Past
Cass: Age 17
Paxton: Age 18 ½
It’s Christmas Eve, and I can smell my mom’s sugar cookies wafting through the house. Our annual gathering with the Porters has started and I know my mom is going to be annoyed I’m not yet downstairs and participating in the festivities. I hear the timer go off, signaling that the cookies are about to come out of the oven, so I jump up to make a beeline for the hot, soft deliciousness.
When I come barreling down the hall and around the corner, I crash into Cassandra, who is standing in the entryway to the living room asking Laney if she needs more eggnog. When did she get here? That’s a dumb question—she’s always here, always in my peripheral vision where I can’t ignore her.
As I bump into her, she lets out a tiny yelp and stumbles forward, but I instinctually grab her with my hands, pulling her into me—a little too close. I don’t like being this close to Cass. She looks up at me, and for a moment I see something in her eyes other than her usual glare. It stirs something in me until I hear my sister say something causing some of their other friends in the room to giggle and Cassandra to huff out a breath of frustration.
“What?” I ask, looking over at my sister, confused.
The grin on her face grows wider before she says, “You’re standing under the mistletoe holding Cass. The rule is you have to kiss.” Her words are full of mischief and glee.
I stare at her like she’s lost her mind until I feel Cassandra try to pull away. When I look back at her and into her crystal blue eyes, I see something unexpected: fear. For a split second, there’s also unwanted desire. Hell, now I feel it, all of it. It’s like all those emotions seeped right out of her and into me. She tries to pull away again.
“I don’t think so,” she announces shakily. “What is wrong with you, Laney? I’m not touching Paxton!” She says the words, but there’s no conviction behind them.
I’m not sure what it is, but that does something to me. Her words feel like a challenge, and if there is one thing I never back down from, it’s is a challenge. I tighten my grip. Cassandra’s attention turns back to me, and I look directly into her eyes.
I find myself glancing down at her full, rosy lips then back up to her astonished gaze. I forget there are four other people in the room with us. I don’t say anything out loud, but Cassandra reads my thoughts in my eyes. I know it the moment she realizes I’m going to kiss her.
“No, Pax. Don’t,” she begs in a quiet voice, her hands squeezing my arms, which are holding her against me.
I still don’t say anything. I only shake my head, letting her know I deny her request. I’m going to kiss Cassandra Porter, right now, under the mistletoe.
I hover for a split second when our lips are mere inches apart as doubt tries to break through my desire to prove a point. I ignore that too, just like I ignore Cassandra’s plea and the audience around us. I’ve made up my mind.
Lightly, I press my lips against her soft ones. Hers are tight at first, but I move to angle my mouth over hers and she softens. I pull her closer, and she comes willingly. A surge of lust suddenly burns up my body. This is a girl I swore I’d never kiss, and now I’m kissing her. We both pull away abruptly, eyes wide, and my lips are stinging with want.
Our gazes are locked in a battle of confusion and emotion, and then I see it. In the depth of her eyes, I see the hope, worry, and regret. She isn’t happy about what just transpired between us. In fact, she hates me for it—I think she also hates herself.
“Whoa!” I hear Delaney exclaim from somewhere in the living room.
Now I feel confused and a little spiteful. The tiny spark of hope I see in her eyes makes me want to take control back because it forces me to feel anything but in control. I don’t lose myself. I won’t lose myself to lust or to love; it’s weak.
Leaning forward, I press my mouth to her ear. She freezes at my nearness and I whisper, “I guess you finally got that kiss you always wanted.” I don’t know why I say it…I guess because I was beginning to feel the same kind of hope I saw in her eyes, and that can’t happen. When I pull back, the look on her face has abruptly changed. One moment her face drains of all color, and then within seconds she recovers, full of fire.
“You don’t know what I want,” she spits out before shooting daggers at Delaney, who doesn’t have a clue what she just started and is laughing uncontrollably on the couch while Cass storms away.
I’m an asshole, but I don’t care. If I’m honest, I’ve thought about kissing Cass before, I just never went there. I’ve been gone at college for a few months, away from everything I know for the first time, and I’ve thought about her. Some things never change, and yet some things are different. Most things aren’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I have my reasons for never going there.
Cassandra Porter is fire, and I’m too smart to get burned.