1988: Need You Tonight
Love in the '80s: A New Adult Mix
Rachel Higginson
Vol. 9
Contents
Also by Rachel Higginson
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Sneak Peeks
1980: You Shook Me All Night Long
1981: Jessie’s Girl
1982: Maneater
1983: Cruel Summer
1984: Against All Odds
1985: Careless Whisper
1986: Why Can’t This Be Love
1987: How Do I Get You Alone
1989: Once Bitten, Twice Shy
1998: Need You Tonight
[email protected] Rachel Higginson 2016
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction.
This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give, copy, scan, distribute or sell this book to anyone else.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.
Any people or places are strictly fictional and not based on anything else, fictional or non-fictional.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Design by Regina Wamba of Mae I Design
Edited by Crystal Rae Bryant of Plot Ninja
Book Design by Indie Formatting Services
Published in the United States of America by WaWa Productions
A portion of all profits go to Direct Relief
Direct Relief is a humanitarian aid organization, active in all 50 states and 70 countries, with a mission to improve the health and lives of people affected by poverty or emergencies.
Nongovernmental, nonsectarian, and not-for-profit, Direct Relief provides assistance to people and communities without regard to politics, religious beliefs, or ethnic identities.
Direct Relief’s assistance programs focus on maternal and child health, the prevention and treatment of disease, and emergency preparedness and response, and are tailored to the particular circumstances and needs of the world’s most vulnerable and at-risk populations.
Direct Relief’s work earns wide recognition from independent charity evaluators, including a 100% fundraising efficiency rating from Forbes, the No. 1 spot on Charity Navigator’s list of the “10 Best Charities Everyone’s Heard Of,” and inclusion in Fast Company’s list of “the world’s most innovative nonprofits.”
LOVE AND DECAY
Love and Decay, Season One, Episodes One-Twelve
Love and Decay, Season Two, Episodes One-Twelve
Love and Decay, Season Three, Episodes One-Twelve
STAR-CROSSED SERIES
Reckless Magic
Hopeless Magic
Fearless Magic
Endless Magic
The Reluctant King
The Relentless Warrior
Breathless Magic
Fateful Magic
The Redeemable Prince
THE STARBRIGHT SERIES
Heir of Skies
Heir of Darkness
Heir of Secrets
THE SIREN SERIES
The Rush
The Fall
The Heart
BET ON LOVE SERIES
Bet on Us, an NA Contemporary Romance
Bet on Me, an NA Contemporary Romance
The Five Stages of Falling in Love,
an Adult Contemporary Romance
Every Wrong Reason,
an Adult Contemporary Romance
Magic and Decay,
a Rachel Higginson Mashup
THE FORGED IN FIRE SERIES
Striking
Brazing
To Bethany, Ashley and Leslie and the nights
We stayed away watching our favorites.
To Dirty Dancing, The Breakfast Club and The Princess Bride—
The movies that made me fall in love first.
The stories that sparked the daydream.
Mr. Ferris droned on and on at the chalkboard. Prepositions and adverbs and yada, yada, yada. I should have tested out of English 101. This was kids’ stuff. I had a solid public school education; I did not need this bull.
Why hadn’t I listened to my mom?
Oh yeah, because I wasn’t speaking to her.
I fingered the corner of the letter she’d sent me yesterday. I’d only just found the guts to open it this morning. I’d read it on the walk to class, knowing I would be distracted dodging morning rush hour through the quad.
Besides, I knew what it was going to say before I ever read, Dear Cassandra.
My mother was nothing if not predictable. Well, until she’d filed to divorce my dad, anyway. She’d been the perfect housewife. Breakfast on the table before anybody left the house. Family dinners were mandatory and absolutely no television during the meal. She volunteered for every school fundraiser, bake sale and car wash. I’d been practically baptized in the garden hose at the gas station down the street.
My mom made Martha Stewart look like an amateur.
But then she’d sent her perfect reputation to hell in a hand basket and destroyed the family I thought was perfect. My older brother, Jason, had been in his senior year at NYU and hardly noticed the change in family dynamic. Once, he’d confessed that he knew it was going to happen.
But I had been living at home during the summer before my freshman year at Wharing University, so I’d had front row tickets to the entire, ugly show.
He cheated on me, the letter had started out.
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. She’d been spinning this story for months.
“Are those notes?”
I glanced over at the jock next to me, Troy Cameron. He smelled like peppermint and Old Spice.
Shoving the letter back into my notebook, I shook my head. “God, you’re nosey.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat that made me want to roll my eyes. He was nosey. Troy, football stud and all around campus heart throb, hadn’t been able to mind his own business all semester.
I was about two assignments away from asking him if he had a learning disability. There was just no way he could miss so much. It was English 101, for God’s sake!
He leaned over again and I got another whiff of his freshly showered body. His light brown hair looked darker than usual, still damp, and his t-shirt clung to his ripped arms as if he hadn’t had enough time to dry off before putting it on.
I didn’t know much about Troy Cameron, but I did know that he had practice before our eight a.m. class which meant he always sat down next to me looking like an aftershave commercial.
Mr. Ferris had sat us alphabetically. My last name was Carmichael, followed by Troy’s Cameron. We were stuck next to each other for the remainder of the semester.
None of my other classes had seating arrangements, but Mr. Ferris was a stickler for attendance and old. He needed us in the same seats every class or his fragile mind would explode.
“Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” Troy asked
.
I glared at him out of the corner of my eye. “Do you have a personal bubble? You’re in my space.”
Troy looked down at the two inches separating my shoulder from his chest and smiled. It was slow and victorious, the kind of smile I expected him to make after a game-winning play. “Am I making you nervous?”
“You’re making me nauseous.” I wiggled in my seat. “I’m allergic to people.”
He made that growly noise again. “You’re allergic to happiness.”
I swirled to face him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He leaned forward, closing the already small distance between us. “You tell me, Goth Queen.”
“Is there a problem?” Mr. Ferris asked loudly from the front of the classroom.
My cheeks heated with embarrassment and I closed my eyes briefly, hoping the entire classroom would just disappear.
Or maybe I could disappear.
Away from Troy and this classroom and my family…
“Carmichael is just letting me borrow a pencil,” Troy answered for both of us. “I forgot mine.”
Mr. Ferris cleared his throat, clearly annoyed, but thankfully went back to preaching about prepositions.
I leaned forward and quietly rifled through my backpack until I found another pencil. The led was dull which made me happy. See, I wasn’t allergic. I just needed the right opportunity.
I held it out to Troy.
He hesitated a second before taking it. Our fingers brushed and I forced myself not to drop the stupid thing. I was acting like a baby. I could admit that. But Troy got under my skin like few other people could.
No, that was a lie.
Most people got under my skin these days. It wasn’t Troy’s fault I was pissed off at the entire world. And especially jocks on athletic scholarships with perfect lives and perfect faces.
I wasn’t allergic to happiness, just his specific brand of it.
He leaned over for the third time. Our shoulders touched, but he didn’t pull back. “Thanks, Carmichael. I owe you one.”
This time I did roll my eyes. And when Troy still hadn’t pulled back, I jerked forward hard enough that he couldn’t help but get the message.
I didn’t look at him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise both hands in surrender. And smile. That damn slow smile.
Class dragged on. An hour and a half of prepositions was too much for any sane person to take.
I took whatever notes I could, but mostly to keep from looking at the letter still stashed in my notebook.
He cheated on me.
He cheated on me.
He cheated on me.
The accusation rolled around in my head like a pinball. Every time I got to the end of the sentence it hit a bonus lane and zinged back into extra time.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I wondered if she could be telling the truth.
My dad was like the superman of dads. He was always home for dinner. He had a great job at the bank. And golfed every Saturday morning with all the other country club dads in town.
He was as predictable as my mom.
But why would my mom make that up?
I had zoned out completely and nothing could have brought my mind back to class. Nothing except the dreaded and unfortunate, “Partner up!”
I immediately glanced to my right, but I was too late. Condren—I didn’t know his first name—had already paired up with Dell.
My eyes scanned the classroom as quickly as possible, but it was no use. I hadn’t exactly bloomed socially this year.
“Partners?”
I slowly turned to Troy. What other choice did I have? Glancing back at Mr. Ferris, I took a resigned breath. No. No way. Not even I was desperate enough to partner with the teacher.
Troy was smiling again. It must be the morning practice. Something about early morning oxygen must make him so happy.
Borderline euphoric.
It was disgusting.
“What’s so funny?”
He ignored me. “I don’t get it. Do you always wear black? Is it like a religious thing?”
I shouldn’t let him goad me. But… “It’s Satan’s favorite color.”
He shook his head, his lips twitching as if he had to work hard to make a straight face. “You’re a piece of work, Carmichael. I can’t figure you out.”
“Then stop trying,” I suggested. “I figured you out weeks ago and I was only disappointed.”
His blue eyes flashed with some emotion I’d never seen from him before. I almost regretted my harsh words. Almost.
But not quite.
The cords in his neck tightened and his hands gripped the edges of his desk. “You think you have me figured out?”
“Like it was hard?”
He glared at me and I could tell that I had truly pissed him off. My chest squeezed, but I tried to ignore the painful feeling.
I wasn’t mean by nature. Pissy maybe. Irritable lately. Even before my parents decided to blow up our family, I had never been the sweetest child on the block. But after enduring a hate-fueled scream fest between two people I had assumed loved each other more than anything else all summer, I was just over being nice.
If my parents had been honest instead of being nice to each other for twenty-four years, we would all be looking forward to Thanksgiving.
“Let’s hear it then, Carmichael. What do you think you know about me?” His voice had dropped low and menacing. A shiver skittered down my spine and I tried to convince myself I wasn’t scared of him. He was twice my size with muscles as big as cantaloupes, but he was a baby bunny inside that tough guy exterior.
“You’re a jock—”
“Very intuitive.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m not finished. You’re a jock, born to a family of jocks, in a long line of jocks. Your dad played football somewhere, maybe here, and all he ever wanted for you was to carry on his legacy. You were the star in high school, probably all-American something or other and now you’re going to be the star here. Just as soon as you put in your dues and sit the bench for a good year. Coach wants to keep you humble. And you’re not quite ready to play in the big leagues. You try hard at everything you do, including school, but not just because of your stellar scholarship. Oh no, you try hard because that’s what Camerons do. They always give it their all.” I emphasized my point by winking at him. And then I leaned back in my chair to revel in my victory.
I could do the slow smile thing too.
“Impressive,” he murmured and I gave myself a mental pat on the back. “Except for the part you got wrong.”
Curiosity ate away at me until I couldn’t help but ask, “Which part did I get wrong?”
His lips were tilted in a smile, but it didn’t feel like a smile anymore. It felt dangerous and dark. “Try all of it. Starting with my jock family that doesn’t exist. My dad bailed before I was born. I’ve never even met the son of a bitch. And my mom died when I was three. My aunt raised me and I don’t know how good at throwing a ball she is because I’ve never seen her do it. I was the quarterback in high school, but not because I had some awesome family cheering me on. It was either football or drugs. I chose football. As for not being ready to play in the big leagues? Sorry, Cassandra, apparently you haven’t been to any of the games this year.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. Hard. It was the first time he had called me Cassandra instead of Carmichael and it would have been enough to derail me except that his story had done a hell of a job of messing with my mind.
“Cass,” I said instead.
Lame.
One of his eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“Everyone calls me Cass.”
His lips twitched. “Cass?”
I shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a nickname. So what?”
His mouth broke into a full smile and my heart jumped. I took a breath and pretended like that didn’t happen. “I know it’s a nickname,” he laughed. “It just, I don’t know, it sui
ts you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course it does. It’s my name.”
He winked at me. “We’ve established that.”
I shuffled papers around on my desk, hoping to appear like I knew what I was doing. “So the assignment? We should probably work on it.”
Troy cleared his throat and tapped the pencil I gave him. “I, uh, don’t think we’re going to have time to finish it in class. We might have to get together later tonight and work on it.”
I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. We were halfway through first semester and this was the first time a guy had remotely asked me out. Sure, Troy was only suggesting it because of the assignment, but it still embarrassed me.
Gina, my best friend, was the pro at this. She got asked out all the time. But I had a hard time putting myself out there. Opening up or whatever. Especially after my parents’ train wreck of a marriage.
“I have plans tonight,” I told my notebook. “We’ll have to find another time.”
He shook his head and I instantly disliked the vibe coming off him. “It has to work. I have practice the rest of the week.”
“It doesn’t work,” I insisted. “I can’t just… reschedule.” I bit my lip, not wanting to go into specifics about the details of my plans. They weren’t life or death, but I had been counting down to this night for the entire semester. Troy Cameron was not going to get in the way.
“Listen, I’m busy the rest of the week and I have a game on Saturday. You’re going to have to move stuff around.”
Whatever small amount of camaraderie we’d established in the last five minutes disappeared. This guy was such a tool. “Step off, Troy. Tonight doesn’t work.”
Students started to stand around us, gathering their notebooks and backpacks. Troy didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at me, waiting for me to give in.
So not going to happen.
I turned to face him, towering over him for the first time ever. “Look, let’s just divide the project up. I’ll do half. You do half. And we can meet together before class on Monday to combine our projects.”