Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2

This is wrong.

If either of my brothers knew I was here, they’d never speak to me again, but I can’t stop my legs from moving. I’ve spent the day talking myself out of coming here, but, as evident by me exiting my Charger outside Cassidy’s apartment complex this fine Sunday evening, I failed.

The muscles in my shoulders, arms, and across my chest have been tense since I bolted out of Theo’s living room yesterday. A flurry of dreadful emotions is still wrapped tightly around my bones, and I can’t shake them.

I need to see her with my own eyes to believe she’s okay. To override the image of her ashen face and blue lips flashing on the back of my eyelids whenever I fucking blink.

A text she sent earlier this morning when the doctor released her from the hospital wasn’t enough to put my anxiety to rest. It’s still there, an unrelenting tightness in my chest.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t… but I am.

Against better judgment, I knock on the door three times. Anticipation tingles in my neck and the tips of my fingers, and then my skin prickles everywhere… not in a pleasant way.

Shit. Does she even still live here? 

It would’ve been wiser to think about that before I knocked, wouldn’t it? Three years had passed since the last time I was here. What if she moved? 

The door flies open, putting my mind at ease for a brief second. It’s Cassidy, alright. She still lives here.

And she’s fucking naked.

Well, not exactly, but the black night dress is lacey on her stomach and only covers the strategic places. I think that my own blood might give me second-degree burns. My pulse roars inside my head as I take her in, the curve of her hip, the swell of her breasts… Lord, have fucking mercy.

Her eyes grow wider, and her no-longer ashen cheeks pink up before she slams the door in my face, a gust of warm air smelling like her fans my face.

“Hold on!” she yells as soft footsteps retreat further inside the flat.

I wait, my legs nailed to the floor. I wait, even though I itch to kick the door down, run after her and tear the night dress off that smoking hot body. I wait, even though I want to slam her against the wall, clasp my hand over her mouth, and make her bite my flesh as she comes on my cock.

No.

Hell no.

That’s not happening. It can’t happen. I’d be as good as dead if Nico or Theo ever found out.

The door opens again, wider this time, and Cassidy gestures with her hand, inviting me inside. In the thirty seconds she was gone, she swapped the black night dress for grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. Too bad she didn’t bother with a bra.

Puckered nipples press against the white fabric so thin I make out the exact shape of her areolae. I should leave. I feel like I’m poised on the edge of a cliff, trying to catch my balance and keep my footing. A rush of intense heat fires up in my chest and travels straight to my dick.

“You’re the last person I expected to stop by,” she admits, resting her back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed under her boobs, making them stand out even more.

Her eyes are higher, asshole. Look up.

I do. Not without struggle. Her eyes shine with uncertainty today. Better that, than the panic I saw yesterday.

Yesterday…

She almost drowned, and here I am, thinking of ways to impale her on my cock. “I wanted to check how you’re doing.”

A small smile curves her rosebud lips. The same ones that turned a nasty shade of blue yesterday. “I’m better. Do you want a drink?” She opens the fridge. “I’ve got juice, water, and beer. Not Bud Light, though. Corona.”

“Corona’s good.”

No, it fucking isn’t.

Beer is alcohol; alcohol is impaired judgment, and impaired judgment while I’m alone with Cassidy is a big no-no considering my rock-hard cock. Good job that I’m in my jersey, the bulge easily disguisable.

I don’t change the answer, watching her pop the caps on two bottles with undeniable ease. The cart girl in her is still alive and kicking even though she quit her job at the Country Club last year to pursue her dream. She now owns a photography studio in town.

She hands me the beer, eyes on the neck of the bottle instead of my face.

“You didn’t sleep much,” I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence ringing in my ears.

“How do you know?”

Because you don’t look so good might not be the best line to say to a woman. I settle for a less obnoxious option. “You texted me in the middle of the night, then again early this morning.”

“I didn’t sleep at all. Hospital beds are uncomfortable, and nightmares didn’t help.” Her cheeks heat again as if she said too much. “You didn’t need to come here but thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.” I take a swig from the bottle, veering the conversation to safe waters. “How is it that you live by the beach in a town where almost every house has a swimming pool, yet you can’t swim?”

She moves toward the loveseat on the other side of the room, gesturing for me to follow. Joining her on the loveseat is out of the question. Too close. Too intimate.

I hijack the wing chair tucked in the corner under a row of floating shelves bending under the weight of romance books. The last time I was here, it was dark, and I was too preoccupied with undressing Cassidy to pay attention to the surroundings. The flat is minuscule but functional. The loveseat is pushed against the wall, a few plants stand on the windowsill, and a large floor lamp hangs over the chair I’m in.

Cass tucks her feet under her bum, folding a fluffy blanket and readjusting a few pillows as if she can’t sit still. Once she runs out of things to do, she takes her beer from the coffee table, looking at me. “Neither one of my families thought of signing me up for swimming lessons, and none of them had a pool. No beaches, either.”

“Families?” I ask, taking off my baseball cap. “Plural?”

“Fourteen of them. I was in foster care for six years before I turned eighteen.”

How did I not know that? I know she graduated with a photography degree. I loved the passion in her voice when she spoke about her dream of opening a studio. Her favorite color is blue. Her birthday is in November, she can’t stomach seafood, and she’s allergic to hazelnuts. I know the answers to all standard first-date questions, but I don’t know anything about the shit that matters.

Why do you care?

“Six years and fourteen families? Why were you moving so often? And how did you end up in foster care?”

I prop my ankle on my knee, watching her while she watches me as if wondering whether to brush me off or take a leap of faith and open up about her past.

She wouldn’t have hesitated three years ago, but things are different now. The connection we had back then died a sad, immediate death when I learned she slept with my brother a week before we spent the most memorable night of my life together.

To this day, I still recall that intense pull in my gut, that overpowering need to have her close, touch, kiss, and hold her locked in my arms all night. It was, hands down, the most bizarre and fascinating feeling I had ever encountered.

“My dad started drinking when I was three,” Cass says, scratching the corner of the beer label with her long, beige fingernail. “Two years later, Mom was drinking too. I was mostly raised by our neighbor, Ms. Jones. She fed me and did a grocery run every morning while I walked to school so she could keep an eye on me. My parents were drunk most days, and once I turned ten, they started disappearing, leaving me alone for days.” She blows out a sad, defeated breath down her nose, peering up to meet my eyes, hers dull, lacking the natural glow. “I think Ms. Jones thought she was doing right by me when she called social services.”

What kind of parents abandon their child for days? I try not to imagine the frightened blonde girl sitting alone in a cold, empty house, hungry and worried, but that’s just it… when you try not to think about something, you can’t stop.

“She wasn’t? You were neglected by your parents, Cass. I’d say she should’ve called them much sooner.”

Knowing this shouldn’t affect me the way it does. It shouldn’t affect me at all, but I’m not made of stone, and a ball of sadness swells behind my ribs. Cass isn’t that little girl anymore, but as she sits on the loveseat, it seems her eyes don’t remember how to smile.

Life is unfair. I was cared for, loved, and showered with affection my entire life, living in my parents’ mansion, surrounded by my brothers. Cassidy was left to fend for herself. I can’t shake the images shuffling in my head. The most bizarre scraps that add to the horrific scene. I don’t even know if those are remotely close to what she went through, but I see them nonetheless; teary eyes, dirty clothes, scraped knees.

“My parents weren’t the best,” she admits with a slight shrug. “But there are worse people out there. Some of the families that took me in…” She shakes her head, dismissing the memories. “I quickly understood hunger and loneliness aren’t the worst feelings.”

The question lingers on the tip of my tongue. Unasked. I want to know what the worst feeling is, but at the same time, I don’t want to hear it. The scenarios multiplying in my head grow more sinister by the second. I’m already on edge knowing she wasn’t cared for. I don’t want her to relive whatever shit she went through.

“Have you ever seen your parents since you were placed in foster care?”

“No. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.” She forces a sad chuckle and suddenly straightens up, cheeks warmer again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean this conversation to turn so heavy. It’s in the past. I’ve been okay for years.”

Jesus, what the hell is she doing to me? One word, and she almost broke me clean in half. Okay instead of happy? I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever been truly happy. She sure doesn’t look like she ever was.

“You’ve been in Newport for a few years now,” I say, changing my train of thought again. “You’ve had plenty of time to learn how to swim.”

A soft knock on the door startles us both.

“Sorry, it’s probably Kaya.”

Every emotion I felt a second ago dissipates and is instantly replaced by pure wrath burning my veins.

Just my fucking luck.

Although, I’m a tiny bit grateful for Cruella’s intrusion. Everyone with ties to the bitch is automatically an accessory to Nico’s downfall, which means coming here was a dumb idea. Despite my noble and innocent intentions…

I. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.

Though considering the amount of time I spent gawking at Cass’s tits, my intentions might not be all that pure. A phone call would’ve sufficed, but Logan thinks after he acts. 

Stupid prick, that guy.

“I’m out.” I rise to my feet.

Her pretty face flickers with disappointment, and I clench my teeth, adamant about leaving. She gives me a tight nod, aware there’s no way in hell I’ll spend one second with Cruella. We cross the room, and Cassidy opens the door to reveal the devil herself, a slim brunette with a strikingly beautiful exterior that doesn’t match the strikingly vile interior.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful that not one man on earth would resist her charm.

My presence forces a scowl mixed with surprise to twist Kaya’s perfect face, and her mouth falls open. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she snaps, arms akimbo.

I shoulder past the bitch, my legs on autopilot.

“Don’t be rude,” Cassidy hisses. “Just go inside, okay? I’ll be right back. Logan, wait. Please.”

The door to her apartment closes louder than it should while soft footsteps trail behind me. A small, warm hand cuffs my arm. Or tries, at least. Cass’s fingers don’t come anywhere near meeting.

“I’m sorry. She was supposed to be here hours ago. I didn’t think she’d show up this late.” She steps around me, her light, almost platinum-blonde hair flirting with her shoulders. “Thank you for coming. If there’s ever anything I can do for you… I’m just saying, I owe you.”

“Stop thanking me,” I huff, marshalling my expression into indifference, so she won’t see how titillating the touch of her hand around my bicep is. “You don’t owe me, but if you want to do something, get yourself a new Guardian Angel. I won’t be around next time you take a swim, and someone should be.”

She smiles an adorable smile that, for the first time, reaches her baby blues surrounded by long, black eyelashes, and the air compressor in my chest fires up again.

What the fuck is that?

Whatever it is, it pushes me a step forward. I crowd her space, towering above her five-foot-five, lean frame, and I feel the warmth radiating off her body in waves; the fresh, zesty smell of ginger and lemons; the magnetic pull. She gazes up at me, unmoving, eyes darker, pupils blown. The air around us becomes too thick to inhale when she parts her lips, letting out a long, shaky breath.

The door on my left opens, and one of Cassidy’s neighbors stops on the threshold with a black bin bag in hand. I take the opportunity to take a step away from Cass and let the guy pass. Robbed of her proximity, my head clears of the lustful fog, and my hands ball into fists in frustration.

I have no control around this girl. “Good night, Cass.”

Another disappointed grimace. “Good night, Logan.”

Move… you dumb prick. Fucking run.

And I do.

I exit the building because my resolve is slipping, and it’s either increasing the distance between us or reducing it until our bodies fuse in her bed.