look surprised.”

I glance back up at the sound of Jay’s voice. He’s clearly watching my reactions. My expressions. It’s like he’s examining me and I feel warm and prickly under his scrutiny. It isn’t an all-together uncomfortable feeling.

“I guess – I guess I am,” I admit, huffing out a little laugh. “I mean, how is it possible that I’m still a virgin, but my classmates are indulging in group sex?”

As soon as the sentence comes out of my mouth, I wish I could swallow it back.

“I mean – I guess I’m just shocked that she’d be so open about it,” I finish sort of lamely.

I refuse to meet Jay’s gaze, even though I can feel it on me, burning into me. I feel hot beneath my clothes and I don’t know if it’s from the alcohol I’ve consumed or the close quarters with a guy I barely know while talking about sex.  Probably both.

When I finally muster the courage to look at him again, I’m struck by how focused Jay seems to be on me. Before, when we were talking, he was paying attention. Now, he seems absolutely riveted.

Dammit. I never should have said I was a virgin. He probably thinks I’m some kind of freak.

“So,” I say, my voice a little higher pitched than I really intend, “what are your plans after graduation?”

His mouth is already forming a question, but instead, he plays along with my small talk.

“The military. I’m heading out for basic training in August.”

I frown. “You didn’t get a scholarship for soccer? I mean, you’re really good – or so I’ve heard.”

“I did get one, actually,” he admits, “but it didn’t cover expenses. My family doesn’t have the kind of cash to swing that shit. So I passed on school. Maybe someday. Just not now. And the Army will pay for it, so I figure, why not?”

He moves to stand up then and I watch as he walks toward the bathroom and cracks the door open.  He slips inside and I can hear him talking to David. Soon after, I hear the sink running. A minute later, he comes back out, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Yeah – dude’s got puke all over himself.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “So gross.”

This time, Jay doesn’t sit back down. He starts walking the perimeter of the room, looking at pictures on the walls and shelves with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Peter and I used to be good friends back in the day,” he says. “I haven’t been in this house in years, though. Still looks the same, I think.”

I’m not entirely sure if he’s telling me or reminding himself. I don’t say anything as he turns back around to face me.

“So, you’re a virgin.”

The blood in every other part of my body flies upward toward my face and I feel like my cheeks are on fire. I open my mouth a few times, fish-like, but no sound comes out.

Jay walks a little closer. This time, when he sits, he’s hardly a foot away from me.

“It’s not something to be ashamed of or anything,” he says quietly, his eyes trained on mine. “But, since you mentioned it earlier, I figured you should know that I’m sort of surprised. And a little jealous.”

My brows furrow. “Why?”

“Why which?”  he asks.

I consider the question.

“Why both, I guess. Why surprised…why jealous?”

Jay looks up at the ceiling as though there’s something to read up there, as though it might have the answers. Then he looks back at me.

“Well, jealous because I sort of wish I hadn’t lost my virginity so early. I know that’s not something guys say, but I was young.”

“How young?” I ask quietly. He exhales a gust of air, then gives me a rueful smile.

“Fourteen.”

“Oh. Wow.” I’m not really sure what to say to that.

“Yeah, so you can see why I wish I’d waited.”

We lapse into silence then. I think about who I was four years ago, at fourteen. I was barely ready to give up Barbie’s. I’d only just gotten my period. I never would have been able to have sex with someone – I can hardly imagine it now at eighteen.

“And surprised?” I finally ask, remembering his other descriptor.

Jay doesn’t look at me this time when he speaks.

“Because you’re gorgeous. Because you’re sweet. Because I can imagine that just about any guy that meets you can imagine tearing your clothes off. In fact, I pretty much guarantee that they imagine it.”

I suck in a sharp breath at his words. When he finally looks at me again, there’s a mixture of fire and sadness in his eyes.

Fire from desire? Is that really possible?

But the sadness hits me first.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Diana Wentz?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Jay shoves a hand back through his thick hair.

“There is no deal. We broke up a few weeks ago. I thought we might be able to work shit out, but the truth is that she’s far more interested in making me jealous than making me happy. I don’t need that shit in my life.”

I lick my lips, then nod. “You’re right. You don’t.”

I think about what I want to say next.

“I’m not a huge fan of hers, to be honest,” I say slowly. “I feel like she causes drama for the sake of drama. She’s never been particularly nice to me.”

Jay doesn’t say anything to that. I watch his face, which tightens a bit around the mouth. I swallow before speaking again.

“You, though? You’ve always been nice to me. I mean, I know that we haven’t interacted all that much. But still. You’re a genuinely nice person. You deserve better than someone who makes you feel like shit.”

Jay’s eyes narrow, like he’s scrutinizing me, but the sadness in them is replaced with something else. Something more than just warmth or affection.

Something like sparks.

“Tell me, Cass,” Jay says, his voice low, “why did you come here tonight? Tonight, after avoiding all the parties for the last four years?”

“Didn’t we already cover this topic?”

He shifts forward and leans toward me. His hand moves to finger a lock of hair that’s framing my face and I take a nervous breath. Having him so close feels almost drug-like. I’m immediately affected by his proximity in an inexplicable way.

“I mean,” he says, “did you come here tonight to let loose? Maybe do a thing or two you’d never experienced before?”

My eyes grow wide as his hand moves from my hair to my shoulder. His touch is gentles as he runs the back of his fingers along my skin.

“I – I might have considered it,” I murmur.

Jay’s eyes meet mine, shifting their focus back and forth in rapid movements, like he’s trying to catch every nuance of my expressions.

“Did you lock the door when we came in here?” he asks, his voice gravely and almost strained.

I nod almost imperceptibly.

Then, without another word, Jay Shumaker pulls me toward him and devours my mouth with his. And I am completely, irrevocably lost.