Cassie
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 23, 2014
I belonged under the sun. I belonged in the mangroves of Key Largo, painting the orchids. I was meant to be cruising a beat-up mustang through the streets of Florida. Or at the very least, I belonged in the boiler room of a steamboat, trying to figure what the hell went wrong with safety caps. I was definitely not meant to be driving a pickup truck in Nowhere, Virginia. So when my parents informed me they were planning on - no, had already decided on- moving us all to Virginia for half a year for one of dad's deals, I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea. But I was okay with it. Six months away from home was no biggie, right? Wrong. I mean, my life was no social fairytale back in the Keys. My yearly quota of "yay, besties!" mounted up to a zero. My best friends consisted of a screwdriver, paintbrush, wetsuit and my physics textbook. But here, in was complete and utter hell. At first. I met a guy who took it upon himself to be my personal satan. That annoyingly hot asshole made my life miserable. But he made it exciting. He made it daring. No matter how many times I tried to fall back into my easy-going routine, he wrenched me back out of it. I didn't know whether to hate him or love him. That half a year away from was no unsignificant part of my existence I expected it to be. But that's what made it all worthwhile.
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Every girl has 'that' crush. You know what I'm talking about. The one boy who's the first thought on your mind when you wake up, and the last thought before you go to sleep. The one you carefully select your clothes for, don your best makeup, and style your hair perfectly for. I had 'that' crush. Brock was hot; he was sexy and alpha, with dark smoldering eyes and tattoos that littered his rock-hard body. My poor seventeen-year-old heart had no clue how to handle it, because my badass crush wasn't a boy. He was a man; a nightclub owning married man, who also happened to be my best friend's stepdad. I wasn't the only one who was crushing on Emma's stepdad. He knew it too, but the best part about Brock was that he looked like a badass, he acted like a badass, but he treated every single teenage girl in his home with the utmost respect. He had plenty of admirers, but Emma hated anyone who flaunted their shit in front of him. He'd taken her dad's place. He'd moved in not two months after she'd lost him and had tried to 'parent' her. We hated him together; but secretly I adored him. I spent almost three years in a hoodie, scowling at the hottest man in L.A. The day he left Emma's mom was the happiest and saddest day of my life. If you're going to lose your crush, though, ripping it off like a band-aid is the best way to do it. One day he was there and the next he was gone. And now, seven years later, I'm about to walk into his nightclub and audition for him. He's not the man I remember. He's sexier, more intense, and has connections that are not exactly as wholesome as I assumed. But that only makes me want him more....

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