The spell is broken, and as I pull back, Holt’s eyes snap open. “Cassie…”
I push him away. He can’t kiss me like that and say my name with that tone, and completely own me without my fucking permission. He steps forward, but I can’t cope anymore. Before he can touch me again, I slap him.
He steps back, his expression so confused that for few seconds, I feel bad for doing it.
I shouldn’t. This is his fault. He knows what sort of power he has over me. He counted on it, and he exploited it. Now my body is pounding and aching. Needing him in ways I can’t deal with.
I hate that he can still make me feel like this. That with one kiss, he can demolish every single defense mechanism I’ve ever had against him.
I hate him for doing it, but I hate myself more for wanting him to do it again.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
After all the crap he’s put me through in the past two weeks, Holt admitted he was attracted to me.
Well, he said reading my diary made him hard, which I guess is the same thing.
Why do I even care? He’s a rude, egotistical, apology-phobic ass, and nothing good would ever come of us hooking up. Except maybe some mind-blowing sex.
Oh, the sex. I can just imagine.
I can’t deny it anymore. I want him, even though he drives me insane.
And now that I’ve admitted that to myself (and to you, dear diary), I’m absolutely terrified he’s going to read this, because according to him, it’s inevitable. As soon as I write down something highly mortifying, the universe is going to find a way to let him see it.
Well, in that case: Hey, Holt! Yeah, you diary-reading jerk! I want to grope you. Wanna have angry sex and blow my horny, virginal mind?
I drop my pen and rip the page out of my diary before scrunching it up and throwing it at the trash can. It bounces off the edge and joins the other seven balled-up pieces of paper littering the floor.
“Fudging corksucker!” I launch my diary across the room, and it hits the door with a loud thud. I flop back onto my bed and throw my arm over my eyes.
It’s no use. I can’t write in my diary anymore. He’s ruined the ritual of it, because I can’t get past the terror that he’ll read it again. The one thing that helped me make sense of my ridiculous feelings for him is now unavailable, and that sucks beyond all words.
“Cassie?” There’s a knock at the door, and Ruby’s head appears. “You okay?”
“No,” I say before rubbing my face and sighing.
“Holt?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He’s playing Romeo. I’m Juliet. We got into a fight.”
“About the diary?”
“Among other things.”
“Still no apology?”
“Of course not. Plus, he practically demanded I give him a hand job.”
“That’s not cool. He should have at least said ‘please.’” She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You know he likes you, right?”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do. You like him back.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Sometimes liking someone has nothing to do with what you want and everything to do with what you need.”
“Ruby, he’s a dick.”
“You’re passionate about him.”
“We’d be terrible together.”
“Or wonderful.”
I exhale and sit up. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should make a move.”
I rub my eyes. “God, Ruby, no. We just don’t mesh. It’s like we’re oil and vinegar. No matter how much we shake each other up, we’re never going to blend.”
“Cassie,” she says, giving me her best heed-the-pearls-of-wisdom-I’m-about-to-impart expression, “you forget that even though oil and vinegar don’t blend, they still make delicious salad dressing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, that makes zero sense.”
She sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I had nothing. Still, salad dressing is delicious. My point is this: You should fuck Holt. It’d be yummy.”
I look at her in shock. “What?! I should … what? I mean … I can’t even comprehend—”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve never thought about jumping that boy’s bones, because I know you have.”
I slump and pout. “Okay, fine, I’ve thought about it. Doesn’t mean I’d actually do it.”
“Need I remind you that you dry-humped him shamelessly when you were drunk? And from all reports, he wasn’t complaining.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“You rubbed your girl flower on his love muscle, Cass. It counts.”
I pull my hair over my eyes and groan. “Ruby…”
She parts my hair and glares at me. “Cassie, you’re obviously hung up on this guy. You’re going to have to deal with whatever’s bubbling between you before you both have a complete meltdown. You can’t go on with all this unresolved sexual tension. It’s not healthy. I vote for fucking him until you both can’t stand, but hey, that’s just me.”
I grunt in frustration and flop back onto my bed.
She stands and walks over to the door before turning back to me. “You know, a wise man once said, ‘Love cannot be found where it doesn’t exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does.’ Think about it.”