Love Me Crazy (8 page)

I wander to the window and stare out over the field. In the distance stands a quaint little house—a scaled-down model of this one. The columns supporting the porch aren’t as grand, and instead of pristine white clapboard, ivy covers the facade. I think there’s a patio or something in front of it but can’t tell exactly what it is from so far away.

I drop my gaze to the red barn beyond a freshly cut field and follow the four-wheeler someone drives out of it. The driver heads toward the main house and parks below my window beside a fallen tree. That’s when I notice Quinn chopping a pile of wood. Quinn, shirt off, is more dazzling than I imagined—and fuel for my dreams tonight. Tight lines dissect his rather perfect abs into six strokeable packs. Tan, lean muscles pulse in his arms as he brandishes an ax over his head and brings it down into the wood with a thud. Damn. That completely turns me on. I inch closer to the glass for a better view.

His tattoos are on full display. The vine isn’t just a vine, but achingly beautiful barbed wire, as if a country fence wrestled a rose bush, making it feminine and masculine at the same time. He raises his arms again, hovering the ax before slicing it through the air to split another log. Over his heart is a mass of tangled thorns and wire. They strangle his heart and look like they could prevent it from pumping at any second. I suck in a gasp.

“Like what you see?” I hear behind me.

I step away from the window but not before stealing another glance. “No, I . . . his tattoos.”

“
Mom about shit a farm when she saw them.” Kat steps up to the window. “Of course, she’s only seen what’s around his neck and arms. She’d shit a fucking continent if she saw his chest.”

“It’s so disturbingly dark . . . cryptic.” I scoot toward the window, wanting to look for more reasons than just curiosity.

She huffs under her breath. “
He’s
dark.” She turns and puts her hands on her hips.

“I don’t think he is; I mean . . . there is a light in him. Don’t you think?” I turn to Kat. It’s only then I realize who I’m talking to. She isn’t Lilian whom I’d spill my guts to, she’s Quinn’s angry, hurt sister. “Sorry, I was just—”

“No, you’re right.” She pulls the sheer drapes together. “The Quinn I remember is there. I just don’t know if I can be the Kat he remembers.”

“I don’t think he expects that. He just wants a chance to be here for you now.” I follow her out of Ellie’s room and down the stairs. A little bit thinks he wants to be here for me, too. But that’s imagined, right? We just met. And yeah, I’d totally hook up with him if I met him in a bar, probably take him home, but come morning, I’d give him the boot. I don’t let guys stick around. Not for breakfast, not for my number, and not for me.

Pulling into the yacht club, I get a sense of what it’s like living in Charleston where everything is historic. The building isn’t like the weathered shingle-clad buildings lining the piers back home. The brick facade mimics most of the other structures in town, and painted
pristine
white it has a distinguished charm that hides a century of flaws. Plantation shutters brighten the windows and bright red begonias perk up the overall appeal.

Inside, a crystal chandelier hangs from a thick brass chain. Wallpaper, elaborate and most definitely expensive, covers the entry where the deskman greets Ellie and Kat with a friendly nod and small talk. No bellman in Boston could ever fake that kind of genuine welcome.

We make our way through a glitzy ballroom behind a grand staircase.

“This is where our debuts are held,” Ellie says. “It’s when we’re introduced to society and deemed acceptable, responsible adults.”

“Acceptable if responsibly bred,” Kat adds.

I fight my smile. “I’d never pass as acceptable.”

Kat actually smiles, and it’s more gorgeous than Ellie’s award-winning smile.

“Oh there’s Annabeth; come, I want you to meet her. She’s darling.”

“And your maid of honor, right?” I follow Ellie through conversations touching on my-yacht’s-bigger-than-yours and summering-in-Italy-isn’t-as-grand-as-summering-in-France.

“Interesting crowd,” I say to Kat who falls in step beside me.

“Mom’s socialite friend’s offspring. They either come off chartered boats or drive in from their private schools. It’s just a big fucking brouhaha of who gets paid the most to do the least.”

“So a pissing contest.”

She smiles. “Yeah, paunchy men with sex-crazed cocky-ass sons, and daughters who think their pedestals aren’t ever polished or high enough.”

“So you must come here all the time.”

She lets out a loud laugh. “I like you.”

Ellie
stops to hug and kiss a group of girls who preen and paw over her hair, her dress, her engagement ring.

“You’re not that bad yourself. Now quick, give me the four one one on Annabeth. I’ve heard your mom mention her several times.”

Kat turns her back to the group. “Quinn’s ex. Insatiable appetite for status. Not above using her wealth to get ahead or to put others in their place . . . or the place she thinks they should be in.”

“Got it, avoid her at all cost.”

“If you don’t want to be on her radar.”

I grin as we follow Ellie through the French doors. A waiter hands us each a glass of wine, even Kat though she’s underage.

“AnnaBee!” Ellie hugs her friend. “Where were you today?”

“My sister dropped off her son today. I was helping Mom. I should’ve called.” She leans in and hugs Ellie.

“Oh? I thought your sister wasn’t going to be able to make it to the wedding. That she was tied up in France and couldn’t get away.”

Annabeth shifts from one foot to the other then back. “Right. Which is why we’re watching her son for the summer. She flies back tomorrow.”

“I didn’t even know she and her husband had a kid, I feel so bad. I never sent her anything.”

“Yeah, a lot of people said they didn’t get her announcement. Air mail problems, maybe. So who is this?” Annabeth puts out her hand and smiles. Her eyes brighten and twinkle playfully, like they each possess the North star.

“
Oh, gosh, where are my manners.” Ellie grabs my hand and squeezes. “Meet Cassidy, Mom’s intern. She’s a dream.”

“Nice to meet you.”

I take her hand. “Likewise. I’m sure we’ll see more of each other as the wedding date gets closer.”

“Most definitely.”

“She’s staying at the house,” Kat interjects. “So if you stop by, you’ll most likely find Quinn with her.”

I choke on my wine and press the back of my hand against my lips. Cutting a WTF glare at Kat before turning to Annabeth, I try to correct her. “Doubtful. Unless I’m doing something with the groomsmen.”

“So Quinn is staying?” Annabeth asks Ellie.

“He says he is. At least through the wedding.”

“Through Cassidy being here,” Kat mutters. She walks off, putting her drink down on one of the cocktail tables.

“Sorry, she’s just sore about Quinn’s return,” Ellie explains. “It’s been hard on all of us, but mostly her.”

“And me,” Annabeth quips.

I drop my gaze, wishing I could escape like Kat, but I know no one here and my chances of getting out alive don’t seem high.

“I was so depressed after he left. Took months for me to want to leave the house. I looked atrocious. Let my hair go and my nails were in shambles. I didn’t wear makeup for weeks, not until . . . until Mom sent me to live at our house in France. She thought the sun and beaches
would
fix the hole in my chest, but I think it only made it bigger.” She tosses her hand in the air like she’s shooing flies. “None of the guys who rallied for my attention can replace my Quinny.”

No one can replace the nausea in my pit. Can you say “fake”?

“That sounds awful.” I appease her thirst for attention. France. The beach. Guys fawning. Looking
atrocious
. Is that even possible? She’s a diamond in this room. Exquisite and graceful. As we stand here, I’ve counted eight guys who haven’t taken their eyes off of her.

“It was, but I’m back. He’s back. We can start fresh. Many things to forgive but many things to celebrate, too.” Annabeth waves to someone across the room. “And there he is. I must admit, these butterflies make me dizzy.” She places her hand over her stomach.

I glance at Quinn, who smiles when Annabeth gestures for him to join us.
I
must admit, the butterflies in my stomach make my toes leave the ground and my heart spin in my chest like a carousel on crack.

“Hello, ladies.” Quinn pecks his sister on the cheek. He makes his rounds, hugging and kissing Annabeth and then me. “Need an escape?” he whispers.

Do I ever. From him.

“Quinny, oh my stars, it’s great to see you.” Annabeth links her arm around his though his other hand still lingers on my lower back. Tears make her eyes glisten but none fall. Probably because they’d be slaughtered if they screwed up her mascara.

“Hi, Annabeth.” He nods. “It’s been awhile.”

“Too long,” she giggles. “But you’re here now. Care to take a walk with me on the beach?” She glances toward the steps leading to the ocean. “We must catch up.”

“I’d love to—”

“Great, let’s grab—”

“
But I promised Cassidy a tour of the building—she’s into historic architecture. And then I thought I’d show her the ruins down the way.”

He did? I am? What? “Oh, I can wait. You two have a lot of catching up to do, it seems.”

He leans into my ear. “A little help here.”

I rub my neck, then scratch my cheek, trying to appear less flustered than I feel. “But you did tell me to hold you to your . . . promise,” I say in an unintelligible string of syllables.

“Great. Annabeth, how about we get together later?” Quinn pulls me away from his sister and ex. “Another day? Over coffee or something.”

“Well, sure, but I have a lot to catch you up on. Please don’t put it off too long, five years is long enough,” she jabs.

“Ouch,” I whisper.

“Typical,” Quinn mutters. “Will do.” He rushes me down the steps toward the sand, ignoring the friendly calls thrown his way. He even ignores the girls who walk up to him and make a point to brush their hands along his arm or back. He doesn’t slow until we’re several buildings past the club and out of his ex’s kill zone.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” he keeps his gaze on the tide.

“Who, Annabeth or the twenty-odd twentysomething girls who copped a feel? Holy art thou, it appears.”

He chuckles and rubs his stomach before returning his hand to my back. Casually touchy and very sneaky. “You think I’m hot?”

“You think you’re not?”

He presses his lips into a crooked smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“
To be honest, you’re the best fucking fantastic depressing idea ever. I keep going back and forth about what I think of you. You’re charming, and yes, hot, but I can’t afford to lose my scholarship because your mom fires me for hanging out with you. We really need to keep a distance, but you make it damn near impossible.”

“
Hmmm
, so how do we remedy that?” He leads me to two Adirondack chairs beaten raw from the wind and sand.

I snort, “Fire your mom.”

“In so many ways, for so many reasons, I’d love to.” His gaze casts to the sand as he leans his elbows on his knees. “But really,” he says as he looks at me with hooded eyes, “she shouldn’t be the reason you won’t go out on a real date with me.”

“A date? No. That’s definitely not going to happen.” I dip my chin, allowing my hair to hide my face from his inspection. “I leave in a month. Let’s leave things the way they are. You on your side of the line, me on mine.”

“I believe we already crossed that line, Cassidy.”

And I’m a goner. Lost, right there in his eyes, on a beautiful beach at sunset, waves in the background. So. Far. Gone. “Uh, that probably shouldn’t happen again.”

“Probably,” he says. “But might.”

Oh. Dear. God.

His phone chirps and he reaches into his pocket to retrieve it. “Looks like spoons starts up in a bit. Want to play?”

“Spoons?”

“A Covington tradition, me and my sisters around a table playing cards and stealing spoons. And there may be liquor involved. How about it?” He offers the kindest smile and—
though
it’s probably the sun’s reflection I see in his eyes—a twinkle that has me nodding yes. What is my problem? Have I no control?

I rise but he whisks me into his lap before I have the balance to fend him off. His arm weaves around me and I have no choice but to go with gravity and fall into him.

“Just five more minutes,” he says.

Last time I agreed to this, his hands ended up in my panties. “Okay. Just five.”

I thought it would eventually feel awkward, sitting in his lap like that, his arms around me and me inhaling him so I could memorize his scent for later, but it didn’t. He felt warm like sunshine yet cool like a breeze. He felt safe, and for the full five minutes I allowed myself to dream outside of my own rigid set of rules–and Mrs. Covington’s. Him keeping his hands to himself this time also helped.

I stare at him across the dining room table back at the Covington homestead, Annabeth to his right, another girl to his left. Ellie beside her. Kat and her friend Wes sit on either side of me to make sure I know what I’m doing. Everyone keeps stony-faced gazes on their own cards or the spoons, nothing else. They take this game way too seriously.

I pick up the card slid to me. I can’t use it, so I pass it on to Ellie. She grabs a spoon. Everyone jumps to their feet. Chairs overturn as they scramble for a spoon. Nails claw, words fly, and I’m scared shitless to reach my hand into the battle.

“Yes!” Annabeth slams her plastic spoon down. She glances at me. “Oh, you lost again?”

“Yup.”

Kat
pours me a shot.
Another
shot. I lost count on how many, but the buzz in my ears and the blur in my eyes makes me pretty confident I’ll feel like ass tomorrow. I dump back the shot and throw my cards in with the others.

Kat leans over. “Watch the spoons, not the cards. Get in there, girl.”

Get in there? Is she crazy? “When am I out?”