attwoods:
sutton felt the tangible essence of her desperation to keep the mood light between them; she had promised her best friend, the bride-to-be, the girl who was practically her sister, that she would do her very best to be more than civil; she would attempt to be friendly. now, in his presence, she felt the innate need to do just that. to ensure that their interaction avoided awkward lapses or the sharp-edged cut of cassian’s candor. and maybe, if sutton was ever able to admit to herself, there was a part of her that wanted to make these moments count; each second that ticked away led closer to the end of this – the wedding, or better classified: their temporary common denominator. she did her best to quell the rapid-fire pace of her heart, now thrumming like a hummingbird’s wing in her chest. being here – with their friends, their family…it was inevitable that sutton felt the nostalgia creeping in. a sensation that had once been quite welcome now a double-edged sword, tipped in poison as memories leaked like ink into her mind.
she’s nine again, standing beside lyla in her childhood bedroom. decked in chiffon and silk, pinks and cremes everywhere the eye could see, they had stood in the center of her room, standing face to face. in sutton’s hands, she was holding a bouquet made of toilet paper roses, swathed in spare material she had stripped from one of her outgrown tutus. she stood slightly taller than lyla for once, her small feet tucked into a pair of her mother’s heels, snug and with her toes pressed against the edge in attempt to keep them from slipping off. lyla stood across from her in one of her brother’s black sports coats, and held a gaudy, cheap ring from a machine that only accepted a quarter for currency. it was a memory that blurred over time, each instant where they had done this very play-pretend smudging together into one recollection. sutton, offering lyla her left hand as she slid on the ring. their pealing pre-adolescent voices thick with their bostonian accents saying i do with excitement. after, a vision of lyla’s sorrowful face swims to the surface, her paint chipped fingers fidgeting as her mood dropped. it always did after they played wedding; though the girl was always one to offer it as a suggestion to sutton. ever the faithful companion, sutton would ask what was wrong, only for lyla to tell her a slight variation of one thing. ‘you’re going to get married. i don’t think i ever will.’ and sutton’s refusal to listen, to play into the girl’s deprecation of her far-off future, was always fastidious, careful and cautious as she insisted otherwise. but lyla would only press on, determined in her mind about how their lives were going to go. ‘you’re the girl in the fairy tale, sutton. you’re the one prince charming will risk everything for.’
it was a reminiscence that sutton couldn’t have avoided she realized, as the ache of the truth squashed her friend’s decade-old declaration. being here, with the draped canopies and the glow of the fireflies, with the smell of the blooming flora dominating the beautiful yard – they were here for lyla and tyler, their friends that made love look easier than breathing. how wrong she had been; how different their paths in life had become. lyla was now the princess, and sutton the fool who readers don’t pay mind to as the real love story unfolds, leaving her steadfastly behind. the heartache of it is breathtaking, and even as she gives cassian as much of her attention as she can, the simple act of looking into the warming coolness in his green eyes had her feeling hesitant. if she couldn’t do this, manage her warring heart and mind, she would do it for him. even now, even without thinking, he managed to instill her strength within. a lovely smile adorned her sharp features, laugh lines present as she keeps her gaze on him with an unwavering surety. ‘well, boring or not, i’m still pleased that i was chosen as the person to ensure you enjoy yourself tonight.’ she tilted her head, bare neck now more exposed – in another world, it would have been an offering. touch me. please. now, it was simply an old habit, her delicate fingers cresting over her nape as the reception’s hired band – completely different than the one they hired for the wedding – began to play a live, remixed version of a frankie valli and the four seasons song, frankie’s high falsetto absent as the beat played soundly, causing people to rise and make their way to the dance floor. it was the perfect opportunity.
bringing the flute to her lips, sutton allowed the rest of the champagne to slide down her throat, her rising courage bubbling alongside the beverage’s carbonation as she stands to her feet. every movement was accented with her natural grace, elegance emanating from her even as she moved across the short stretch of grass that was a threat to the sharp stiletto of her heels. as she reaches the dancefloor, her step doesn’t change as the terrain does – with the ease in which she had traveled the short distance, her feet could have been bare. then she’s moving, standing amongst the dancing guests, her body instantly in rhythm with the song; she switches out the poised precision from ballet with mindless movements of her gift. she sways as if she’s a part of the music, her hips in time with each pounding of the beat. and this whole time, her eyes were settled on one person; sutton’s inhibitions bled away in the face of the music, of him. another smile stretches her lips as she arches her brows, a challenge that reads let me entertain you as she offers her hand for him to take.
it had been six months, and cassian wasn’t sure he’d ever grow accustomed to the ache burrowed at the pit of his stomach, that knocked it’s way all over his vital organs like a rogue pinball machine. her saccharine smile jolted his chest back into motion, taking three heartbeats just to get through her name. the steady eye contact fell just over the border of a little too much for him, but he wouldn’t break it for any welcome distraction in the world. he was too lost in the feeling that came rushing back like a tidal wave, when he was allowed to stare into her rich brown eyes, curtained by black lashes, the color as taken for granted as the woman who saw through them. god, how many times had he heard to count his blessings, because girls like sutton only came around once in a lifetime, if some sorry asshole like him was lucky enough to catch her attention. he swam in it for years, and even now, he was floating in soft cloud of her perfume, basking in the light of her grin that would blind any other unsuspecting man, splashing around the deep, calming timbre of her voice like a birdbath. perhaps everyone else was right, they’d all known better – his time with sutton hadn’t been forever, but being next to her, it still felt like it.
his sharp stare cut to the expanse of skin she revealed as she tipped her head to the side. her neck was unadorned by any jewelry and the neckline of her dress dipped just far enough to leave anyone who wasn’t cassian to the wonders of their imagination. cassian? he didn’t have to wonder if the freckles that dotted her shoulders extended underneath the clothes, his brain didn’t need to come up with the fantasy that her breasts fit perfectly into his palms, or how no sound compared with that of her lips forming around the syllables of his name. for not the first time that night, he allowed himself to picture how their night might have ended, had the circumstances turned out the way they were meant to – one of her pretty shoes missing and the delicate dress lost somewhere between cassian’s bed and his self-restraint.
cassian pulled himself from his brief crisis only to watch the lightly-colored liquid drain from its crystal flute, and in the chest moment sutton was standing, leaving cassian momentarily face-to-face with the temptation of her chest, a blank canvas asking him to make a jackson pollock mess with his mouth. he knew his mouth was agape as sutton sauntered away from him, eyeing her legs as she twirled away, the effortless move she made from soft grass to dance floor, like there had been a seamless red carpet only sutton was able to see. the short hem of her dress picked up, just for a moment, and cassian wasn’t sure how he could ever fathom wanting anyone else, least of all like this, when the desire he felt for just another peek of her upper thigh was written all over his face.
when he looked up to find sutton already studying him back, he registered the moment of shock fleetingly. he followed her steps, swallowing the dregs of his jack-and-coke and his willpower, before he stood, legs seemingly moving of their own accord after her. an mirroring smile appeared on his face as he loomed closer, any hesitancy he’d been showing earlier that night was gone the moment his hand curled into hers. dancing with sutton was something he knew intimately well. besides being an avid spectator, it was different, seeing her dance up close, knowing how just swaying to the melody could bring a look a total serenity to his love’s face. he stepped back, extending his arm so he could twirl her easily into his chest, eyes flickering down to watch the rapid movement of her feet as she did so, out of sheer old habit. cassian caught her, as always, his other hand resting on her waist, just above the swell of her hips. “you’re already doing a pretty great job, attwood.” cassian teased, alluding to their conversation just a minute before. he hadn’t even registered the song that had been playing until he’d settled into this moment of blissful familiarity, and a low hum started up in his chest once the notes filtered into his ears, replacing the void of the crystalline pitch frankie valli provided.
cassian was moving entirely on muscle memory. the touch slung slow on her waist, and the close proximity of their bodies (almost completely flush) didn’t occur to him as anything out of the ordinary. the hand that had hers brought them jointly to his chest, simply holding it there, and while he wondered if she could feel the rapid pace of his electrified heart, he paid no mind to the intensity of his scrutinization of her lips. six months ago, kissing her would’ve been the next step he’d taken. it wasn’t until his head dipped infinitesimally to follow through with his thought that the reality of the situation occurred to him and he composed himself, straightening his spine and halting the humming to clear his throat, though keeping everything about their position otherwise the same. he broke the unwavering attention he’d been holding on her to glance around at the other couples making their way to join them. cassian wondered if the love and longing in his eyes was apparent, even to them. “what are the odds you do your best moonwalk from one end of the dancefloor to the other?” he asked, suddenly, desperate for distraction to keep his mouth from reminding sutton of what they did best. “i promise i’ll hold your shoes for you.”















