Cassandra Nolan is known as the daughter of her ridiculously wealthy father, a surprisingly successful business owner, and the most trusting person alive. What else is new?
At first glance, Sam Parkins is the opposite of Cassandra. He seems judgemen...
Hey! Quick info upfront: I've decided to write some explicit scenes for this book. They will appear in my Explicit Chapters book. However, reading the smut isn't necessary to continue this story. I will mark the chapters with steamy scenes so you can read the mature content if you wish to.
This chapter, for example, has a steamy scene.
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I keep revisiting The Hug. Yes, I named the moment I lost every ounce of respect for myself. The Hug—otherwise known as the moment I nearly tackled Sam and he didn't put his stupid arms around me—occupies my mind at the most random times.
When I'm brushing my teeth before bed. When I press a button in an elevator. When I laugh at Angela's jokes. When my dad calls.
It's been two weeks since the incident, and I've gone through seven stages of grief.
First, I was shocked that I had done something so utterly foolish. Second came denial. I vividly remember chanting that I didn't hug him because I couldn't have done it. After that, I felt guilty for completely disrespecting Sam's personal space, but it wasn't long before I ranted to Angela how dare he leave me hanging and embarrass me in front of his girlfriend and my friend. In the fifth stage, I was distraught that he didn't hug me back; I was on the brink of tears. The sixth step was about slowly processing what had happened, and then I finally accepted it: Sam hates me, and that's okay.
But it's not.
I still care for him, and I thought seven years would change his opinion of me, but apparently, it is as low as ever. And that isn't true. Sam saw me like no one else, but I bungled everything. It's not his fault he doesn't want to hug me. It's my fault, but I must deal with it since I can't return in time.
I can still hear Sam say my name for the first time in seven years, and goosebumps go over my skin at the mere thought.
"Honey, I'm home!" Tim calls from the door, and I recoil. I stop biting my nails and start reading the latest tabloid news.
"I'm in the living room!" I shout back. Dressed in a grey suit, Tim comes from behind the corner to our open kitchen and living room area. I adoringly watch as he drops his briefcase and walks to the couch behind me. I tilt my head back so he can give me a short kiss before walking to the kitchen and pouring himself and me a glass of wine.
"How's your day been?" Tim asks, taking the glasses and joining me on our L-shaped couch. His lush lips capture mine in a proper kiss, and I hum in satisfaction.
"It's so much better now that you're here," I take the wine he offers me when he settles beside me. He loops his arm around me, pulling me tightly against him.
"That bad?" Tim chuckles.
I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh, appreciating the feel of his toned body beneath me.
Timothy is one of those guys who runs on a treadmill at least once a day, and it shows. His short black curls and his clean-shaven face are always on point. He wears suits to work, but I love it at home when he's in his shorts or bathrobe. His brown eyes, black at first glance, captured my attention when we first met, and still, his lazy gaze, somehow managing to catch every movement, every clue, holds me under its spell.
