Too Wrong: Hayes Brothers Book 2
Too Wrong: Chapter 20

Everything about tonight is wrong.

Me and the brunette?

Wrong.

Cass seeing me kiss her?

Wrong’er.

Thinking I can just flush Cass out of my system with the first easy girl I lay my eyes on?

Wrong’est.

As soon as I saw her, a sense of calmness seeped through the cracks of my edgy mind, setting me back on track for the shortest second.

My thoughts turned into a Mario Kart race when I realized she saw my hands groping the brunette’s ass.

She saw me kiss her.

Should I care? Nope. We’re not together. I did nothing wrong. I’d never top her stunt with Theo. I’m a fucking saint in this situation, but… a dense stillness fell over me when our eyes locked. Her smile dimmed, slipped, and even from a distance, I saw her face twist with hurt.

Only for a moment, but it was there: disappointment.

Then, she marshaled her expression into that spoiled look she wears so often—a mask designed to hide her insecurities.

I wanted to chase after her, but how was I supposed to explain myself? Shit, I didn’t expect you to be here is no fucking excuse. It’s not like I should explain, anyway. Cassidy knew the rules. She knew we were a sex-only deal. No emotions, no attachment. It’s not like I cheated on her… so why does it feel like I did? Why does my stomach feel so tight, twisting and rolling? Why do my lungs struggle to take in air?

I press my fingers to my temple, massaging in small circles for a moment before I drop my hand back down, squeezing my beer. Ten feet to my right, Cruella DeMon spins a bottle on the table in their booth, her dark eyes glancing over here, zeroing in on my brother every few seconds.

My hands grow cold and numb the slower the bottle spins. Anger riots through my system, heading straight for my chest where it’ll set camp in my heart, and the liquid wrath will blast through my fucking bloodstream.

I can feel it gaining momentum, growing at an alarming rate like a snowball rolling down a steep hill. Nothing will save the asshole who dared to touch Cassidy on the dancefloor if he decides to lay one fucking finger on her again.

She’s mine.

No one touches her but me.

The problem with that train of thought? It’s a lie. Cassidy isn’t and will never be mine.

I grind my teeth, fighting to keep my shit intact as frustration tugs at my mind. The ball of nerves lodged in my throat makes it hard to swallow.

How did I get here? Sex was what I wanted from the get-go. Just her body. The smoking hot, lean, toned, and skillful body, but suddenly, I crave more.

I’m jealous.

I worry.

I constantly want to see her, be around her, touch her, kiss her, and fucking protect her from the entire goddamn world.

It can’t be happening. Not now. Not with her.

Cass and I can’t happen. Ever. That’s why kissing the brunette seemed like a great plan. One night to re-wire my brain, forget the beautiful blonde I can’t get enough of, and channel my obsessive thoughts toward some nameless bimbo. One night to screw my head back in place.

Too bad it didn’t work and opened a can of worms named Rush. I know him. His older brother is a friend of mine, and Rush isn’t the kind of guy Cassidy needs around her. He’s a player—a collector, as he calls himself.

Collector of pussies.

I stood on the balcony when they danced downstairs and fought my instincts to keep my ass in place whenever his hands touched her stomach or waist. I imagined breaking those hands ten different ways, and I’m this close to lashing out. It’s a miracle I’ve managed to control my temper as long as I have. Deep down, I know I have no right to mess Cass about.

Our purely sexual relationship isn’t working for her.

I shouldn’t mess her about, but here I am, my phone in hand, already three texts sent. My leg bounces impatiently when it’s Rush’s turn to spin the bottle. He looks at her as often as Kaya looks at Nico, and he’s pissing me off to my back fucking teeth.

The only consolation is that Cass focuses her attention on her phone, reading my texts.

Nico’s too busy, glowering, snapping, and losing his patience with Aisha. She straddled him a moment ago, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and rolling her hips in his lap. He’s not paying attention to the booth directly opposite ours. And he’s too riled up to notice I’ve been stewing since I sat down.

The bottle spins slower and slower, finally coming to a halt and pointing at Cassidy. Of course, it does. It’s Karma at play, I’m sure—Ha! Take that, you prick.

A thumping pressure starts at my temples, my body wound up so tight I can’t move a muscle, but I damn near double over and throw up when Rush leans closer to Cass. His lips move, so I know he’s speaking, a gentleman of the highest order checking if he can put his mouth on hers.

No, he can’t. Not if he still wants to have teeth by the end of the night.

She says something back. And that anger, that thumping pressure in my head… fuck!

I can’t pull down a single breath when he grabs her jaw, and their lips connect. I’m this close to smashing a bottle on his head, then carrying Cassidy out of the club fireman style. I’d take her home to remind her who she fucking belongs to.

The problem with that train of thought? Yeah… it’s a lie too. She doesn’t belong to me.

I wince as the pressure inside my head ups the stakes.

Game over.

The end.

With my eyes cast downward, I take a few very deep and very calming breaths. It does fuck all to cool the lava burning through my veins, but I put on a mask of indifference, rein in the violence coiled around me, and send her another message.

Me: Two words, one finger. We’re done.

I glance over there again, checking her reaction, expecting her lips pulled into a line, eyes watering, but no. She smiles at her phone, riling me up beyond comprehension.

Have I misread her intentions? Until now, I was certain she wanted more than sex, but the smile lighting up her gorgeous face tells a different story, and so does the text she shoots back.

Princess: Thank you. I hope one day you’ll replace someone who’ll be your priority, not just your option.

Thank you? What is she thanking me for? And way to twist the knife a little bit harder.

Cassidy: 1. Logan: 0.

She’s right. She’s not my priority, and she deserves to be someone’s. Despite the shitty labels people stick to her behind her back, she’s amazing. Passionate, smart, caring. Naïve and too trusting, which comes back to bite her time and time again. People use her good heart and take advantage of how much she craves human interaction after years of neglect and being treated with cold, harsh reserve.

My head is spinning when I dim the screen and shove the phone back in my pocket.

Hell just froze the fuck over.

She’s tipsy. She’s downing shots like nobody’s business, refusing to kiss anyone else at the table. While I’m glad about that, I’m reeling every time she smiles at Rush.

Around midnight, I watch as she marches toward the corridor leading to the bathrooms, her steps awkward, the alcohol impairing her motor functions.

I glance at Nico, checking if he’s paying attention to the booth opposite, but he’s squabbling with Aisha. I heard him point-blank tell her he won’t fuck her, but she brushed him off and keeps getting on his nerves as if seeing steam come out his nostrils is the best form of entertainment.

With the two of them occupied and Toby on the dancefloor, I bite the bullet, following Cass. She needs to get the fuck out of here, go home and sleep. She’s had enough for one night.

The air is stuffy, the stench of piss, booze, and sweat assaulting my nostrils as I prop myself against the wall opposite the girls’ toilet, waiting, chewing my own fucking teeth.

As soon as Cass is out, I grip her wrist and drag her into another corridor to my right. It’s empty, dark, and out of the way. Perfect for a chat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I clip, manhandling her until we’re by the personnel-only door at the far end. My chest is heaving. The touch of her skin, the smell of her perfume, and that curve-hugging dress she wears stir a brand-new riot inside my head. “And what the hell is this?” I push her against the wall, tracing my finger along the edge of the fabric on her cleavage.

I can barely see her in the dark. Nothing but faint light from a LED strip above the door illuminates her face and her tits that almost leap out of the flimsy dress she wears.

“This,” she says, touching the fabric I just touched. “This is called a dress.”

“This is called inappropriate. You got any idea how many assholes have been eyeing you up? You look like every pervert’s wet dream!”

She looks down, deep grooves marking her forehead. “I’m not showing off anything, asshole. Your friend wore less, but I didn’t see you busting her ass—”

“She’s not my responsibility!” I snap before I mull the words and take a second to realize how messed up that sounds. “Neither are you,” I quickly add, backing myself into a corner. There’s no rational way of explaining why her dress bothers me so much. “You can’t be here,” I continue, navigating back to the main issue, my ears ringing. My hands shake, and the riot of my pulse drives me nuts as I tower above her. “You’re drunk, Cass. You need to go home.” But instead of pushing her away, my grip on her wrist tightens. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing with Rush? You’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you? You gonna fuck him to prove a point? Drop it. We’re done. Over.”

She twists her arm, struggling against my hold. Good luck, princess. I’m not letting go until I know she’ll head straight for the exit.

“You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?” she clips, shoving me a step back. “What if I like him? You’re not the only guy in Newport, you know? I don’t need you to get laid.”

“Yeah, you’ll just fuck one of my brothers instead, right? Triplets are legal now, so—”

She retaliates.

She hurts me the only way she knows how.

She slaps me so fucking hard my head swings to the side. The sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoes throughout the empty space.

What the actual…

I press my fingertips against the burning flesh, speechless for the first time in a long time, as the words I spoke bounce around my head.

Fuck.

That was uncalled for.

“Cass, I’m—”

“Don’t,” she clips, yanking her hand out of my grasp.

Fresh tears pool in her blue eyes when she pushes me away with both hands, and seeing her like this—close to tears—guts me like a fucking fish. I watch, glued to the floor, frozen, motionless. What the hell just happened?

Why did I say that? I don’t… shit. I don’t think that. I got over her and Theo. She didn’t know me when they landed in bed. I know she wouldn’t have looked at him if we had met first. Cassidy’s attention was on me since we first looked at each other three years ago, but… but I’m a fucking asshole.

My blood’s been boiling for two hours, jealousy kicking up a hissy fit in my head as I watched her in that tight, beautiful dress, smiling at that sorry-excuse-for-a-man.

I snapped.

She takes a step away, but I grip her hand again, my heart rate skyrocketing. “I’m sorry.”

She’s not looking at me, eyes cast down. “Let me go,” she whispers.

I read her lips more than hear the words. Shame curls around my stomach, and it feels like someone just throttled me. The music still pumps around us, the bass shaking the floor, but the sound seems distant, as if coming through a sheet of thick glass.

I take her face in my hands, wiping the tears I feel under my thumbs. Her chin quivers. A small, pained whimper slips past her lips, and my stomach drops to my knees. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You did.” She slaps my hands away, stepping back again. “I thought I reached the limit of how small and unwanted a person can feel when I was tossed back and forth between foster families, but you showed me I was wrong when you texted me three years ago.” Her voice breaks—another kick right in my balls. She swats her tears away, pushing a steady breath past her lips. “I thought I found the bottom back then. But you proved me wrong again when you threw me out of your house. And then again, when you locked me in the garage… three nights ago, and tonight… I’m not worthless, Logan. I don’t deserve to feel like this. I’ve never intentionally hurt you.”

“Cass—”

“What?” she grinds out, standing a little taller. “You’re sorry?” she jokes through tears, but there’s no humor in her voice, just an ocean of pain. “You’re not sorry. At least have the decency not to lie to my face.”

With that, she spins on her heel and marches away.

I don’t put up a fight.

I don’t chase after her.

We’re done. Over. We’ve been at it for too long as it is, but the weakness in my limbs can’t be shaken.

Is the goddamn world imploding?