Pongo shrugged and swiveled back toward his lunch. “You’re her babysitter, not me. How should I know?”
The coffee arrived, black and steaming, along with a dish of creamer pods that Shep set about tearing open and pouring into his mug one insufficient shot at a time. “Cass was at the hospital,” he mused aloud, “with her roommate. And she was pissed that I gotyouin trouble.” The idea, the memory of the hissing anger in her voice overPongoof all people, worrying abouthim, abouthisproblems,hisride in a squad car, put an angry lump in the pit of Shep’s stomach he didn’t fully understand. (Ha! That was a lie, but one he was going to cling to by his fingernails for as long as he could.)
It was all too easy to imagine Cass ending up with someone just like the dumbass sitting next to him. The hair, the big blue eyes; young, and always-smiling, andyoung, and stupid, andsoft. She loved—or used to love—all those K-Pop bands, shiny-haired pretend-bad-boy actors who looked too young to shave. She’d gone to a party with that Sig dirtbag, after all; that was Cass’s type, the sort of boy she mooned over: thin, and artsy, and rich, andnormal. That above all else: coffeehouse students without any of (his) the outlaw baggage.
That was as it should be. She was nineteen, and she had her whole life, and a bright future ahead of her. Hewantedher to find someone sweet, and normal, and non-threatening.
Belatedly, he realized Pongo was speaking to him. “What?”
Pongo sent him a judgmental sideways glance. “If Cassandra’s friend was at the hospital, and Cassandra knew the dirt from Missy…” He made a spinning gesture with his hand.
Shep jerked upright on his stool. “Oh shit. Her friend got raped.”
Pongo nodded and forked up more schnitzel. “There you go. Good work, Sherlock.”
“Bite my ass.” Shep slid off his stool, careful to knock Pongo’s off balance as he did so.
“Shit.” He heard Pongo’s hands slap at the bar for purchase. “Where are you going?” he called, as Shep stalked for the door.
“To put that little brat in the hospital for real.”
~*~
It was hard for Cass to remember why she’d been attracted to Sig in the first place. He was handsome, of course he was, the sort of finely-bred features and large, clear eyes handed down through multiple generations of wealthy parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He had the aquiline nose, the prominent cheekbones, and the cleft chin that provided a necessary dose of masculinity to an otherwise too-pretty face. Today, he wore loose, paint-spattered jeans and a baggy blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up. Hanks of red-blond hair flicked out from the beneath the edge of his gray beanie, and both wrists were loaded with beaded bracelets…and a Piguet watch.
Shehad beenattracted to him…or, rather, she’d been attracted to theideaof him. His influence, both at large and in the art department; his casual, easy manners, the way he didn’t seem to care about anything. That apathy had seemed like the product of confidence, of intelligence.
But really, it was just the product of being a rich asshole who’d never suffered any consequences.
Right now, he was downright ugly. Her face burned with embarrassment, because she’d gone to this fool’s party, allowedherself to be drugged, and almost suffered the same fate as Jamie. If she hadn’t called Shep…if he hadn’t come when he had…
No. The only thing to think of now was protecting her friend.
Before Jamie could finish gasping, Cass threw her arms wide and stepped between her and Sig. His brows went up in mild surprise, and she closed the distance between them, got right up in his face. “No. Absolutely not. Get out of here.” She stabbed a finger toward the exit.
He pushed away from the wall, and it was an unpleasant reminder that she lacked her sister’s statuesque model height. She was petite like the rest of her family, barely five-two in flats. He was thin, without any of the biker heft and muscle she was used to, but after what he’d done to Jamie, she didn’t like having to tip her head back and look up at him one bit; hated the way it made her feel small…and, worse, vulnerable.
“Cassandra,” he greeted, tone bewildered. “Hi. What’s—”
“Get out.” She pointed again, more sharply. “Get out of my sight, you absolute”—she faltered, embarrassingly, and one of Shep’s favorite insults popped into her head and then out of her mouth—“shitstain.”
Sig gaped at her, blinking and slack-jawed.
“That’s right.” She smiled, triumphant, and stood up on her toes so she could glare right into his face. “You’re a human skidmark, you don’t deserve to draw another breath, and I want youout of my sightandaway from my friendright this minute!”
“Cassandra,” Sig said. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.” He lifted both hands in a placating gesture. “I had no idea Jamie was upset about yesterday. She seemed…” He glanced up and over Cass’s shoulder toward Jamie. “Jamie, please, I thought—”
Cass snapped her fingers in his face, fast and loud, three quick pops. “Don’tspeak to her. From now on, you have to deal with me, and I’mnot having it,you gigantic asswipe!”
A hand grabbed at the back of her jacket. “Cass,” Jamie hissed. “People are staring!”
“Good! Let them stare!” She cast a glance to either side; people were in fact staring, arrested on their way to and from class, eyes round with surprise and interest. Cass projected her voice, shouting now: “Behold! The human snotrag that is Sigmund Blackmon!”
Sig’s eyes got somehow wider. His nostrils flared, and he stared at her with a gratifying level of incomprehension. “What—Cassandra—Jamie— ladies, I don’t—”
“What’s going on here? What is this?!” Professor McGrath was a small, seemingly mild-mannered Ceramics prof with a voice like a foghorn when he got going. He charged down the hall, students scurrying to get away from him, and Jamie tugged hard on Cass’s jacket.
With one last ugly glare at Sig, Cass allowed herself to be dragged away and out the doors into the cold evening sunlight.
