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  Jonathan picks at his hash browns for a second. When he glances up, he hits me with those vulnerable baby blues. "Then why?"

  "Why what?" I'm not following him, like at all. I kind of wish I was. That look is intoxicating and as I gaze at him, I realize I never want it to end. I'm insane. I blink and look away, then take another bite of food, intentionally stuffing my mouth to look as unattractive as possible.

  Jonathan's eyes wander around the little kitchen. He takes a bite of food, chews, and sits back in his chair. "Why the instant disdain? You don't like me, but it seems to have nothing to do with my garish amount of cash, or my last name—so then what is it?"

  My words are harsh, but the smile on my face and my sarcastic tone lightens the punch. "You ever think it might just be you?"

  The corners of his lips tip up. "Of course not, everyone loves me."

  "Everyone is not the correct word."

  Jonathan glances up and gives me a look that makes my knees weak. "It will be."

  CHAPTER 10

  JONATHAN

  Cassie doesn't let her defenses drop when I'm around. That light laugh and shy smile only come out when Robyn is with us. It drives me insane. It's like she's shut me out on purpose, like she doesn't want to have anything to do with me. Robyn picked a movie last night and we all went. Cassie ended up next to me and she sat there, leaning as far away as possible, stiff as a board. There have been a few occasions where she seems to relax. I love those times. I crave them and I go over to her house every day to try again.

  This isn't like me. Normally, whatever I want falls into my lap, but it'll be a goddamn miracle if that happens. Cassie on my lap would make me smile for the rest of the summer. No, I'm not that shallow. This isn't about the quest—it's about the girl. She makes me feel things I've never felt, and want things that I can't have. Everything seems better when she's around, less dismal. Because let's face the facts, no one cares if a rich guy is depressed. No one gets how isolated it is, and how skewed things get. Never knowing who really likes you and who's using you really fucks with the mind. At some point, everything became fake—even me—but Cassie lured me out. I want to be myself around her, so I try harder.

  Handing Cassie the bag of food, I sit down at her aunt's little table. "So, what are we going to do today?" To date, I haven't been able to get her to go anywhere with me. Well, not really. We took a walk once, but as soon as we hit the end of the road that led to the spillway, she refused to take another step. I told her that it's perfectly safe, I even walked over the damn thing once before. Instead of following me toward the bridge over the water, she just burst out laughing.

  Today, I'm not taking no for an answer.

  "Go somewhere?" Cassie glances over the top of the white bag and arches an eyebrow. "We? As in me and you?"

  "Yeah, that's what 'we' means." I lean my elbow on the table and give her a goofy grin.

  "Yeah, I don't think so." She takes a fork full of pancake and stuffs it in her mouth.

  Sometimes I think she's taking bigger bites to gross me out, but it's a turn-on seeing her mouth open wide, and then watching the food slip over those perfect lips. I've lost my mind. I feel it slipping away from me. No sex in a month and I can't think. Whoever said sex gunks up the works wasn't getting any. My brain worked fine when I was screwing around. This starvation diet is making me mental, but it's self-inflicted. I don't want anyone else. I want her.

  I'm staring at her, my eyes locked on her mouth as she chews. "What?" Cassie spews pancake crumbs and grins.

  "You're trying to gross me out. Come on, Cassie. I'm not that bad. Give me a chance."

  "A chance to do what?" The smile falls off her face as her gaze lowers. A fork full of pancake lingers as she speaks. "There's no scenario in which you and I are anything more than friends."

  "So, what's wrong with that?"

  Her face lifts and she looks at me. There's a confusion in those dark eyes. "You want to be friends?"

  "Yeah, why not?"

  Cupping a hand to her ear, she says, "What was that? I think I heard you wrong. Because it sounded like Mr. Love 'Em and Leave 'Em wants to be friends." She laughs, still thinking I'm kidding. Her eyes fall to her plate and when she looks up again, the smile drops. Her voice changes. It's that light uncertain tone she uses with Robyn. "Are you serious?"

  I want to claw my way across the table and take her in my arms, but if this is the best I can hope for, I want it. Friends. Glancing down at the table, I intentionally avoid her eyes and pick at my food. "We know each other's biggest secrets. It seems like the start of a friendship to me. Besides, what else are you going to do all summer? Sit here and wait for Robyn to get home?"

  My heart is thumping way too fast for something like this. I'm not nailing her, so I don't get why my pulse races when she's around. Hot girls don't get me into this state, so it's something else. My eyes sweep over her face as she gazes at me, considering my words like they're grand jury testimony. "Do you act like this with everyone, Cassie? Is it so hard to be your friend?"

  Her smile turns into a smirk. "I don't know. Do you invite yourself over to everyone's house, or just mine?" The corners of her mouth twitch, like she enjoys flirting with me.

  "Just yours. There's a recluse that lives here, you know. She refuses to go outside and has the pasty skin to prove it. And I mean pale, like she'd get lost in the snow, albino, kind of pale. Snowball city."

  Cassie scowls and folds her arms over her chest, thrusting her breasts higher as she does it. Do women do that on purpose? You can't jack up your boobs and then yell at us for looking. It's like pointing at them and saying 'don't look.'

  I lean back in my chair, and kick my legs out under the table, trying damn hard not to look at those perfect tits. I need a distraction. My foot bumps hers and I grin, until Cassie kicks my shin, hard. "Hey!" I sit up.

  Grinning ear to ear, Cassie stands and grabs her trash. "Snowball, my ass."

  I stand and follow her to the garbage can. After she throws her stuff in, Cassie turns suddenly, not realizing that I'm right behind her. She gasps and her shoulders tense, like I'm too close. Leaning nearer to her face, I give her my most charming crooked smile. "You did not just invite me to look at your ass."

  She laughs, like, actually laughs. "You're such a..." She inhales deeply, slowly, and tilts her head to the side as her lungs fill with air. Dark curls fall over one shoulder before her gaze lowers for half a second. When she glances back up at me, the unthinkable happens. "So, where are we going?"

  Blinking like I've been hit in the head with a two by four, I follow her body with my eyes as she slips past me. "I'm sorry, did you agree to go out with me?" I toss my stuff in the trash and turn around, watching that perfect smile light up her face. It's flawlessly girlish, but somehow she makes it sexy at the same time. The woman is a walking oxymoron.

  "I agreed to go somewhere with you—as friends." Her body language shifts and the confidence slips away. Her shoulders hunch forward a little bit and her eyes fall to the floor, skittering around, landing anywhere but on me. "Not as—"

  "Not as what, Cassie?"

  She blushes and doesn't look up. A quick smile covers her face to hide her reaction, before she tucks her hair behind her ear. I step closer to her, way too close for the kind of friend she wants me to be. I can't stop staring at her, drinking in that smooth skin and those dark lashes. Cassie won't look up, which kills me, because if she did, I could lean in and kiss her.

  Heart slamming into my ribs, I steady my voice and lean in close to her ear. "Come on, pasty chick. Let's get you some sunshine."

  _____

  When Cassie steps outside, she sees the little black sports car, and hesitates. Before she can run back inside, I grab her wrist and pull her after me. "You can't back out now. Come on. Luke has a boat, or we can just hang out on the dock. Whatever you want, but you can't hide inside all summer."

  Cassie grips her wrist after I drop it and walks to the car. I don't open her door, e
ven though I want to. She'll take it the wrong way. When she slips in next to me, I start the engine and pull out of the gravel driveway. As I talk, I see the fingers on her right hand lift, like she's thinking about opening the door.

  "Afraid?" I smirk at her, before returning my eyes to the road.

  "No," she says, like it's ridiculous, as if she has no reason to be nervous around me—but she clearly is.

  Laughing, I bait her, "Yes, you are. Your hand is getting ready to pull the door open and jump out. Seriously, Cassie. What kind of mental are you?"

  She sneers at me and drops her hand to her lap. "What kind of mental am I? What about you? You invite yourself over every day and pester the hell out of someone who wants nothing to do with you. And you think I'm mental." She folds her arms over her chest and stares out the window, muttering.

  "Come on, now. Just admit it—you like me." I grin at her, but she doesn't look my way. "I get your panties in a bunch and you have no idea what to do about it, because I'm not the guy you're looking for." I'm playing with fire here, and damn well aware of the consequences if I verbally torch her by mistake, but I can't stand it when she's tense. It turns me into a neurotic mess.

  Her jaw drops open and she turns in slow motion with wide eyes. "My panties are not in a bunch." Her jaw locks as she glares at me.

  I grip the steering wheel tighter, and run into the no-fly zone like an escaped inmate. "No? Did you forget to wear them? Commando isn't something I would have thought you'd be into." The smile on my face increases as Cassie's gaze narrows. Come on Cass, laugh. Slap me and laugh.

  She makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat, as she crushes the air like a madman with her hands. "You are so...!"

  "Adorable? Sexy? Swoon worthy?" Her lips purse together and she gives me a look that says I'm losing her. Quickly, I add, "And totally into you, by the way." That does it. The tension breaks like a dam and flows away. She turns that beautiful face toward me. Her lips are parted slightly, like she doesn't know what to say. I prattle on, egging her, baiting her, hoping to God that she bites. "It's probably because you hate my guts, but the way you treat me is refreshing. I just can't get enough."

  "I don't hate you." She tucks her chin and grins, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. This is news to me. A wicked grin spreads across her face. It soaks in and makes her eyes sparkle like gems. "I loathe you and your charm, and your annoyingly attractive face."

  "I'm annoying?"

  "Very."

  "Wait, did you say attractive? And are we talking devastatingly annoying, or more of a totally do-able kind of annoying? Annoying's code for hot, right?" I flash her a smile as I turn into the driveway at Uncle Luke's. She laughs and smacks my arm, leaning closer to me for half a second. The sound is amazing, completely perfect, and exactly what I wanted.

  CHAPTER 11

  CASSIE

  A few weeks pass. I'm up and dressed by the time Jon comes looking for me every morning. I have no intention of doing anything with him, but he is hot and I don't want to look like a slob when he's around. Besides, there's no way he's 'the one.' Jonathan has dipped his stick into too many places and the thought is utterly unappealing. Okay, maybe not utterly, and maybe not late at night when my mind wanders, but I want the guy to be my first and vice versa. Jonathan's the opposite of what I'm looking for, but he helps me kill time and I find myself smiling more and more. I know it has something to do with him, but I'd rather not think about it.

  Either way, I'm grateful for the time away from home. I grew up in North Babylon, right off of Deer Park Avenue. I'm used to nonstop noise at all hours and an endless array of things to do, so many things that I never had time to think about what I really like. Life has a faster pace up there. In some ways that's awesome. Getting lunch at a drive through in less than a minute is spectacular. And missed. No one is in a hurry down here. It's like they have all the time in the world. Slowing down and not strangling the McDonald's lady has become one of my missions. I can be patient. Maybe. Okay, I suck at it, but I'm trying. If Jon can do it, I can. He's had the same hurried life, always moving forward, frantically so at times.

  I'm just glad for the change in pace and to have some space from my mom. Think of the most uptight, critical woman you can imagine—now combine that chick with a saintly church going woman and that's my mother. Everyone thinks she's great and she is wonderful to everyone, except me. They all get this pristine version of mom that doesn't exist behind closed doors.

  I get the over-critical edition, who's constantly putting me down, correcting me, and making so many passive aggressive jabs that I seriously think she hates me. It's gotten to the point that I can barely tolerate being in the same room as Mom. Everything I do is wrong or not good enough. Every accomplishment that puts a smile on my lips only makes her frown, like I could have done so much better. Academically, I'm at the top of my class. Only one person beat me, so now she treats me like I'm dumb too—as if being salutatorian is the equivalent of being the class idiot. For her, that's what it meant—failure. I'm not number one, I'm number two and she treats me like the piece of shit she thinks I am.

  My friends don't see it. She hides that part of herself and saves it just for me. They think the slope of my shoulders and my downturned face is from some teenage crap, but it's not. It's from her. The woman ruthlessly picks at me like a vulture—from dawn 'til dusk—criticizing everything from my clothes to my mind to my lack of a flat belly. I'm not fat, but my stomach isn't ever going to be perfectly hard and smooth no matter how many crunches I do—and that's not good enough. Not for my dear mother who wants the perfect daughter at all cost. My life is filled with verbal lashings and it's just so good to be around someone who likes me the way I am.

  Jonathan seems to enjoy my company just as much as I'm enjoying his. Although there's this easy way about him, I know there's a wall between us. Secrets, failures, and insecurities erected it, and it towers over us. I don't know what his story is, but it seems like his ego is as fragile as mine. He overcompensates in the same ways, throwing barbed words out when I say something that hits too close to home—just like I do. I know that play and have done the same thing too many times to count. I wonder what he's hiding behind those beautiful blue eyes and the fake smile that's always plastered across his face.

  And that's when things take an unexpected turn. We're in a middle state, where we are sort of friends, but still cautious of one another. We eat breakfast and then find something to do until Robyn gets off work. The three of us make dinner and hang out until Aunt Paula comes home. It's easy and feels normal even though it's totally weird if you stop and think about it. I mean, there's a billionaire hanging out in a trailer because he wants to.

  We're sitting at Aunt Paula's little table eating breakfast. The house is completely quiet, which makes my chewing sound horsey-loud. It's very sexy. I try to quiet my chomping, but it's no use.

  Jonathan looks up at me and smiles. "I don't care how loud you chew. You're parents really messed you up, you know that?"

  I avert my eyes, chomp quickly, and swallow my food. We know each other a little better now. Months of breakfast together will do that. It's impossible not to talk about my neurotic thoughts when half of them were inflicted by my mother. "Me? What about you? What'd you do that they banished you down here, anyway?"

  Jonathan's smile fades slightly, before it resumes at full blast. If I hadn't been watching him, I wouldn't have noticed. Whatever he did to get himself sent down here was major. I looked through the papers to try and figure out what he could have possibly done, but there was nothing. His mother must have taken care of it before it hit the press.

  "So," Jonathan shoves the last of his egg sandwich in his mouth, and says, "this art exhibit is opening soon, and I have an in with the curator. We can look at the exhibition before everyone else, while they finish setting it up. You want to go?"

  "Nice dodge. Very subtle." I watch him for a second, wondering if he ever drops that damn mask he's
wearing. It's always there—a perfect smile on a perfect face—guarding his thoughts like a German Shepard.

  I lean back in my chair and ask, "So, you like art?" I'm surprised. I probably shouldn't be, but I am. Picturing Jonathan playing football and liking things that are fast and fun is easier. Art isn't like that. It's pensive and pure.

  Nodding, he leans back in his chair. "Yeah, and you shouldn't sound surprised. Rich people like art, remember?"

  I have trouble imagining him in a mansion, especially since I keep seeing him in an old mobile home. Smiling, I reply, "Okay, so where is this show and whose is it?"

  "Ah, that's a surprise, but we do have to haul ass and look sort of presentable." He glances at my cut-offs and my tank top.

  "I get it. You want me to change."

  "It's an art show, babe, not a barbeque."

  "Ha ha. Give me a few minutes. I'll be right back." Before I forget, I turn abruptly and lightly smack the back of his head. "And stop calling me babe."

  He chuckles as I run down the dark, narrow hall to my room and dig through my clothes looking for a dress. I brought a church dress, in case Aunt Paula wanted to go, and a clubbing dress in case Robyn wanted to be adventurous one night. Neither is quite right. It's possible that I can make do and tone down the clubbing dress. The neckline is a little low and the fabric is clingy, but the skirt flares out just above the knee and makes my legs look nice. The problem is the neckline, it's a cleavagefest. I need a wrap or something to tone it down.

  I holler to Jonathan that I'm almost ready and duck into Aunt Paula's room. We're about the same size, so I dig through her closet looking for something that will work. A fuzzy black sweater catches my eye. It's perfect, at least I think it is until I pull it on. It's cut short and ends at my waist with little cap sleeves, however the fuzz makes it look like a Muppet was slaughtered and laid across my shoulders.