Mixed Connection (Cypress Lake Reunion #1)

4. Chapter 4

4

Mama

We’re rollin’ with the homies, as you kids say.

Pops

Honey, no one says that.

*laughing emoji* Take plenty of pics Mama.

Music thumps from the bluetooth speaker that I set on the vanity. I packed a couple of speakers with me to bring to this project. I knew I was going to be staying here until the tenant was out of my parents’ place and then I would make that my temporary home.

My mom often talked about traveling the world in their ‘suped up camper as my dad called it. An RV that neither of them owned until I was halfway through my freshman year of college. Once I was settled into college life it seemed like those two made a beeline to the closest RV dealership, they couldn’t be out of there quicker. “A push present to Mama,” Pops said. I remember telling him that she pushed me into this world eighteen years ago and he quickly said he’d push me right out the door too if I kept up my back talk. We laughed, but I knew he was somewhat serious.

They left the house to me after they got the tricked out camper and said to treat her right, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I knew they thought I would flip her and use it as a starter fund and in a way, I did. But instead of selling it to someone else, I kept it and worked on it when I had down time before renting it out.

My parents bought this land and the tiny house it was sitting on. Throughout the years they remodeled, building on rooms and enlarging others, they really made it something of their dreams, I couldn’t put a price tag on sentimentality.

They’ve been all over the place, and are currently somewhere close to the Glacier National Park, getting their sights in. I shake my head, knowing I’ll be getting a load of pictures of the same mountain from my mom soon.

The water is starting to run cold, so I turn it off and step out of the shower. My plans were to flip this house, one I very much need a name for. I always name my projects something that evokes what the house could feel like to potential buyers, and bring quick cash flow into Crew Construction and Consult. But the more and more I work on this particular property, the less I want to sell it. Making it a short-term rental property may be the better way to go; I’m not sure why I never thought of it for this house.

I pull my lips in as I consider the other property I bought at the same time as this one—it’s in a better area to sell. It’s a two hour flight from here, which is great since I’ll need to go visit that location when I’m about halfway done with this one.

Tucking the towel in tightly around my waist, a notification interrupts the music only for a second, reminding me I need to get a move on. Project management needs to start for this new house if I am going to stay on target to finish in eight weeks. It’s tight, but it is possible given the house has great bones and doesn’t need much work, it’s all cosmetic and add-ons.

Being back in my hometown is most definitely a blast from the past, this place holds a lot of great memories for me. I’ve come back occasionally for meetings at Crew’s home office but I wasn’t staying for fun. More in and out to get a job done before I’m needed on another project.

When I got the reunion invitation in the mail, I knew I wanted to be here. Not because I wanted to relive any of my past, but because I knew I would get a chance to catch up with people I hadn’t seen in years. And yeah, okay, maybe show off a bit. I’ve changed a lot since high school like everyone has, I assume. I’m proud of the life I’ve built for myself; my confidence wasn’t sky-high during school and now, I feel pretty damn good about myself.

My phone chirps through the speakers again, reminding me to check my messages and notifications from the night before, I reach for it and lean against the vanity. My lips twitch when I see who has been messaging me. I got a few friend requests the other night from old friends after the reunion, one being from Cassidy. Considering she gave me a faulty number, I’m surprised to see she sent me a request at all. Could it have been a mistake?

Of course it was, she was the one who offered it to me, I didn’t even ask for her digits. I’d wracked my brain trying to remember her last name, I didn’t catch it at the reunion. I rub my hand down my face, realizing I could have reached out to Janelle but I didn’t consider that at the time. I wasn’t going to make a fool out of myself.

At least not again.

I thought I made it pretty clear how attractive I thought she was and how interested I was in her. When we went to high school together, we didn’t know each other but I saw her. Everywhere. She was beautiful even then, always clutching one of those zip-up purple binders with a book or two, but now… she’s stunning. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. She has this soft energy that evens out her loud infectious laugh and quick wit. And the kind of curves I would gladly cherish, I wanted to kneel at her feet and get my fill of her. Though I don’t think I could ever get enough of a woman like her.

Clicking on the notification, the app pulls up her messages and my mind scrambles, almost dropping my phone in the process. The picture is framed by a gold mirror that’s on her floor, but fuck if that is where my eyes are. She is lying on her side in nothing but a sheer lace bra and a sheet covering the apex of her thighs. Her breasts spill over, giving me a hint of the dark rosy areola. I follow her lines, seeing how the valleys and hills of her hips create a space where I want my tongue to explore. She has the sheet draped over where her panties are and I find myself wanting to peel back the sheet with my teeth. My eyes squint as if that will help me see through the deep-green fabric that covers her but also enhances the warm tan of her skin.

Fuck .

Her thighs are large and even through the picture, I can tell they’re soft. I palm my cock through the towel as I force myself to scroll up, wondering if she sent a message along with this, telling me that these are just for me. Even now, I don’t want to consider these being for another man. I don’t know what I did to deserve this but I plan on making it up to her the moment she gives me a chance.

Instead, I’m met with another picture and I groan at how hard I am. This time she’s laying down with her head hanging off the end of her bed, her eyes staring straight at the camera, at me, and fuck if that doesn’t make me relive past fantasies. Her ample cleavage spills over and out of her bra, and her legs are spread but I can’t see much from the angle she is at. What I can see is that one of her hands is gripping her breast and then slides down then back up, gripping her breast again, in a boomerang loop. I involuntarily stroke myself at the thought of where that hand is going, at it being my hand.

When I finally pry my eyes off of her and scroll a bit more, I finally get her message.

Cassidy Heart

This could have been yours but you never texted me. *peace sign emoji*

Oh, this woman has no idea what she just started. I swipe my hand across the fogged mirror to clear the condensation, water droplets stick to the glass, just enough for her to see exactly what I want her to. I take a few steps back towards the door. Angling my camera at the mirror, I grip my aching cock through the plush material. This causes my makeshift garment to partially fall away behind me. I stroke myself slightly before tossing the towel to the mirror as I take a Live Photo, obscuring her view completely. My locs hang down the front of my chest as I tip my head forward slightly and snap a picture, only for her. I want her to see exactly what she does to me.

I would have taken those pics for you if you gave me the right number, Babygirl.

Chuckling, I set my phone down to fully dry my hair, getting lost in my thoughts from the night of the reunion. When I opened the front door of Cypress Lake High, I was stunned by how well the inside of the building was decorated. Looking at the outside, I felt like I was suddenly stuck in the past. Curls caught my attention and I scoured the main hall to determine who I thought they might belong to, who I hoped they belonged to.

I lost them as soon as I saw them before an old acquaintance called my name and clapped his hand against my back. We caught up on some small talk before Anderson, my best friend, saved me by returning an earlier missed call I left about a house remodel. He all but forgot that I wouldn’t be on the property since I was coming to my ten year high school reunion. I gave my old classmate an apologetic headnod before throwing my thumb over my shoulder towards the gym where the main area of the reunion was happening. I made my way towards the gym and ran into the girl I had a crush on throughout all four years of high school.

I quickly ended the call with Anderson, just in time to catch her by the elbow. I let my gaze fully assess this woman who had taken over my thoughts at random throughout the years. She was stunning, her clothes melting into voluptuous curves that would make anyone stare, and I was—staring, that is. It was a hell of a task to force myself to look at her eyes. But when I did, I was met with her deep-brown gaze which held more surprise than shock, enticing me to lean closer.

It was definitely her; I never caught her name all those years ago and somehow I was tongue-tied at the worst time. Unable to think of asking for her name, I pulled on my normal, calm, confident demeanor like a warm coat. She probably didn’t even know who I was and possibly nervous that a stranger just barreled into her but she smiled back at me, giving me a gentle nudge towards ease. I gently released her from my grasp, made a parting comment I can’t even remember, turned on my heel and made my way into the gym. Music and the sound of rain bounced off the walls, but all I could hear was the erratic thumping of my own heartbeat. I was too nervous to ask for her name all those years ago and I let my teenage nerves flatline my chance just a moment ago, but I wouldn’t be letting that happen again, not a third time.

Bumping into Janelle was a highlight of the night, she was an amazing friend. We tried to date, and by try, I mean we went on one date to a diner all the kids would go to, we shared a cheeseburger and a double order of fries before making our minds up that we were far better friends than whatever we thought we could be romantically. The experience strengthened our friendship, we were each other’s shoulders to lean on, or we ended up roasting each other to bits.

As soon as Janelle waved me over, I spotted those long, chestnut curls swaying back and forth as she chatted away with her friend. I didn’t take my eyes off her for the remainder of the night. She was funny, easy to talk to, and downright sexy. Cassidy. And right now, these pictures are going to do me in.

Seeing her bountiful thighs in this picture, absently I bite into my bottom lip imagining how sweet she must taste. Cassidy had this way about her all night and I wanted to get to know her more. So, when she quickly gave me her number, I did my best to remain cool and not show just how excited I was that she beat me to it. Except, when I sent her a quick text, telling her I hoped she made it home safely and to save my number, my smile quickly fizzled out when the response that came back was from Alma, an eighty-seven year old woman who was up late watching Criminal Minds.

Alma

Oh honey, you have the wrong number. I wish I was about 40 years younger, now my walks on the beach are a lot slower. *winky face*

I couldn’t help but laugh at Alma’s advances. I let her know that I might just take her up on her offer.

Now that Cassidy messaged me on social media, I’ll put the ball back in her court. My ringtone sounds from the countertop, pulling me out of my thoughts completely. Anderson Jones’ name shows on the screen of my phone, a picture of my niece in place of what would be his face. I hit the green button to accept the call.

“Anders, what’s up?” If it wasn’t my best friend I may not have bothered answering at all. Anderson and I have been friends since birth, our parents were close. And of course that made us what we are today, following in our parents’ footsteps. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“What’s going on man!” The joy is evident in his voice. “Just checking that we are still meeting up tonight to chat it up about the house you bought. I’m really glad to be flipping a house together, it’s been too long.”

Anderson has been a general contractor for years, his grandfather worked in housing construction and we would spend the summers with him when we were teenagers. Becoming men as his grandfather would tell us. Now we co-own Crew Construction and Consult, also known as Crew, or even Triple C as we sometimes call it.

Though we own it together, I own forty-five percent of the company and manage all the consulting clients we bring in. He fought me on being an equal partner, but Anderson was the one who built this company from the ground up. I came in later when he was ready to add a new wing to the business—back when it was just Crew Construction. He wanted more, and our partnership felt natural.

I bought this house in Cypress Lake on a whim, knowing it would be a great property for us to work on. Something about it really called to me, I couldn’t pass it up. A few weeks after I signed the paperwork, a purple envelope showed up in my primary residence’s mailbox—an invitation to my high school’s graduating class’ ten year reunion. It felt like a happy coincidence that the new project would be in my home town. I flew in a week early to enjoy the reunion and check on the tenants that were renting my childhood home.

“Yeah, man! But let’s meet at this local bar I recently found out about a few days ago. There’s someone there I need to check in with,” I say. We agree to meet around seven; I disconnect the call and finish getting ready for the day.

If I am going to stay on target for this house, I need to finish up the budget for both the selling potential and the marketability of it as a short-term rental.

When I was younger I always thought I would wind up playing football and be some kind of NFL star. Don’t get me wrong, I love the game but now that I am really working within my passion, I couldn’t imagine being a professional athlete.

Shaking my head, I pull my locs back and pull on a deep-green beanie that matches my tracksuit before spraying my favorite cologne. If I’m going to get my truck detailed and oil changed before meeting up with Anders, my gaze snaps down to my watch, I needed to head out the door about five minutes ago. Toeing on my white sneakers, I rush out the front door.

With the maintenance for my truck out of the way I was able to make it to the bar a little earlier than Anders, looking around the parking lot to ensure I don’t see his SUV, I make my way to the front doors.

Shaken Tropes has a lime green neon sign out in front, with large leafy green plants that line the walkway of the brick building. From the outside I can see the history of the building, the aged brick is something I have learned to love since I started flipping houses. This building reminds me why I fell in love with flipping and buying properties for possible clients.

The new builds we do for Triple C are beautiful but there is something about older buildings, there is a charm to them that is nearly impossible to recreate, and people will pay top dollar for character.

Cool air greets me as I pull open the bar’s front door; the inside is modern with a cozy feel to it. Creating nooks for readers to lounge in while they sip their drinks. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling allowing a sultry glow that pulls me closer towards the bar.

If luxury living and the coziness of a winter cabin had a baby with a library, this would be the vision, and I can’t lie, I’m feeling it. The bar top is smack dab in the middle of the space with low back barstools that beg to be sat in, and I would do just that if I didn’t have ulterior motives for being here.

Grabbing a booth in the back corner, I don’t have to wait too long before a door swings open next to me and those wide hips come swaying out. My hands strain at the effort it takes for me not to reach out and grip them, to not slide her onto my lap. Those pictures she sent me are seared into my mind and now that I’m here she is all I can think about. Like the creep that I apparently am, I continue to watch her.

I can tell this is her happy place, she smiles at all the customers and laughs with her friend who’s behind the bar. She looks oddly familiar, but I don’t spare her another glance as I am focused on Cassidy. I have it bad for a woman who I have had two conversations with, if I can even count the messages as a conversation.

I get up and start moving before I really know what I am going to say. But I do know one thing, I haven’t gotten her off my mind since literally bumping into her, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.