Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Does everyone else see it? Or just her?
Bryce continues, oblivious to my discomfort. "I have wine, champagne, beer. Any cocktail you can imagine. We've got a fully stocked bar. And you know how to mix drinks, right, Tinsel?" He laughs at the visual.
"I was a bartender for a while." Tinsel nods.
"She was just telling me a few stories." Bryce shrugs, already bored by the possibility of a cocktail or two.
But I barely hear the guy.
I barely catch Tinsel's tale of oddballs and drunkards. She moves into a second story. Then a third. That one, I hear. Mostly.
A guy came to the bar with two friends. The three of them decided to compete on who could go home with the hottest girl. And when he kept striking out and kept drinking whiskey, he got pissed at one of his friends and challenged the guy to a duel for the woman's honor.
An actual duel.
She kicked him out before he could cause trouble. It's more of a funny story than a scary one, but I can't find the humor at the moment.
It's too familiar.
It's too painful.
Everyone else laughs. Everyone else responds to Cassie's polite no I don't drink until happy hour and moves on to drinking water.
She saves me without even trying. And I used to curse her for not being cool.
Thank fuck she's a square.
Thank fuck she hates the feeling of being under the influence.
Thank fuck for these painful bartending stories.
Tinsel tells another. This time, it's about a couple interviewing for a threesome. They met three different women over the course of the night. They had them all scheduled, like they were hiring a cocktail waitress.
There's no malice in Tinsel's voice. There's no sign she knows about her boyfriend's attempt to spice things up with his ex. It's not the kind of thing most guys would advertise. By the way, I expect you to have threesomes with other women. Only the last one I had fucked shit up.
Frederick has the decency to look embarrassed.
But that does nothing to wipe the frown off Cassie's face.
She saved me without trying. It's my turn to save her. As soon as I catch my fucking breath.
"What was their verdict?" Bryce leans into the table, soaking up every drop of the conversation. He's easy, casual, ridiculous. "Did they go home with everyone?"
Tinsel laughs. That too, is easy. She's not bothered by the prospect of drinks or drunkards or boyfriends fucking other women. "They came back the next weekend with one of their potential partners. I didn't see them after that."
I try to find something to say, but the words are tangled in my throat. I can't fucking do this between your boyfriend is a piece of shit. It's not clever. It's not smart. It's not the right play.
Cassie sits there, but she's not awkward and tense the way I am. She's pissed, and she's sending all that energy in her ex-boyfriend's direction.
The classic Cassie Steele I fucking hate you glare. Only it's not the same way she stares at me, the way she stared at me. There's that same tinge of disappointment, like she can't believe someone she cared about would do that, but it's tinged with actual malice.
Pure, honest hate.
Or maybe that's hurt. I don't know anymore. I just know I want to make it better and I'm fucking not.
I do what I can. I take her hand. I lean in to whisper. "You good?"
"Yeah." She brings her lip to my ear. "But this looks a little odd." Her breath warms my skin. It sends goose bumps down my neck and chest. "Like we're whispering sweet nothings about sharing."
"No. I don't share," I say.
"Say that again. But loud enough they hear."
Okay. I can do that. Easy. "No, baby." I let my voice rise. "I'd never share you. Not with anyone."
"Thank you," Cassie whispers. She shifts into her seat with a blush and a sheepish shrug. Is she actually shy or pretending? I don't know anymore.
I only know I like it. I like it way too much.
Bryce smiles, amused by the interplay. There are people who believe competition makes you better. That's true in some situations. Competing with Cassie makes me better.
But I doubt that's why Bryce agreed to this. It's more likely he finds our squabbles entertaining. He enjoys the pain and anger in Cassie's expression.
He wants us to play these games.
It's fucked up, but it's not out of the ordinary. Not in the music industry. Not in other businesses too, probably, but absolutely not in this one.
Would he play the same games with my sobriety if he knew?
I don't want to find out.
"What do you think of that idea?" Bryce zeroes in on Cassie. "For a song or the entire album even?"
"A threesome?" Cassie shifts into lyricist mode instantly. The pain falls from her face. Curiosity returns to her green eyes. "You and two women, having sex?"