“Just tell me,” I clip out before she can reach for the screen on my dashboard.
I don’t actually need her to tell me where to go; I know exactly where her parents live. But if she starts to type the address into my truck GPS, she might see that particular location already labeled as CP. And she’s a clever enough girl that she might realize it stands for Cassandra’s parents. I sort of doubt that’s something she’d be cool with.
Changing the topic from addresses, I add, “You can let me keep the book as payment.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her crossing her arms. “If I say no?”
I slide her a look. “I’ll keep it anyway.”
“Hans.”
“Cassandra,” I mimic her stern tone back like I’m in fucking middle school.
I glance at her again, and she narrows her eyes. “Why do you call me that?”
“It’s your name.” I play dumb.
“Yeah, but it’s my full name. Everyone calls me Cassie.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t have introduced yourself as Cassandra,” I lie.
Her face does that cute scrunching thing she does when she’s thinking. “I did?”
I force my focus back on the road.
“You did,” I lie again.
“But I never…” She trails off.
“Maybe if you figured out your own name, then your mail would be addressed correctly, and that sex book would’ve been delivered to the right house.”
“Sex book?” Cassandra sputters a laugh. “They are tasteful boudoir photos.”
“They’re a taste of something,” I grumble.
“What was that?” She turns toward me as she asks, causing the skirt of her dress to ride up her thighs.
“What part of St. Paul are we going to?” I try to distract us both.
“It’s by the science museum. You ever been?”
I shake my head, trying to imagine a scenario where I take myself to a museum for… Well, for any reason.
And just like that, the little voice I tried to lock in my basement reminds me just how different we are. How different our lives are.
“You totally should,” she starts, then spends the next ten minutes telling me all about the exhibits there and how often her parents took her growing up.
Her memories sound so fond, and I can’t help but think of my childhood. My parents took us places. I remember loving the zoo. But based on Cassandra’s descriptions, I can imagine how much my sister would’ve loved trying to gross me out in a body parts exhibit.
My sister was always going back and forth between wanting to be a doctor or a veterinarian. She wasn’t squeamish about cuts and scrapes. Never shied away from potential gore. Blood and guts weren’t my thing.
Until they were.
“That’s probably why my parents chose to move near there.”
I missed the last part of what Cassandra said, but I make a noise of agreement anyway.
“How long have they lived there?” My voice sounds scratchy, but I’ll blame that on my recovering throat and not wistful memories.
The rest of the ride is filled with Cassandra explaining how her parents decided to move to a retirement community. How she went on tours with them, the mishaps of a moving truck with a flat tire, and how her parents’ ninety-year-old neighbor, Harold, hits on her every time she’s there.
Me and Harold are gonna have a problem.
Cassandra’s hands fly up. “Turn here!”
The panic in her actions is unwarranted since I was already lifting my hand to flip on my blinker, but, of course, she didn’t notice that. Which is good.
I follow her directions through the large complex of buildings, parking lots, and well-manicured lawns.
Having looked it up, I know this place has everything from regular apartments to full nursing care, so residents can just move buildings as they age.
It’s nice. If you’re into this sort of thing.
Even with this new talk of retirement, I don’t really see myself living to the age of ninety. Hell, at this rate, if I hit fifty, I’ll be fucking lucky.
Cassandra has me pull into a spot labeled for visitors next to her parents’ building.
“Seriously, thank you so much for the ride. I really—”
I turn off the engine.
Cassandra pauses unbuckling herself. “What are you doing?”
She really thought I was just going to drop her off and let her fend for herself to get back home.
She’s pretty. But she’s a fool.
“I’ll wait,” I tell her.
“You’ll… You’ll stay for dinner?” Her tone is a mixture of shock and hope.
“No, I’ll wait.” I settle back in my seat. “Go eat with your parents, Cassandra.”
I should’ve opened the window before I turned off the truck, but I’ll do that after she leaves.
A small choking sound leaves her throat. “You can’t just sit in your car.”
Heaving out a breath, I turn and face her. “You aren’t getting a ride home from some stranger, Butterfly. It’s dangerous. Now get out of the truck and go inside. I’ll be here.”
She mouths the word butterfly before shaking her head. “You’re coming with me.”
“No—”
She cuts me off. “I literally cannot go enjoy myself while you sit out here roasting like a potato in an oven.”
“Potato?” I look down at myself. I know my outfit isn’t the height of fashion, and I might not be as chiseled as I was in my twenties, but potato?
She shoves at my shoulder. “I didn’t mean you look like one. I just like food analogies.” She fans her face. “Seriously, I’m already baking in here. Let’s go.”
With that, she unclips her seat belt, opens the door, and slides out of my truck.
Yeah, sure, let’s go have dinner with my obsession’s fucking parents.
If Karmine could see me now.
I shouldn’t be seen with Cassandra in public.
I shift my eyes to the rearview mirror, looking for anyone suspicious.
But I also don’t believe anyone is following me. The men after me aren’t like that. They aren’t going to watch me to learn my patterns. When they find me, when they get eyes on me, they’ll come for me. Hard. And then it’ll be me or them. Nothing in between.
Cassandra stands on the sidewalk, waiting for me.
Yearning battles with reason as I remember the feeling of waking up with her in my arms.
I open my truck door.
