Chapter 4: Cassidy

##Chapter 4: Cassidy

Book One: Stay

A low groan rumbles its way from deep within the mountain of pillows and blankets.

"I don't feel good," the voice croaks. "I think I have the flu."

I snort with about as much derision as I can muster. "What you technically have is called the twenty-four-hour booze flu," I singsong gleefully before yanking open the thick, ugly blue curtains covering our dorm room window and allowing bright sunlight to filter in.

It's impossible to summon one ounce of pity for someone who knowingly inflicts this kind of pain onto themselves.

Brooklyn whimpers before attempting to burrow further into the abyss of blankets and pillows piled high on her dorm-issued twin bed.

"Come on, up and at 'em, sunshine. You've got class in forty." I pretend to wince as I add with false pity, "Oh, and don't you have Calculus this bright and fine Friday morning with Professor Ling? Yeah...that's going to suck for you."

"No," she moans. "No class. Can't go. Not today. Too sick. Head pounding. Might throw up. Must sleep."

"Didn't you tell me that your partying wouldn't get in the way of attending classes? I made you promise before agreeing to live together."

And yes, I really had secured a verbal agreement from my bestie regarding this kind of situation. After last year, I'm not interested in partying. My sole objective is my classes. But moving in with Brooklyn, who I've known forever, seemed like a far better choice than playing Russian roulette with a random roommate assignment.

"No," she mumbles before smashing another pillow over her face, "I never promised any such thing."

"Sure, you did. I've got it in writing somewhere around here." I move loudly around the room, preparing for my nine o'clock class. Grabbing a protein bar, I open the wrapper and take a big, crunchy bite.

"Bitch," she mutters from under the covers.

Well, I think that's what she mutters.

I grin at the mound of pillows and blankets. "But I'm a lovable bitch, right?"

Most of the time.

Probably...

She grumbles something unintelligible I can't quite decipher. I'm not sure if she agrees or disagrees with that statement. But since she's experiencing a killer hangover, I'm going to guess she's in disagreement.

"You're down to thirty minutes now. Tick tock, tick tock." I set a glass of water and two acetaminophen tablets on the table beside her bed. "Take the pills and guzzle the water. It'll help." Honestly, it can't hurt at this point.

The only good thing I have to say about Brooklyn this morning is that the girl can definitely hold her liquor. I thought for sure when I'd texted last night to meet me outside the house, and then carried her drunk ass home, she would be puking all over the place.

Much to my pleasant surprise, that hadn't turned out to be the case. Nor had she died of alcohol poisoning either.

So, win-win in my book.

She ignores me and mutters, "I think you'd be a much happier person if you got laid once in a while. Just something to consider."

"I'm already a perfectly happy person." My sunny disposition nosedives at the suggestion.

I tried that trick last year...it hadn't worked out so well.

After ten more minutes of cajoling Brooklyn from bed, she reluctantly pulls the pillows and blankets off her face before blinking at the harsh sunlight pouring in through the large bank of east-facing windows. She covers her eyes with a hand as if the bright light might scorch her retinas. "You're a horrible person for forcing me to get up when I feel like such crap."

My gaze slides over the little bit of her I can see. Her long blonde hair is in total disarray and her skin is waxy looking. Actually, she looks a little green around the gills.

"If it's any consolation, you look just as bad as you feel."

"Bitch," she grumbles.

Unaffected by her new pet name for me, I shrug. "Alright then, I'm off." I wrap a turquoise scarf around my neck before grabbing my oversized messenger bag and sunglasses as I head out. "See you later, alligator."

Just as I'm about to close the door, I whip it open and poke my head back inside.

"Get your lazy ass out of bed right now," I bellow at the top of my lungs.

In answer, she hurtles one of her hot pink pillows at the door. It falls pathetically short of its mark. I shake my head at such an embarrassingly sad attempt.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have really shitty aim?" A future softball competitor, she is not. It's doubtful she'd even do well in an over forty beer league.

Her second attempt almost hits its intended target. "Better."

I smile as one of her hands snakes out from the thick pile of blankets to flip me off.

With a snicker, I shut the door before hustling my way across campus for my nine o'clock class which-thanks to Brooklyn-I'm running late for. I try to multitask on the fly as I read a text sent by one of my professors. Even though this bad habit is always ill-advised when trying to maneuver through a herd of students who are also attempting to haul ass across campus, I do it anyway.

I certainly can't deny my own stupidity as I smack into a wall. With a grunt, I stagger back a few steps before strong arms reach out to steady me.

To the best of my knowledge, walls don't have arms.

It only takes a moment for my belly to hollow out because I think I recognize that muscular chest.

Crap.

Could life seriously be cruel enough to throw this guy into my oblivious path within twelve short hours of our previous meeting?

The answer to that question is a resounding yes.

My gaze arrows to his smiling, golden-brown eyes. A slight wind ruffles his gorgeous hair as we stand in the middle of the cement walking path that snakes its way through campus.