Chapter 1
“Good morning sexy, it’s time to wake up.” his voice—deep and gravelly—whispered against my ear, pulling me from the depths of sleep. “Wake up my love, I need your body right now.”
A delicious shiver coursed through me, igniting a fiery longing that only he could awaken. I felt the heat rising within me as my thighs burned with desire, an unmistakable craving that thrummed at our shared connection. My fingers eagerly danced through the soft sheets, searching for the warmth of his strong, bare chest. And once I find him, it will be as if the world around us melted away—our bodies intertwined, melding in a sacred embrace that felt like the purest expression of love... savoring every heartbeat, every whisper, and losing ourselves in the intoxicating rhythm of our shared passion.
“Cassie!” My mother’s knuckles rattled against my bedroom door like a persistent drummer. “It’s time to wake up! You’re going to be late!”
With a heavy groan, I tried to peel my eyes open, fighting through the sleepy fog that clung to me like a damp blanket. “Just a second,” I groaned, wishing I could sink deeper into the warmth of my covers. The moment I opened my eyes I knew I would have to confront the truth: There wasn’t a bare, brawny man in my bed. I had spent three-ninety-nine on a ridiculous alarm clock that whispered sweet nothings in the voice of an exotic man. In theory, it seemed charming— a seductive allure to rouse me from my slumber —until reality hit that this was my life now.
“I just need one more minute.” I mutter, pressing my face deeper into the comforting softness of my pillow.
“Rise and shine my tender rump roast. It’s time to-”
“Oh, shut up,” I grumble, swatting my phone off the bedside table with an exasperated thud.
With a deep sigh, I drag my laptop onto the bed, its glow illuminating the tangled sheets around me. As I scroll through my blog, I feel like I’m wandering down a secluded, dimly lit alley of the internet—my secret hideaway where my thoughts roam free. To anyone else, it might look like a not so glorified internet diary, but to me, it’s everything: a sanctuary where my voice can echo, a space to be unapologetically myself. Sure, I only have a handful of followers—enough count them on one hand—but I write for them, and most importantly, for myself.
“Cassie!” My mother’s voice calls from downstairs, piercing through the morning haze.
“Alright, I’m up!” I manage, reluctantly closing my laptop and bracing for yet another lackluster day of secondary education.
I prop myself out of bed and slip on a hidden treasure at the back of my closet: a crinkled romper in a beautiful shade of matcha green, a stark contrast to the eighties rockstar t-shirts, neon sweatbands and parachute pants that harkened back to a questionable era.
As I glance in the bathroom mirror, relief washes over me—not because I’m ready, but because I’m glad there wasn’t a man in my sheets. The unforgiving lighting exposes every flaw on my face, while my hair resembles a tornado aftermath, strands sticking out in every direction. And those bloodshot eyes? A testament to too many late-night rendezvous with my laptop. It’s not glamorous, but it’s mine, and with a resigned sigh, I prepare to face the day.
“Today is your day, Cassie Berenson. Now go get ’em!” I declared, repeating my daily affirmation.
As I descended down the stairs, the scent of reheated chicken fried rice enveloped me. Entering the kitchen, I found my mother at the table, surrounded by a chaotic spread of mail and bills. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over her face, the dark blue circles beneath her honey-brown eyes were as prominent as her nursing scrubs.
“I’m running late,” I say, glancing at the clock. “I’ll see you later!”
“Well, good morning to you too, Sunshine!” she replies, arching an eyebrow. “Not like I just survived a grueling twelve-hour nursing shift or anything.”
“Sorry, Mom!” I rush over and plant a brisk kiss on her cheek. “Good morning!”
“That’s more like it!” she beams, her tired expression softening a bit. “Rough night?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual,” she replies, waving her hand like it’s no big deal. “But I won’t bore you with the details. What about you?” She cups my face playfully, her fingers dancing under my eyes.
“Just the usual,” I mumble, a bit sheepish.
“Writing?”
“Blogging, Mom!” I tease, rolling my eyes.
“Oh, pardon me, Miss Influencer!” she chuckles. “Well, whatever it is you’re doing, your sister says she can hear you rattling away at the keyboard from down the hall.”
“My readers demand updates!” I declare with a dramatic flair, rolling my eyes. “And nighttime is when my creative genius strikes!”
“Well, just make sure that genius doesn’t fall asleep during class today!” she warns, smirking. “And don’t forget to transform into Uber Sis for your sister later!”
“Sure, what else do I have to do on a Friday afternoon?” I reply, dripping with sarcasm.
“So, you won’t mind hanging out with her too, right?” Mom counters with a knowing smile. “She’s been missing you.”
“Are those her words or yours?” I inquire, crossing my arms skeptically.
“Hers,” she says with a playful grin. “And mine!”
“I guess, I can cancel my wild plans.” I say with dramatic flair. And by wild plans I mean, a hot date with my couch. Yeah, we had plans for a crazy night—just me, my favorite blanket, and an existential crisis over whether binge-watching counts as quality time.
“That’s my girl.” She winks. “Now, get gone. You’re gonna be late.
“I’m already late.” I say.
⁂⁂⁂
As I twist the stubborn old knob, the warped classroom door lets out a prolonged groan, a reluctant herald of my arrival. The classroom, once a murmuring sea of whispering students, falls silent, each pair of eyes like a spotlight turning toward me. My footsteps, stealthy in intention but treacherous on the protesting floorboards, announce my late entrance louder than any words could. With my heart pounding in an erratic rhythm, I keep my gaze low, shuffling past rows of familiar faces until I reach my desk. I can feel Mr. McConnell’s eyes on me, a silent reprimand etched in his barely visible frown as he continues to scrawl instructions across the chalkboard.
“Late again, Miss Rumford,” his voice grates like nails on a chalkboard. “That’s your fourth tardy this week Miss. Rumford.” he says, raising four fingers.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McConnell,” I mumble, sliding into my seat, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze pressing down on me. “It won’t happen again.”
“For your sake, make sure it doesn’t happen again. One more tardy and you’ll spend the weekend in detention. Need I remind you I supervise all reformation activities at this school?” His warning hangs in the air as I slump lower in my chair, wishing I could shrink.
“Mmhmm. Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you, perv?” Sophie Thornton murmurs beside me, her voice laced with defiance. Sophies been my best friend since grade school, ever since we shared crayons and laughter in the third grade. Her lively spirit and fearlessness have always been a source of comfort for me, even though her audacity often lands us in trouble.
I widen my eyes, silently pleading with her to keep it down, but the class is already bubbling with stifled laughter, a wave of amusement and shared rebellion that momentarily lifts the tension.
“Did your accomplice say something, Miss Berenson?” Mr. McConnell asks, eyeing Sophie with curiosity.
“No, Mr. McConnell, I didn’t,” she replies, flipping her sandy blonde hair.
“Good,” he mutters, turning back to the board.
Just as he turns away, she whispers, “Asshat,” flashing me a sly half-smile. I bite my lip, struggling to suppress the laughter brewing inside me.
“Okay, class, open to page two hundred and twenty-two of Great Expectations,” Mr. McConnell begins, his voice fading into the background as my gaze lands on Jay Tyler.
Jay Tyler— a hunk of chiseled perfection hand-sculpted by the sex gods and put on earth to set me on fire, figuratively and literally. With dark brown hair that falls effortlessly into place, he exudes a laid-back confidence. His captivating caramel-brown eyes sparkle with mischief, while his high cheekbones and perfectly defined features create a striking profile. Those full lips, shaped for romance, hint at a playful smile that can send any heart racing. A light stubble adds just the right touch of ruggedness to his boyish charm. He’s the kind of guy who commands a room simply by being in it, and I’ve been smitten ever since he flashed me that unforgettable smile during freshman orientation. But up to now, our interactions were limited to fleeting glances and occasional shoulder checks in the hallway, ones I’d intentionally set myself up for.
I watch as he folds his arms over his broad chest, each muscle clearly defined. Damn, I want him! If only I could get a little closer, I swear I’d...
“Cassie,” Sophie hisses, snapping me out of my daydream with a sharp tap on my forearm.
“What?” I mutter, reluctantly dragging my gaze from Jay to Mr. McConnell, whose glare is fixed on me.
“Mr. McConnell asked you a question,” she warns, urgency was evident in her wide eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Panic flares inside me as I swallow the anxious lump forming in my throat. “My mind kind of checked out for a second.”
“Or perhaps, it never came,” Mr. McConnell quips, his lips tightening as the class erupts into snickers, his focus already shifting to the next target.
“What a douche clot,” Sophie mutters under her breath. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, discreetly wiping drool from my chin. As I do, a sudden movement caught my attention.
I glanced up and found myself ensnared in the intensity of Jay’s gaze. His deep, penetrating eyes seemed to pierce right through my soul, setting my heart into a wild rhythm. Suddenly, a mischievous grin spread across his face, and my heart plummeted as an involuntary gasp escaped my lips. Did he notice me staring? I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, desperately searching for anything else to fix my eyes on.
When I finally look back at him, he’s leaning over, whispering something into the ear of Cliff Ryder— total eff boy and bonified jackass. Cliff’s dark brows arch as a boyish grin spread across his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he tousles his sleek, jet-black hair to one side with that air of arrogance that practically radiates off him. I’ve seen him dismiss others with a flick of his wrist, his rich-boy charm doing little to hide the contempt he has for anyone who doesn’t measure up to his standards. I wonder why Jay is even talking to him. It’s no secret that they don’t like each other, at least not to me. Over the years, the air between them has crackled with competition, a rivalry that simmers just beneath the surface, masked by the guise of friendship. It reached a boiling point when Jay snagged the point guard position on the varsity basketball team, a move that stung Cliff like a well-aimed shot. From that point on, their exchanges we’re nothing more than a mix of forced smiles and thinly veiled jabs.
A sudden, jarring thought pierces my mind, igniting a wave of unease: Is Jay talking to Cliff about me? The notion darts through my mind, stirring a chaotic blend of nerves and self-doubt. Who am I, though? For all I know, he’s gazing right past me and at the blonde bombshell sitting behind me, the very type that always eclipses me—the kind of girl guys like Jay Tyler are drawn to.
⁂⁂⁂
“Hey, where were you in there?” Sophie asks leaning against the gritty gray locker beside me.
“Where?” I barely catch her voice over the cacophony of laughter and scuffling feet echoing through the crowded hallway.
“In class,” She pressed. “You seemed a little distracted. Everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a mix of late nights and an overflowing brain,” I say, struggling with my stubborn combination lock, which refuses to budge. “Ugh! Come on!”
“Yeah, I caught a glimpse of who’s been filling your head,” she teases, a playful smirk lighting up her face. “All six feet of him! So, what’s the scoop?”
“C’mon! There’s nothing to say,” I retort, a hint of a grin breaking through my feigned indifference. “Or maybe there is?”
“Mmhmm, do spill the tea,” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Nah, I think I’ll save it for my blog. The details are too scandalous, even for you,” I say, fully aware that my experience in the romance department doesn’t exactly compare to Sophie’s adventurous sexcapades. It’s like comparing a bicyclist to a motorcyclist—she’s speeding down the highway popping wheelies while I’m still trying to figure out how the pedals work!
“Excuse me?” she gasps, clutching her chest. “Are you suggesting I can’t handle the riveting tales from your little online virgin support group?”
“First of all, it’s not a support group; it’s a blog I created. And yes.” I shoot her a teasing glare.
“Well, whatever it is, you have to tell me!” she insists, trying to extract information from me.
“I’ll let you in on it later, but first, we’ve got to get to class—if I can ever unlock this damn thing!” I say, giving my lock a frustrated twist, hoping it might respond to intimidation.
“Here, let me give it a shot,” Sophie says, nudging me aside with determination. “O.M.G, I can’t even concentrate with these freaks watching me!” She gestures dramatically at the posters of eighties stars plastered on my locker. “Is this meant to celebrate your questionable music taste or pay homage to an era of fashion sin?”
“Hey, don’t disrespect my peeps like that!” I shoot her a playful glare. “Their music has gotten me through almost every phase of my life.”
“I’m not disrespecting them,” she retorts, rolling her eyes theatrically. “I’m just vocalizing my concern regarding an unhealthy obsession.”
“First of all, it’s not an obsession. And secondly, the eighties were a bitchin’ time. Just ask my mom!” I say.
“I’ll pass,” she says, her smirk wilting as my gaze snaps to Jay, who’s swaggering toward us, flanked by his crew of basketball jocks.
“Quick! We gotta go!” I blurt, my voice rising above the low hum of chatter. My fingers fumble as I shove a couple of pens into my pocket, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him. The world around me fades, and it feels as though time has slowed. His laughter carries, bright and carefree, and for a brief moment, everything else is drowned out by the magnetic pull of his presence.
“But, what about your locker?” Sophie asks, her concern clear.
“It’ll still be there when we get back!” I replied, my voice bursting with an urgency, as if the very air around us were charged with electricity. A rush of adrenaline course through me as I clung to her arm, tugging her along like a rag doll, eager to catch Jay’s attention. The thrill of the moment propelled us forward, and I attempted to synchronize our steps to his. Before I knew it, I found myself a few paces ahead, the distance between us expanding even as I tried to pull closer.
“Hey, wait up!” the voice calls out, smooth and inviting, wrapping around us like the crisp September air. I spun around, my heart racing and there he was —Jay, kneeling behind me. His tousled dark hair caught the fluorescent lights, glinting in a way that made him even more striking.
“You dropped this!” he says, reaching for something on the floor.
He stands up, holding my pens triumphantly. His sparkling eyes hold mine for a brief second, and his warm, boyish smile releases a cascade of butterflies in my stomach.
“Oh, uh, thank you!” I stammer, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks and a flurry of butterflies dancing in my stomach. “I didn’t even realize I dropped it.” My voice sounds small, almost timid, in the echo of the hallway.
“There you go, cutie,” he replies, and his words flutter through me like confetti on a breezy day. But before I can even begin to think of something charming or clever to say—Jay strides right past me and toward a group of cheerleaders huddled nearby, laughter and energy radiating from their vibrant circle. His attention fixed on one girl—She has long, tan legs that seem to stretch endlessly, and her wavy blonde hair cascades down her back, shimmering like a golden waterfall. Her presence is commanding, an aura of confidence and allure that draws every gaze like moths to a flame.
“Thanks, Jay!” she flirts, her voice laced with playful interest that dances through the air. I stand rooted in place, like a background character in a scene, while the leading lady steals the spotlight effortlessly.
“No problem,” he replies, flashing her that same charming smile that made my heart race just moments before.
I stand there with my fists clenched in my pockets, feeling the cool metal of the pens I’ve hidden away. It’s a familiar ache—the sting of being just another invisible girl, overlooked and forgotten, while everything around me carries on as if I’m not there.
“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter, slumping against the nearest locker in frustration. “What if Jay saw that?”
“You’re not an idiot,” Sophie reassures me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “These kinds of things happen all the time to people.”
“Does not.” I fold my arms defiantly.
“Does too.” She insists.
“Yeah, right. Tell that to the janitor who’s still cleaning up the remains of my shattered dignity.”
“Come on, Cass. Stop being so dramatic. Jay wouldn’t have noticed you even if you stripped naked and cartwheeled right in front of him.” Sophie reassures. “Once he saw the blonde hair and the boobs it was tunnel vision from that point on.”
“Is that really supposed to make me feel any better?” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Yes,” she says with a faltering grin. “In a totally sincere but completely thoughtless way.”
“Well, thanks for the trying.” I say.
“Okay, let’s just go to class and forget this ever happened,” she sighs, pulling me into a reassuring embrace.
