Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
His expression softens, and he rubs my forearm in a way that feels so very familiar. “You’re not. I just want you to give Logan a fair chance. I like him, and I’m sure you will come around too.”
“I’ll try,” I say and stomp off in frustration. I don’t want to be a bad friend. Cass should have everything he dreams of, so why do I feel so bad about it?
“Where are you going? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just need to pee!” I even make myself laugh, but by the time I close the bathroom door, I have to rub a bit of dust out of my eye.
My chest is so heavy I don’t know what to do, but there is someone I can vent to. I plop into the empty bathtub and pull out my phone.
Aaron’s avatar is the picture of his horse, Snowley Darcy II, and despite studying, working, and horse riding, he is somehow almost always available to chat. So I hit him up with the good old, [What are you up to?]
In the last month, I took him up on the tutoring offer, but in all honesty, we only had two real study sessions, because I was too eager to talk shit about Logan to learn anything. I had to work out what kind of friends Aaron was with my nemesis, but it turned out they were acquaintances at best. One time, Logan tried to correct Aaron’s riding form, and since Aaron took offense, they never became more than people-who-know-each-other.
Which is perfect, because while I require help with essay writing skills, what I need even more is a spy.
Aaron and Logan see each other at the stables, are both gay (even if Logan isn’t gay-gay), and hang out at Rainbowology more than me. This makes Aaron my ideal accomplice for all and any shit-stirring. While he’s perfected the look of a bored descendant of the Great Gatsby, I know Aaron enough by now to see he’s not nearly as refined as he thinks he is. And since gossiping is one of his guilty pleasures, he promised to tell me if he sees Logan hanging out with anyone suspicious.
The tub cools my back through the thin T-shirt, but I heat up the moment my new friend responds.
[Just writing. Why? Is Logan coming over tonight?]
I roll my eyes and type back, [Yeah. Wanna hang out?]
As I wait for his response, my mind wanders to the disappointment flashing over Cassian’s features moments before. Did I really have the right to confront him about the plastic spiders? I do like them, and the idea of pranking Logan is hilarious, but it’s not that important. So why did I get worked up to the point of shouting at Cass?
Guilt twists my insides as I step out of the tub. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m too protective and should treat Logan as I do any other guy. After all, I rarely end up disliking someone for crimes far greater than Logan’s.
Aaron’s message comes right before I leave the bathroom. [Will be at the Rainbow in an hour].
As I walk past the open door of Cass’s bedroom, I see the jungle of plants taking up all of the vacant space around the desk and king-size bed, and once again, the accusation I’d thrown at him comes back to haunt me.
Cass always loved botany. He’s studying it now while working at a special nursery that breeds carnivorous species. Of course he wants to share his hobby with me. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about the stupid spiders.
When I see him in the kitchen, stirring sauce, a desperate need to make him laugh washes over me, so I grab a newspaper and fold it into a paper hat.
I put it on, clear my throat to prepare it for my best imitation of a Southern accent, and walk up to him from behind. Without even thinking much, I slap his ass, startled by the satisfying sound that produces. His buttocks are really firm.
“Whatcha’ cookin’ there, wifey?”
Cass turns back, blinking, but he knows me too well to stall and hides his grin while grabbing my wrist to move it away from his butt. “Now, now, you know doing such things before church is unholy,” he squeaks but shakes his hips as if he were clad in some kind of old-timey hoop skirt.
I have to hold back a snort. “Come on, baby. You know I’m a Southern gentleman, but a man’s got needssss,” I hiss, trying to grab his ass again. “You can’t expect me to smell your pasta and not get horny.”
Cass slaps my hand and struts a few steps away before glancing my way with those dark green eyes. I want to laugh, but then he pushes a curl of his hair behind his ear, and that makes me remember how soft his mane is.