Friday Night Lies by C.W. Farnsworth

Author:C.W. Farnsworth [Farnsworth, C.W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

HOLDEN

The water in the bathroom shuts off. I flip the remote in my hand, then start spinning it in circles.

I’m nervous. I haven’t been nervous around a girl since…well, since Ginny Davis’s Halloween party in eighth grade.

I can trace exactly how I got here, easily. The simplest place to rest the blame is on Finn. He was the one who invited Cassia to the pool, according to her.

It’s Jordan’s fault as well. He’s a good friend and a decent basketball player, but when it comes to girls, he’s the worst guy I know.

I saw the way he was looking at Cassia earlier. Somehow, he keeps drawing in girls who know he’s fucked over their friends, and there was no chance I was going to sit back and watch him do that to Cassia. Watching Harrison talk to her before we left Pembrooke on Friday was bad enough.

But none of that required me to invite her into my hotel room.

We’re in this situation squarely because of me. And I’m caught in a strange state of excitement and uncertainty. This is exactly what I’ve gone out of my way to avoid ever happening.

I don’t trust myself around Cassia.

This isn’t a drunken fumbling at a party. And even if it were, I’m pretty sure I’d be feeling this same way.

The bathroom door opens and Cassia appears. She asked to use the bathroom as soon as we walked into my room. Part of me thought it was her way of taking some time to figure out how to backtrack out of this situation. Then the shower started running. I figured she wanted to wash off the chlorine. I was planning to turn on the television so I could suggest we watch a movie or something.

I didn’t consider this possibility.

Cassia walks out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel. She didn’t bother to put on any clothes. She didn’t even dry her hair. Dozens of tiny rivers run down her arms, dripping onto the generic, patterned carpet.

I swallow. Watch her walk toward me. Her face is neutral. Her hands are gripping the towel so tightly I can see the whites of her knuckles.

Cassia doesn’t stop the way I’m expecting. She comes closer and closer, until her legs are bumping against my knees. “You’re sure Jordan isn’t coming back?” she asks.

“I’m sure.” My voice is the consistency of gravel.

She asked me something similar at the pool. It twists my insides, knowing that Cassia doesn’t want anyone else but me to see her this way. It fuels the possessiveness she’s in full command of.

A drop of water falls from her hair and lands on my thigh, darkening a spot of the gray cotton. I should have turned on the television. The only sound in the room is the gentle whoosh of the heating system as it exhales warm air. If anyone in the rooms on either side of mine is still awake, they’re impossible to hear. It sounds like—feels like—the world has narrowed down to just me and her.

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