You and Everything After (4 page)

“Sorry?” I say, suddenly aware of how fucking creepy I must look.

“I
said
I actually thought I could learn a thing or two from you. I want to get into rehab work,” she says, and for some reason, her purpose for being here, for choosing me, makes me…sad. She wants to learn from me. And I know it’s not because I’m some rehab workout king. It’s because I’m disabled myself, and that makes me unique. A novelty. I’m fascinating to her, but not the same way she’s fascinating to me.

“Oh,” I say, not really in the mood to
play
anymore. “Well, let’s start with a good upper-body combo, something that is good for leveling. We’ll see where you’re at, and then work up from there.”

I guide her through a few exercises, and every time I’m in a position to touch her, I don’t. It just feels weird now, and I don’t know why. She’s gotten serious, too, and a few times, I catch her looking at my eyes while I’m going through a motion. I’m used to people watching me lift myself from my chair, and they usually say something about how strong I am and how amazing it is that I can
do things like this with only my arms.
But that’s not the way Cass is looking at me. Her gaze is…different. And I’m frustrated by it.

“We should go out,” I say, overcome with this urge to get back to me, and everything I know. “Tonight. We should go out. Hang, you know?”

She stares at me, still finishing up her bench press, her lips barely moving with a silent count of each number until I barely hear her utter, “…fifteen.”

“No,” she says, standing quickly and dragging her long leg back over the bench; I swear she’s teasing me with it.

“No?” I question. I’m not used to
no.

“No,” she says, picking up her small pink towel and wiping the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck. I’m actually left speechless by her rejection.

“Well, all right then,” I say, blinking and looking out at the other students lifting around us. No. She said no.

“I just…I have a feeling about you,” she says.

“Right. A feeling,” I say, pulling myself back to my chair. “And what kind of feeling is that?”

She sighs heavily at first, then leans against the rack of weights before finally looking at me. “You’re…nice.”

I’m sure the laugh that bursts out of my mouth is jarring, but I can’t help my reaction. “I have been called a lot of things, but
nice
has never been one of them. Even my brother doesn’t call me
nice,
” I say, still laughing when I realize she’s doing that staring thing again, the kind that makes me feel uncomfortable. I quiet then, pausing while I nod, just trying to figure her out.

“Look, you’re…good company,” I say, letting my eyes settle into hers. It’s strange how natural it feels. “I was thinking it might be nice…to be friends.”

“Friends,” she repeats, her tone oozing with skepticism and her eyes studying me like she’s waiting for me to jump at her and yell, “
Boo!
”

“Yeah, friends,” I say again. “Your roommate seems to be into my brother, so I’m thinking you and me, we’ll be hanging out a lot, and you’re funny. I like that,” I say, not really paying attention to a damn word coming out of my mouth, but suddenly feeling desperate to make this girl my friend. What the fuck is happening to me?

“I’m…
funny?
” she asks, moving closer to me and sitting back on the workout bench, her knees doing that thing where they graze against mine.

“For a girl,” I joke. Without pause, Cass pushes her hands against my chest, I’m sure her intent to chide me, but I take advantage of it and trap her fingers against my body, forcing her to stay close, in my space. Her laugh comes out nervously, and for some reason, I’m overcome with this urge to make her feel…okay. Reaching up with one hand, I tip her chin so our eyes meet. “I’d really like to be your friend,” I say, and strangely, I mean it.

For a few seconds, we are completely alone. I don’t notice the athletes starting to clank weights around us, or the people firing up the nearby treadmills. All I notice is how cold her hands are, how fucking amazing her fingers feel, and how much I want to kiss her. And I would totally fight the urge, but goddamn it, I want to kiss her.

So I do.

One second I’m teasing her and begging her to be my friend, and the next my hands have slid up her completely perfect arms to the side of her face, and my lips are begging hers to relax. I—and my damned impulsivity—am going to blow my shot to hell in a split-second decision. At first, she’s taken off guard, and I feel her threaten to pull away. I’m pissed at myself, and my grand romantic fantasies. I should know better. I’m not the romantic one.

But then, her hands wrap around my wrists, and she’s kissing me back. Everything about her—her tongue, her soft bottom lip, the sharp edges of her teeth—is tempting me and begging me to go on. But the loud thud of the fifty-pound dumbbell dropping on the floor next to us snaps us out of
whatever the hell that was.
Cass’s fingers release their hold on my arms, and she pushes away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, just wanting the redness to leave her face, and for her to look at me again like she was before I got all impulsive and shit. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Yeah…you did,” she says, standing and moving away from me even more. Distance—so I can’t do
that
again.

“Yeah…I did,” I admit, giving in to the smirk threatening to take over my lips. Her chest is heaving in-and-out like she just finished running a mile, and her eyes have this frightened vibe, like they’re torn between wanting me to kiss her again and wanting to run.

“I’ll be your friend, Tyson,” she says, swinging her towel around her neck and picking up her small set of keys from the corner of the weight room. “
Friends
.”

“Absolutely. Friends. Totally got it,” I say, chewing at the inside of my lip. When she’s just far enough away, I call out to her again. “Hey, but Cass?”

“Yeah?” She turns and nods, her face still flush from everything that just happened.

“I’m totally going to kiss you again sometime. You know…like friends,” I say, pushing back from the floor mats without waiting to see her reaction. I don’t have to, because I know she wants me to kiss her again. Nate is going to give me hell for this, but I think I might just really like a girl.

Chapter 4

Cass

I told Rowe about the kiss, but not really. I just dropped it on her and pretended it was no big deal. I did that because Paige was in the room, and as far as Paige knows, things like me randomly hooking up with boys for flirting and making out is no big deal. It’s just a continuation of my senior year of high school.

But Paige never really knew the full story. And I think I’d rather keep up the façade that
being flirty
is just part of my personality, rather than open that shit can up again.

I knew she’d have a reaction over Ty. He’s…different. Yes, he’s in a wheelchair. And Paige…that’s all she sees. But it’s kind of the last thing I see. There’s something about him. He lifts about three times as much as I do, and his body is cut to perfection. And his eyes—oh, that’s why I let him kiss me. That’s why I kissed back! It was like hypnosis. But there’s something else when I’m near him, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like we’re playing this intense game of chess, studying one another to find strengths and weaknesses. Only, I don’t want to exploit his. I only want to understand them.

He’s going to the mixer with us tonight, and I know I’m going to see him in about five minutes. It’s been six hours since our friendship pact—sealed with a kiss, I suppose. I can’t be easy with him, though. I like him this much and I barely know him. If I give in to what my body wants, and then he ends up moving on to the next girl, it will suck. No, it will more than suck—it will completely derail my promise to myself to make this year all about me and what
I
want. Instead, it will be all about Ty and how sucky it is to live down the hall from him.

“Ladies?” Ty says with a rhythmic knock on our half-open door. “Hope you’re decent. We’re coming in.”

He has his hands over his face, but his fingers are spread so he can see everything. It’s stupid, but it makes me giggle. Paige just rolls her eyes, but she straightens up fast as soon as Nate trails in behind Ty. I look over to catch Rowe’s reaction and notice her frame growing smaller. If the race to win Nate’s heart comes down to confidence, I’m afraid Rowe doesn’t stand a chance in the shadow of Paige Owens, who has decided to wear her silk dress tonight, lest someone on campus not have the chance to know exactly what her nipples look like.

Paige seems to be ten steps ahead of us, all the way to the gym; I know this too is strategic. She’s always looking for the angle, the way to make sure the guy she wants has no choice but to notice her ass. My sister is a beautiful girl, and she’d be beautiful without all of the tricks. But I tried to tell her that once, and she just told me I was jealous. So, if she wants to wrap herself in see-through fabric and parade in front of me like a stripper for attention, I let her.

As soon as we enter the gym, Paige turns it on heavily, pulling out every stop she can think of to make sure Nate’s eyes are on her, and only her. Of course, the way she pops her chest out seems to have Ty’s entire focus too, and something in me…just…snaps.

“They’re tits, boys. Get over them,” I say, walking ahead to the registration table. I can feel Ty move closer to me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact. He can take this opportunity to get in a few more good looks at Paige’s breasts. My sister is oblivious, still preening in front of Nate, competing even harder now that he’s moved his hand to the small of Rowe’s back.

As soon as we enter the gym, an announcer starts giving directions to break people up based on middle names and birthdays. I always hated these types of mixer games. We did this a lot at soccer camp on the first day. I always got stuck in the worst groups—with girls from rich schools, who weren’t really good at soccer—so our group ended up losing whatever drill they made us do.

It’s the same now. There aren’t many
J
middle names for females, and the guys starting to form the
J
group in the middle of the room all look like the kind who yell out their car windows and whistle at women they think are
hot
! Before anyone can ask me my middle name, I backtrack to a seat against the wall in the corner and pull out my phone to pretend I have something important to do.

“Me, I’m more of an ass man,” Ty says, settling into the space next to me.

“Wha—?” I ask, probably still a little pissed that he blatantly ogled my sister’s tits.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, your sister makes a good case for boobs, but I’m just more into asses,” he says, stretching his hands behind his neck, cracking it to one side before pulling up the corner of his lip into this cocky half smile and winking at me.

“I take it back. We can’t be friends,” I say, turning my attention back to my phone.

“Good,” he says, which gets my attention, and I snap my eyes up to look at him again. “I was thinking about it, and this whole friends thing is going to make it awkward when I kiss you again.”

“I’m not kissing you...” I say, but I sort of run out of words, because as irritated as I am with him right now, he’s so damned handsome that it stuns me.

“Again?” Ty speaks the word for me, his eyebrows raised. “You mean again, because baby, you already kissed me. Please say you haven’t forgotten it.”

“Oh…my god. You did not just call me
baby
,” I’m starting to wonder if I imagined all earlier versions of Ty, because
this
one is not impressing me.

I sink my focus back into my phone, playing one of those stupid games that I’m sure I’ll obsess over and sit awake at night trying to master. Several seconds pass before Ty finally leans over into me with a nudge. “Baby hater,” he says. I fight it at first, but a small snort laugh squeaks out through my smirk. “There she is.”

My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but as soon as my vision locks onto his face, I’m reminded of the fact that there’s something about him I also find irresistible. “Your smile…is breathtaking,” he says—all traces of his crass jokes from before, gone. We stare into each other for several more seconds, and he’s the first to break. “So, no circle-mingling for you? What, bad Girl Scout camp experience?”

“Ha,” I snicker. “You’re half right. Soccer camp. And yes, it was the worst. I hate forced icebreakers. You?”

“Well, I’m not exactly built for square dancing,” he says with a slight shrug, gesturing to the circles of people grouped out on the gym floor, all linking arms, walking in circles, and giving each other these uncomfortable-looking back massages. “You should be out there, though. You might meet someone.”

“I’m good here,” I say, letting my smile linger in a way I hope like hell looks sexy from his perspective. His pause signals that it might.

“So, Cass Owens is a soccer player, huh? You mentioned that during our workout. You still play?” he asks.

“Gave it up,” I shrug. “It was a high-school thing for me.” I stay away from the details, but he watches me closely as I speak, and I get the sense he’s trying to tell if I’m bluffing with my words. I’m not—not entirely, at least. I did give it up, and it
was
a high-school thing. But I miss it. My stupid body doesn’t like that kind of exertion, though, and even if it could handle it, my parents’ marriage couldn’t take me rebelling against what makes my mother comfortable. So the deal was I get to study exercise in college, but my shin guards and soccer cleats get hung up for good.

I look out at the circles of people and catch Rowe’s attention. I’m pleased to see she’s right next to Nate. Paige is on the other side of the gym. It’s not that I’m rooting against my sister, but I just feel compelled to root for Rowe in this. Nate seems like a good guy, and Rowe reminds me of me. And I guess I want to know one of us can get the prince in the end.

“It’ll happen again. Just so you know,” Ty says, his voice bringing me back from my trance.

“What, me? Soccer? I doubt it,” I say, not doing a very good job at masking the sadness in my response. Ty’s eyes stay on mine as I try to work my lips back into a natural-looking smile. His mouth pushes into a tight line as he draws in a deep breath and slowly starts to nod his head.

“I was talking about me trying to kiss you. But now, I sort of feel like a dick, so…” he says raising his brow and clapping his hands together in his lap. “Yeah, uh…hey, I know. How about I just help you get back into soccer-shape instead, and we’ll see about walk-on tryouts in a few months?”

I’m not sure what I’m struck by more—the fact that he’s so hell-bent on kissing me again, or the fact that he thinks he can get me back out on the field. I start to smile and open my mouth to respond when I hear a few people scream in front of us and turn to see Nate lifting Rowe in his arms, then laying her flat on the floor.

“Shit! I think she just passed out!” Ty says, pushing forward, but stopping before the thick crowd of onlookers. I work my way in and urge people to give her space. Her eyes are already blinking, but she seems disoriented.

“She’s totally faking,” Paige says behind me.

“I don’t think so,” I say in return, watching my new friend have a full-blown panic attack on the gym floor. It takes several seconds for Rowe to realize she’s safe, and after she comes to, we lift her to stand. Nate is glued to her side the entire walk back to our dorm.

“Drinks in our room?” Ty asks everyone, but his eyes are on me. I shouldn’t go. I’ve had one night of partying already, and a second—in a row—is probably a bad idea. Paige is already squealing, though, and Rowe is walking a little slower behind us with Nate, so it all seems to come down to me. I nod a small
yes
, and Ty responds with a grin that stretches his entire face. Somehow, all I notice is the way his beard has grown into this really sexy stubble that only makes the dimples stand out more.
 

When we make it upstairs, Rowe pauses, and I can see Nate hesitating. She’s not feeling well, and I think he’s considering staying with her. But he eventually gives in and joins Paige, Ty, and me back in their room.

Ty is twenty-two, so their mini fridge is well stocked with beer and their shelves with hard liquor. Just one look at the tequila makes my stomach turn, so I make a face at him and cover my mouth. “Overdo the tequila last night did you?” he teases, and I immediately nod
yes
in return.

One thing I learned from my mistakes in high school is not to be embarrassed to admit I’m drunk—or that I don’t want to drink. Paige, however, seems more than willing to have a repeat performance, and she downs a few shots within the first five minutes we’re in Nate and Ty’s room.

It’s comfortable in here. Everything is darker than our room, probably because they have a blanket looped over their curtain rod to keep the room extra dark. Their space also feels more masculine. It’s void of extra stuff, only necessities and the random magazine or two.

Ty is quick to pull himself from the chair into his bed. He pulls his shoes from his feet and lets them fall to the floor before unbuckling what looks like a very expensive watch and tossing it on the dresser right next to his bed. He looks up at me when he’s done, scoots his body closer to the wall, and then pats the space next to him.

“Uh uh,” I say, surveying the small stretch of open floor, not really ready to
get horizontal
with Ty.

“Come on, it’s just a bed,” he says, that perfect smirk luring me. Do I want to lie next to him? Of course I do. It’s just that I’ve learned through painful experience that the easy ones never stay long—they leave scars and change the course of your life without sticking around to see the fallout. I don’t want Ty to be easy. I want him to be a challenge—slow and thoughtful. A boyfriend. Easy ones aren’t boyfriends either.

There isn’t much room on the floor, though, and I will look ridiculous if I pull over Nate’s desk chair. My stomach sinks with that dropping sensation, because I hate that I’m giving in. But I do it anyway, and I slide onto my side to face Ty, careful to keep myself at least an arm’s length away.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you bought that line. Now that I have you in my bed, I’m totally going to take advantage of you and turn you into my sex slave,” he says, only able to hold the serious look on his face for a fraction of a second before rolling his eyes.

“You’re an ass!” I say, smacking lightly against his chest, pulling my hand back quickly this time, so he can’t catch it.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, the corner of his lip curled up in that perfect way. “But I
am
going to kiss you again. Sometime…soonish. Just FYI.”

“We’ll see about that,” I say, taking note of the pleasant flutter in my belly. I love that flutter. I haven’t felt it since before the diagnosis—since before I turned myself into a doormat for heartbreakers. “And FYI? Chicks don’t dig it when you woo them about kissing with an FYI like some five-minute business deal.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his eyes boring into me. “I get the feeling you mean business.”

“Oh, I’m
all
business,” I tease, pursing my lips and crossing my arms in front of my chest in defiance. I’m enjoying this game.

“Pity,” he says, rolling to his back and folding his arms behind his head. “Me? I’m all pleasure.”

FYI, you can go ahead and kiss me now.

Ty

Cassidy Owens is a goddamned goddess. I have no idea what she’s still doing in my bed, but she’s still here—I must have a shitload of karma I’m cashing in. We’ve spent the last hour talking about everything. I mean
everything
!

Cass likes cheeseburgers, and she dips her fries in mayonnaise. But she runs an extra two miles when she knows she’s going to eat like crap. She cares about her body, but not for vain reasons. She says she just likes to feel healthy. Usually, I’d call bullshit when a chick says something like that. Chicks always play off wanting to look hot, and they do it so you’ll tell them they look hot anyway. It’s stupid. But I really don’t think Cass gives a shit about the physical side effects of her workouts. She wants to be strong—like a killer.

She didn’t get too deep with me about soccer, but I get the sense she misses it. I’m not sure why she gave it up. From what I gathered, she would have made the team at McConnell, easily. She’s a competitor. I understand—so am I. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss running the bases. If my body would let me round third just one more time, I would in a heartbeat. But when I brought up the idea of her training for tryouts, Cass just shrugged.