“Get the fuck in my car,” Cassian growls, his hand gripping my arm as he pulls me toward the black Maserati sitting amongst the trees. I stumble over the uneven ground, almost falling against his strong, muscled back. The graveyard we tend to loiter in has a forest of beautiful oak trees. And amongst them are pathways and tarred roads that people use to drive up when visiting their loved ones buried here.
“Let me go,” I grit through clenched teeth as I attempt to pull free from his hold, but I know it’s no use. I’m not strong enough to fight Cassian.
“Hey man,” Creed’s voice echoes from where we’ve just left him and Brittany, which causes Cass to pause. “Don’t do anything I would.” He chuckles, and I notice how Cassian rolls his eyes at his friend. Just as we reach his car, a couple of guys walk up the road, and I recognize Finn, Cassian’s youngest brother, along with another guy I know is Creed’s brother, Brody.
“You leaving already, Cass?” Finn asks his brother, a salacious smirk curling his lips as his glance flicks between us, then lands on where Cassian’s grip on my arm never wavers.
“Yeah,” Cass responds but doesn’t offer any more information. He pulls open the passenger door and practically throws me into the leather seat.
“What’s going on? You really have it hard for this kid.” Finn chuckles, but Cassian’s serious expression has the laugh disappearing from his brother’s face.
“I’m taking her home, and then, I’ll be back.” He doesn’t realize I can hear him through the window, or maybe he does, but he makes no move to hide the fact that he’s pissed.
By the time he joins me in the car, I’m exhausted from the alcohol and the weed. The anger at my parents has eased. He doesn’t understand why I get high, why I drink. But I chose my path; I found a way to forget, to ease the burden.
“I don’t like when you do shit like this,” Cassian speaks as he starts the engine and glances over at me. “You need to be careful, Kaly; there are bad people out there.”
I laugh.
I can’t help it.
He sounds so much like my father right now, even though he’s nowhere near Dad’s age. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Cassian, we’re leaving tomorrow.” I can’t stop the bitterness from lacing my words, and I can’t bring myself to look at him; instead, I focus on the window as he pulls out of the cemetery and takes the turn back into town.
We ride in silence for a while before he speaks again, “I care about you.”
“Yeah?” I glance at him, taking in his profile. Sharp nose, angular jawbone, his hair is buzzed short, and his eyes, those fucking eyes that always seem to turn me into a mindless girl. He’s every girl’s fantasy and every guy’s hero. They want to be him. They all want to be a Thorne. But nobody comes close.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he says, but he doesn’t glance my way, and I want nothing more than to climb into his lap and force him to make eye contact with me. To tell me why he doesn’t want me.
“Why?” Curiosity is clear in my tone.
The corner of his mouth kicks up into an almost smile. That’s one thing about Cassian Thorne; he doesn’t usually show emotion. But with me, it’s there in those eyes. He may be angry, happy, or even turned on, and most people won’t know. But I do because he only gifts me with a window to his heart. And that’s what assures me there is something more between us.
“Because you’re too young for me.”
“Is that why you haven’t kissed me?” I challenge.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls up to my house, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I don’t want this to end. I want him to drive around forever, with me beside him. But I can’t be, and neither can he.
I’m not the princess that gets saved by the handsome prince.
I’m the girl who gets taken from her home and sent to a goddamned school for girls where they can make sure I behave myself. It’s all bullshit.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, knowing he won’t give me what I want—him. Even at seventeen, I know what I need, what I crave; I’m not a child. But Cassian is a gentleman. He’s never going to break.
So instead of giving in, he holds onto his restraint. Instead of having the one thing I do want, a connection with him, a physical one, I push open the door and get out of his car. I lean down before closing the door and say, “Goodbye.” Then I slam it shut, not giving him a chance to reply.