Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“You’re a fucking rock star.”
I tug her into my arms again and then my lips are devouring hers. Hot. Desperate. Because three months’ worth of pent-up lust is now bubbling inside me.
“I want you naked so bad right now,” I growl.
Cassie grins. “Then let’s go get naked.”
I lead her toward the dusty black Jeep parked a few yards away. Yup, I traveled to the ends of the earth and they give me another Jeep. I wanted something cooler, like a Humvee. But this was all the rental place had.
We load the bags in the back and hop in. Cassie is beaming. Her lips are curved in a smile. Cheeks flushed with excitement. Everything about her sends joy rippling through me.
“Wait, let me get my sunglasses.” She twists toward the back seat to rummage in her purse. And I can’t help copping a feel of one delectable tit.
“Save it for the boat,” she teases. When she turns back, shades in hand, she suddenly makes a happy noise. “Look at the silver lining.”
I glance over, grinning. “All right, let’s hear it.”
“No, I mean, look at it.” A brilliant smile fills her face as she points to the sky.
I follow her gaze and realize she’s right. Backlit by the sun, today’s clouds have very distinct edges.
“I’ve never actually seen clouds with silver linings before,” Cassie marvels. “It’s beautiful.”
I lean over and place a kiss on the corner of her jaw. “Beautiful,” I agree, and I’m not looking at the clouds.
EPILOGUE
CASSIE
March
“I’m worried about Pierre.”
One might expect to hear that from my sisters.
Or my father.
Or maybe even Tate, who’s developed a close relationship with my little sisters’ turtle over these past few months. Dad is constantly texting pictures of Pierre to my boyfriend.
But no, the worry-laced remark comes from none other than Nia, who walks up and slides into the booth next to Dad. The three of us are still finishing up our coffee and dessert; across the restaurant, Tate and the girls are crowded around one of those toy machines where you have to maneuver a claw hand to try and capture one of the plushies in the glass box. Roxy demanded he win them the stuffed turtle, and I’m discovering that Tate is incapable of walking away from a challenge.
“Why?” Dad asks his wife, his forehead creasing. “What’s wrong? What did Joel say?” Nia had just stepped out to answer a call from their turtle sitter, and has returned looking quite distraught.
“I asked him how Pierre is and he kept saying LL Cool J is fine.” She sounds flustered. “I told you we should have asked Chandra instead. That boy’s brain is jumbled from the ganja.”
“Jumbled from the ganja,” I howl into my coffee. “I love it. Title of my next book.”
Dad snickers. “Nice,” he tells me, before putting a reassuring arm around Nia. “Don’t worry. Joel’s not in some stoned stupor—well, he probably is, but not about this. LL Cool J was Pierre’s former name.”
“Oh. I see.” She relaxes.
“And trust me,” I add, “nobody will take better care of that turtle than Joel. He’s the turtle whisperer.”
Although they may need to spray the house down with air freshener when they get back to the Bay tomorrow, because I guarantee Joel smoked pot in there while he was housesitting.
Dad, Nia, and the girls flew to Boston over March break to visit me. Technically, I live in Hastings, the small town an hour from the city that houses the Briar University campus, but I drove into Boston to spend the weekend with my family. And Tate, who heard about the visit and insisted on tagging along.
He and I have seen each other twice since our Australia adventure. A weekend at the end of January, and another one during my February break, but Tate bemoans it’s not enough. He’s right. I miss him every second we’re not together, and I’m counting the days till graduation. I’ve already booked my flight to Avalon Bay. I’m going to stay with my family, but lately Tate’s been dropping hints that we should find a place together for the fall.
“Cassie! Look!”
I grin when I glimpse my sisters racing toward the booth. Both their hands are clasped around the stuffed turtle, which they’re holding up in a victory pose. Behind them, Tate struts over with a smug look.
“And you doubted me,” he accuses. He glances at my sisters. “Remember how she doubted me?”
Roxy nods sternly. “She did. I remember.”
“I remember too,” Mo says.
I roll my eyes at all of them. “Of course I doubted. That machine is rigged. Nobody ever wins.”
“Oh really?” Tate points at the turtle. “Does that look rigged? I don’t think so, ginger.”
“Don’t think so, ginger,” Roxy echoes, while Nia and Dad laugh into their coffees.
I glare at Tate. “You’re a bad influence on them.”
“Nah.”
“Nah,” Mo mimics.
I sigh and take the last bite of my lemon cake.