Page 5 of Shattered Veil

Her smile was…large. Blinding. It would scrunch up her slim nose and warp her freckles, pinch the corners of her brown eyes, and turn them into tiny slits. Due to it being early November, it was freezing as shit outside…and for whatever reason, she was wearing a crop top. It had long sleeves, but, y’know—still. The white fabric stopped just above her waist, showing off her stomach and a very tiny belly button ring. Her legs were long. Tan. I couldn’t see that they were tan right now, considering that she was wearing jeans.

Thank God she was wearing jeans.

No, I just knew that they were tan because we had met over the summer, and every day that I saw her, she wore shorts. Short shorts. Denim shorts. Black, white, blue, every goddamn color imaginable—you bet your ass she had them. Wearing that along with a pair of black high-top kicks, she’d stroll into Henry’s, say hello to her brother, and…I don’t know…exist.

Whatever.

I sound bitter, I know. I can’t fuckin’ help it.

She waved a white-tip manicured hand at us all, held up an index finger to signify that she would be right back, and strolled directly to the women’s room.

“Do you have to do that every time she comes in here?” Claire muttered.

“Do what?” I returned.

“Have a look on your face that screams that you’d rather her be literally anywhere else.”

I sighed. “That obvious?”

Claire snorted. “You’re not exactly a master of disguise, Jay.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Luke interjected, “Drop it, baby—he’s just not a fan. It’s all good.”

“Cas can be a lot,” Liam interjected in an understanding tone. “I get it.”

Oh, Liam, you are far from getting it.

“She’s nice,” Claire whined back.

“Claire’s right,” Zoey nearly sang, her pixie cut tilting to the side as she argued alongside the rest. “Cassie’s nice.”

“Yeah, she’s plenty nice,” I retorted. “No qualms.”

“If you had no qualms, you wouldn’t glare at her so much,” Claire argued. “What’s your deal?”

“So—not dropping it,” Luke murmured.

“She’s…”

I considered my words, and nothing came out. Instead, I buried my face in my whiskey and shrugged. Claire grumbled something about me needing to play nice, and she wandered off to check on the few customers who were sitting at the tables to the right of the bar.

What could I say? That she’d gotten under my skin? That she sends my mind somewhere I didn’t want it to be? That I was wholly tired of seeing her?

No, I couldn’t say any of those things because the insinuation would be damning. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Cassie. She was fine, really. More than fine. Nice girl. Good sense of humor. Attractive as all hell, obviously, and there was no doubt that some sort of chemistry lingered between us. I felt it constantly—it was a low simmering that had started off in the base of my gut and warped its way up into my chest over the past few months.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew what the feeling insinuated, and I wasn’t averse to romance—quite the contrary. I had considered exploring this…this crush with Cassie. I had given it significant thought, as I typically do with all things in my life. However, she was…young…nearly a decade my junior. And she was Liam’s little sister—so it could cause some sort of a rift within our tight-knit group.

Therefore, she was off limits…and that was fine. The crush that felt rather inappropriate at times would dissipate eventually. There were certain times that were more difficult than others to repress the desire that I held for Cassie Cohen, though…and for whatever reason, tonight was one of those times.

I felt rather than saw her slink into the stool on my left. It was where she usually sat—directly next to me, so close that I could feel the heat of her through my clothing.

Cassie reached for my glass, brought it to her lips, and took a large sip. The act was one that she repeated every time we were both at Henry’s—she would steal my whiskey, drink the remainder of it, and buy me my next round. She did it with a teasing smile. A playful attitude that dared me to, I don’t know, chastise her for it.

She did so just now, and even though I knew it was coming, the gesture twisted something up inside of me. It was the typical yearning that I experienced around her and, as usual, I had to stifle the urge to grab her by the back of her neck, yank her lips to mine to taste the whiskey on her tongue that she had stolen from me, and remind her that the next round is on her.

I closed my eyes for a beat, took a cleansing breath through my nostrils, and let it out—because that just couldn’t happen. Normally, I would shoot Luke a glance and he would get me my next drink, but for whatever reason, I was feeling especially weak tonight. So weak that I just…needed to go home.

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