Page 13 of Shattered Veil

“It would appear so.” Shawn leaned in a similar fashion on my vehicle to my left.

I glanced at him. “I was a dick to her earlier.”

Shawn’s head bobbed backward. “You ripped Tommy’s hands off of her, and it did not look like she wanted them there. How’s that being a dick?”

Of course, he hadn’t heard our quiet exchange. Between our hushed voices and the loud music around us, our conversation had fallen on lost ears.

“No, no…before that. She was on top of me, and it was all…I don’t know…intense for a second…and I snapped at her.”

“Snapped at her?”

“JAMES!”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Shit.”

I glanced toward the source of my shrieked name and saw Cassie walking toward the both of us with intent. An oversized black hoodie swallowed her, hanging down to her upper thigh. Flimsy sweat shorts just barely poked out from the hem of it, the sky-blue material blowing in the light breeze with every step she took. Her heels were gone, replaced with her usual black high-tops, which were absolutely stomping their way to us. Arms crossed over her chest and eyes narrowed in an accusatory stare, it was all too apparent that she was pissed.

Shawn had pushed himself to stand, but he remained stuck in place as he watched her approach me with wide eyes and a high brow.

I asked, “Why are you out here, Cas?”

“Why am I here?” she retorted as she stopped her steps in front of me, hands now on her hips. “The fuck do you mean why am I here? Why did you come here?”

Her outright anger made me initially stammer, “I—um—Brooks—”

“I dragged him out,” Shawn quickly spoke. “He didn’t even want to—”

Cassie held out a hand, palm facing outward to him. “You seem nice. You do, so…y’know, don’t take this the wrong way, but shut your trap. Give us a minute.”

“Easy, Cas,” I attempted to assuage her, but she steamrolled on.

“Don’t easy Cas me,” she snapped, her squinting eyes now locked on me and bringing my attention to her makeup. The once glow-in-the-dark freckles were a light blue without the help of a blacklight, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from tracing each one of them. “That was fucking. Mortifying. James.”

Her admonishment hit me in the gut. “Cassie, I’m—”

I intended to apologize, but she interjected with a single index finger in the air, “No, no—I’m talking now. You show up to my work. You ask for a dance. You asked for it, Jay. I start to give you one...you freak the fuck out, tell me to stop, and fuckin’ berate me for doing it in the first place. You tell me you wish I didn’t work here.” The hurt leaked into her voice at the last sentence, and she paused before sneering, “Is that what you wanted? Was that your plan? You find out I’m a stripper and show up to my work just to embarrass the shit out of me?”

“No,” I replied, aghast. “God, no—I had no idea you worked here at all; I didn’t mean to…” I thought back to how I had spoken to her earlier and exhaled heavily. “I didn’t mean to be such a dick, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re gonna go all protective brother on me and get pissed over what I do for work, then don’t ask me for a goddamn dance!”

Protective brother?

I blinked at the phrasing, allowing it to settle over me, and heard it once more in my mind.

Protective. Brother.

It forced my spine to straighten, and my tone dipped down deep as I questioned aloud, “Protective brother?”

Shawn, who had slowly backed away from our conversation yet was still watching from several feet away, muttered to himself, “Oh, boy.”

“Yeah,” Cassie returned sharply, “if I wanted that, I would have told Liam what I do for a living. And I’m glad ya cared enough to be bothered about the jackwagon that kept feeling me up, but—”

“But there are bouncers for that?” I interjected with grit in my voice. “Ones that were moving way too slowly, and I caused a scene? Yeah, I’m aware that I caused a scene, but it was not because I was feeling fucking brotherly.” Her big, doe eyes blinked slowly while she took in my statement, and the words that were on the tip of my tongue fell right out of me. “And I could show you exactly what I mean by that. I could make how I feel about you as clear as crystal, Cassie, but I’m not—”

“How you feel about me?”

The sentence could have been interpreted in several different ways when I spoke it, but my tone—my tone held an undercurrent of emotion that couldn’t be misconstrued. My chest panged as the sentiment between lust and adoration hung in the air between us, but it appeared that Cassie had thoroughly missed the memo. Her reiteration of my blurted words was sneered in the same fashion as the rest of her side of the conversation, and I looked upwards as I questioned what to say.

---