Page 11 of Never Yours

“Cass!” I shriek.

“What?” She raises an eyebrow, taking a drink from her coffee cup that I’m certain is empty at this point. “He doesn’t date. There’s no harm in casually seeing him while you’re home.”

I consider it for a moment. He could break my heart—or worse, I could break his again. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Think about it. I’ve warned him to stay away from you, but only because I know my brother and I want to torture him. I give it three days before he’s on your doorstep, serenading you harder than John Cusack with a boombox.”

I gesture with a nod for us to leave my bedroom, and we take a seat on the couch in the living room. Even though we text nearly every day, we spend the next two hours talking and laughing as if we haven’t caught up in years. I needed this, needed to be home.

Cass checks the time. “Shit, I have to go open the bar. Want to come to brunch tomorrow?”

“Sure!” She bites back a smile at my reply. “Cass…”

“What?”

“Let me guess, Caleb will be there.”

“Maybe,” she sings as she gets up, then whines, “Please come? Pop told me to invite you, so you have to say yes.”

I roll my eyes. “You win. I’ll be there.”

caleb

. . .

I’m off in ten, up for a drink?

Ingrid

I’m going to make it an early night.

I’ll call you when I get home.

Thank you for last night, but you don’t have to.

Fuck that.

Today must’ve been hard on her. Once I saw the notifications on my phone with her name plastered all over them, I did what any other obsessed man would do—a full-on internet search of her name. Dozens, if not hundreds, of articles came up. Most appeared to be blatant lies. A few implied she’s seeing me… and I selfishly hope those are true.

As soon as I’m in my truck, I call, hoping she’ll want me to come by. It rings three times, and just as I’m about to hang up, her sleepy voice gives me pause as my thumb is about to press the ‘end’ icon.

“Hey, Cay.”

I put the phone to my ear, unable to wipe the smile from my face. “Hey, princess. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

She groans, and there’s a shifting of fabric in the background. “No, I’m up. How was work?”

“Good.” I fucking hate small talk, but I’ll take anything she’s willing to give me right now. “Did your boxes arrive yet?”

“Yeah, I haven’t unpacked, though.”

“Need some help?” I offer, biting my lip and hoping she’ll say yes.

“Sure. Have you had dinner?”

It’s late, and she’s making an effort. Maybe I still have a chance? My shoulders fall in relief. “No, I’ll pick pizza up on the way over.”

“You don’t have to,” she rushes out.

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