Wild Forces: A Friends to Lovers Romance (O-Town Book 2) Page 4

  She turned away.

  “Was it Brock?”

  She turned back to me. “I looked into you.”

  My chin dipped. “What does that mean? Have you been internet-stalking me?”

  Her eyebrow lifted for a moment. “Not recently. But when we first met, I sensed guitar was not your only instrument. I mean, most people get forced into piano or something other than guitar. So, yeah. I searched you on social media and found some stuff you were tagged in by former classmates. You got chops, man.”

  “For a middle-sized town in central Florida, sure. Not enough for Juilliard or any place like that.”

  “You tried to get into Juilliard?”

  “Tried. Failed.”

  Her vibrant green eyes lit up. “Gabe! Plenty of great artists get snubbed by the big J. Hell, there are artists that get in, and then drop out because the structure doesn’t do it for the artistry. And—”

  She cut herself short, launching herself out of the bed. A moment later, I heard the bathroom door slam and I ignored her retching.

  Her words about Juilliard repeated in my head. Dad had said similar shit when it was going down, and I think it was part of why he allowed for my so-called gap year. When that year turned into six, he gave me some tough love.

  “Gabe,” she breathed when she came back in the room. “I’m serious. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to stick around and babysit me.”

  I closed my eyes while taking stock of my own stomach. Everything seemed systems normal. I rolled to my side so I could pull out my cell phone.

  “Yeah, and my ass ain’t leavin’ until I hear what could possibly top ‘Night Train.’ So, let’s hear it.”

  She shook her head as she laid down again. “So as to move this into the current millennium, I’ll switch genres entirely and say ‘The Power of Orange Knickers.’”

  I groaned, throwing my arm over my eyes. “You did not just throw out Tori Amos.”

  She chuckled, which made me smile. To buy myself time, I moved my arm off my face and texted Vamp to make sure he and Rainey weren’t battling food poisoning, too.

  When I was done, I set the phone on her bed. “Okay, ‘Love Song,’ by Sara Bareilles.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “All right, you win, but you don’t win. Only because I’m giving up since I really don’t dig Bareilles.”

  “I don’t know how that is, Daughtry. She oughta be right up your alley.”

  She chuckled. “No. She’s up your alley, man. Her songs are upbeat, but full of passive-aggressiveness. You like that kind of thing. Referring to your biological mother as your egg-donor.”

  When I spoke to Dad, I didn’t share that it was Cassie who had convinced me to soften my stance toward my mom. And really, I had only softened it outwardly. My bitterness ran deep.

  The phone laying on her bed chimed, and I looked to my texts.

  I smiled at Cassie. “Well, the good news for the rest of us is that neither Vamp nor Rainey are ill. So, it seems it’s just you, hon.”

  “Yeah, not much consolation.”

  “When’s Kaylee gonna be home?”

  She spied the time on my phone. “Another half hour, probably.”

  I nodded. “You really want me out of your hair, then fine. I’ll leave, but you need to lock the door behind me. You got enough energy to do that, Daughtry?”

  “Yes, Sullivan. I can handle that. It’s not the first time I’ve had stomach issues. But thanks for sticking around. It was very sweet of you.”

  I stood and shoved my feet into my shoes. “You’re welcome. Next time, maybe you’ll get the waffles.”

  “Whatever. I know I finally won a round of our sick game seeing as you’ve got to run ‘Blue Monk’ by your father.”

  4

  With You

  Cassie

  WHY DID I EVER INTRODUCE Gabe to the Bracket Game? He and I became friends, and in doing so, I learned he played basketball. In fact, his studies and entire world went into something of a tailspin during March Madness. So, geek that I was, I mentioned my bracket games.

  “You do a bracket for March Madness?” he had asked sounding as though the very notion were madness itself.

  “Not for basketball. I’ve followed some blogs and websites which put books into brackets for the ultimate book of all time.”

  “Okay,” he drawled.

  “My dad and I have been playing a version of this with songs.”

  “Songs?”

  I had then explained that there were no actual brackets on paper or a website. It was the verbal game we played on my bed.

  God.

  Gabe Sullivan on my bed.

  That man had a way of topping himself when I least expected it. I thought sleeping in his bed was torture. Nope. Laying on my bed with him sporting that scruff which begged me to stroke his cheek, now that was torture.

  Yeah. Except I wasn’t known to be a masochist, so it was clear I had to put distance between us.

  THE NEXT MORNING I went to campus early to meet DeShawn for an Accounting tutoring session. He and I met because of Gabe, and when he found out I was getting my MBA, he asked if Accounting was my thing or not. He had the basics down, but wanted my help with the more in-depth principles.

  I sat down at the table in the library where DeShawn had his books and notes out.

  He looked up. “You certain you’re not contagious?”

  My eyes widened. “It was food poisoning, and it was nearly twenty-four hours ago. I’m fine. Yes. I’m sure I’m not contagious. Gosh. Didn’t know you and Gabe were so damn chatty.”

  He shrugged a well sculpted shoulder. “We aren’t. He mentioned it when I called him yesterday for a pick-up game, but he had plans.”

  I nodded and pulled out my notebook so we could get to work.

  An hour later, and we both had to get to our classes.

  As we exited the library, DeShawn asked, “You comin’ to our game tomorrow?”

  I opened my mouth to answer but took a deep breath instead. Then I looked up at him. “I’m gonna have to pass on this one.”

  His brown eyes narrowed on me. “You sure you’re okay? Something about that answer isn’t right, Cass.”

  I tilted my head momentarily. “I wouldn’t say that. There’s just stuff going on in my life.”

  “Like that asshole shovin’ you around last week?” I made a face. “Yeah. Sullivan told me about that. And for real, you coulda called me, too. You need to take care of yourself, girl.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. It’s also why I won’t be at the game.”

  His head reared back. “Say what? Sullivan do somethin’ to you?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s like you said. I have to take care of myself. Gabe and I are just friends, and I need to... take care of that, I guess.”

  He whistled. “All right. And I won’t share this shit with him.”

  I arched a skeptical brow.

  “Really, Cassie. I see how you look at him. It’s all good. And you’re gonna be fine.”

  AFTER MY DATA ANALYTICS class, I went to the parking garage. I unlocked my Toyota Camry, settled in the driver’s seat, closed the door and locked it. Reaching to the backseat floorboard, I grabbed the small cooler I kept there.

  While I dug out my lunch, I told my phone to call my father, but then I mashed the end call icon before it could connect. Between talking to DeShawn and a ninety-minute class, my brain was shot, and I couldn’t handle talking to my dad. I cued up my iTunes, which seemed to be set constantly to my ‘Soothing Songs’ playlist.

  I hit the play button, and Sade’s “Love is Stronger than Pride” filled my car.

  My nose began to sting, and I deep-breathed.

  That song encompassed everything about me and Gabe. Well, except the ‘not pretending to be good at forgiving’ part. I thought I had forgiven him for sleeping with Kaylee, and I acted like I did. Maybe I was pretending, though. It still stuck in my craw, seeing him on my bed yesterday. Mainly because the first vi
sual I had after seeing him there was of him with my roommate instead. Suppressing my feelings wasn’t working any more. Maybe it never had.

  But, as much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t do it. Then that beautiful voice reminded me I did still love Gabe, and my love for him was stronger than my pride. It was funny though because my pride prevented me from sharing my feelings, so what did that say for the strength of my love for him?

  I ate my peanut butter and jelly and let it settle before I opened a bag of potato chips. My stomach felt weird, but not in a bad way.

  The song faded and “Sunset Lover” by Petit Biscuit began. It brought a smile to my face because I had argued with Gabe and Brock that as club DJs they should expand the musical horizons of the people at GILT and other clubs with some laid-back electronica stylings. They humored me, but since I rarely went to the clubs, I figured they ultimately ignored me.

  They were two of the hottest DJs in town, and not just because of their looks. The two of them knew music and what made a throng of club-going twenty-somethings go crazy. They wouldn’t have kept their jobs for the past three years without a feel for the business.

  I popped a few chips in my mouth but closed the bag in favor of the banana in my cooler instead. While I peeled the fruit, my phone dinged with a text. I hit the display to see it was from Gabe.

  Hey, D tells me you’re on campus. You got a few? Meet you at Foxtail in the bookstore.

  I admired and loathed his ability to force a meeting on me. He had told me his father had spent years as a sales consultant or some sort of thing, and the pushiness in that message certainly reflected his father’s influence.

  Then, I re-read it and it hit me. DeShawn told him I’m on campus. Guys! Wasn’t the first time I realized men gossiped as much, if not more than women.

  With a sigh, I finished my banana and texted back: I have maybe ten minutes. See you there in twenty?

  With my eyes to my rearview mirror and side mirrors, I surveyed my surroundings to make sure Asher wasn’t in sight. Not that he should be, but as Vamp had pointed out, I couldn’t count on a piece of paper, so I had to stay smart.

  I carried my garbage to a trashcan and walked over to the bookstore to meet Gabe.

  Gabe

  IMMEDIATELY, I KNEW something was wrong when Cassie approached. The smile on her face looked real to anyone except someone who knew her. My aviator sunglasses hid my eyes narrowing on her as she approached. When she came even with me, I tugged them off and slid the arm into my t-shirt.

  “You sure you have ten minutes, Cass? I get the impression I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. “No. It’s fine. Are you getting coffee?”

  “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. You need a jolt?”

  She shook her head.

  I led her to a secluded alcove with a bench and sat down. She joined me, but put more distance between us than usual.

  My instinct was to arch a brow –or ask her outright about that– but I held back.

  “So. What did you need?”

  After a deep breath, I recounted my conversation with Dad.

  “Your father’s tired of paying your freight, I take it.”

  I smiled but didn’t mean it. “I wouldn’t say that exactly. He shares my opinion about not pursing a degree if I don’t genuinely intend to work in that industry.”

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  Cassie wasn’t a girl who mumbled very often, but I figured her stomach still wasn’t quite right. Either way, I wasn’t going to take her to task about it.

  I sighed. “Thing is, I can’t figure out what I should do. There’s plenty of things I could major in, but I don’t know that those things will lead me to where I want to be in life. Hell, I have to wonder if any major will lead me to where I want to be later in life.”

  She turned to me, and for the first time since she walked up, she really looked at me. “So, where do you want to be ‘later in life,’ as you put it.”

  I looked into her emerald eyes and a voice in my head whispered with you. Surely, I didn’t hear that right.

  I cleared my throat and shook my head. “I don’t know, Daughtry.”

  “Liar,” she returned.

  My eyes shot to hers. Her expression said no bullshit with her. Just like the first day I approached her. I chuckled.

  “I don’t know. I dig the scene at the club, but I don’t always dig the hours.”

  Her head tilted. “Pretty sure pre-med students don’t give their hours the first thought. They want to heal and help people. Period. End of. They go into that knowing to get their dream, a residency is in their future, and those hours will be the brutalest of brutal.”

  “That even a word, Cass?” I joked.

  Her brow arched. “Not sure proper grammar is important when one’s future is at stake.”

  I dipped my chin. “So noted.”

  “You don’t dig the hours all the time. So... what? Do you want to manage the club? Own your own club or business? Or do you want to manage a group of DJs you’ve trained to be the best entertainers in town? Or maybe even in other towns too? I don’t know. I’m spit-balling my thoughts right now, so—”

  I couldn’t hold back my childish laughter at her use of the term ‘spit-balling.’

  If her eyes held magical powers–not that they didn’t– but the energy in her eyes would have fused my lips together. I fought more laughter because I hadn’t willfully riled her up like this before. The fire in her eyes made her even sexier.

  “I’m sorry,” I wheezed. “That’s just not the normal way you speak.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “Sure, it is. You just don’t ask me about things that matter very often.”

  No sooner had the words left her lips than she clamped them together tight.

  “So, we don’t talk about shit that matters?” I asked, sounding affronted even though I knew exactly what she meant.

  The remorse on her face almost made me feel bad, but before she could answer I grinned playfully.

  Then I said, “Music always matters, Daughtry. You know that.”

  Her expression shifted. “You’re right. It does matter. So, have I got this right? You dig the club scene and the music, obviously. Do you have any desire to manage, and then own a club of your own? Because if any of that is true, an Entertainment Management major would be the right fit. And even if you decide clubs aren’t your thing when you’re thirty-nine or whatever, you could still apply that degree to a position with the theme parks and stuff.”

  “Thirty-nine?” I demanded.

  She grinned. An evil glint hit her eyes. “Well... you are older than me. By quite a bit.”

  “Shut it, Daughtry. Four years is not ‘quite a bit.’”

  “So. Any objection to a degree in Entertainment Management?”

  I exhaled. “No. I think you might be on to something, which is exactly why I wanted a few minutes of your time. So, thanks, Cassie.”

  I moved to give her a hug, but she moved back. “You’re welcome, Gabe. I have to go to class. Have a good day.”

  I sighed, but she hurried away before I could protest. While I stared after her, I pulled my eyes from her ass. Why was I watching her hips sway? I hadn’t done that in the past two years. My gaze hit her legs, and I shook my head. Those toned limbs of hers were something I noticed way back when, but to keep us in the friend-zone I hadn’t been paying attention to her physically.

  It wasn’t until after she turned the corner that I realized she’d said, ‘Have a good day.’ Was that an upgrade or a downgrade from a ‘nice day?’ I didn’t know. And the worst part was, I didn’t want to know.

  5

  Standoffish

  Cassie

  “HEY! IT’S ABOUT TIME you got home. I hate to do this to you, but Stacey’s roommate just moved out, so I’m moving in there. It’s earlier than I wanted, but my parents have been all up my ass since that guy came in here last week.”

  I drop
ped my book bag by the breakfast bar and focused on Kaylee.

  “It’s not a problem, and I understand.”

  “You sure? That look on your face, I’d think you lost your best friend or something.”

  I shook my head even though in many ways she was exactly right. Gabe was a better friend to me than some of my girlfriends and putting distance between us hurt already.

  “So, uh, you’re moving this weekend?” I asked.

  “Well, the big items, yes. But Lauren has packed up all her stuff except the bed, so I’m gonna stay there tonight through Thursday. My Dad and Uncle will be here early Saturday morning to move my furniture.”

  I nodded. “All right. Are you headed there now?”

  She nodded. “Are you all right? Something’s wrong, I can tell.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing’s wrong. Just tired. I’m still a little drained from that bout of food poisoning, I guess.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’ll do it. Get some rest, Cassie.”

  When she left, I took my backpack to my bedroom. Back in the living room, I plugged my phone into a speaker dock and cued up some random music – but not my ‘Soothing’ playlist. I stood in front of the pantry, scanning the contents praying for a clue as to what I should make for dinner. Since that proved fruitless, I moved to the fridge, and then the freezer, where I found a microwavable beef pot pie.

  I had plenty of things I needed to be doing for class, but zero motivation to do them. With my laptop next to me on the couch, I pulled up my bank account and paid some bills. I logged out of my account when the doorbell rang.

  On tip-toes, I quietly approached the door. My eye to the peephole, I saw Gabe’s profile. For some reason he was looking at the door across the breezeway.

  I blew out a quick sigh and opened the door.

  “Sullivan, it’s nice to see you for the second time today, but I really don’t have time.”

  He looked to me as I spoke, but at the end of my statement his head twisted minutely, and his eyes narrowed.