Why didn’t you bring my girl with you?”
I cock an eyebrow at Wanda. “Oh, so Sophie is your girl now? Have I been replaced by a younger woman?”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Wanda says with a shrug.
“Right,” I laugh. “Sophie doesn’t get out of school for a couple more hours.”
“Well, boo.” Wanda shuffles out of the kitchen to settle down in her chair. “Seems like she had a lot of fun on her birthday. It’s all she talked about that day you brought the cake over.”
“She had a blast. She’d have worn that princess dress to school if we’d let her.”
“I forgot to give her the present I bought her the other day,” Wanda says. “Make sure you take it to her, yeah?”
“Just keep it,” I tell her. “I’ll bring her by again after school tomorrow. Aiden has inventory anyway, so he’ll probably be late.”
“How are things on that front?”
I keep my face neutral, appearing interested in a piece of fuzz on my shirt. “Oh, you know. They’re okay.”
“Just okay, huh?”
“Yeah.” I manage to pick the bit of lint away, rolling it between my fingers to look busy. “I think it’s all going to work out fine. Aiden still doesn’t know who I am, so as long as I keep being careful, I think that everything will be—”
“What have I told you about lying to me?”
I look up at her with surprise. “What?”
“I told you, only liars use ‘fine.’ ”
“Oh, that’s a bunch of bullshit, and you know it.”
“Now, don’t think you’re so spry that I can’t whoop your ass.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously, everything is okay.”
“Cassie.”
I worry at my lower lip, averting my eyes to the old shag carpet beneath my feet. I think I’m afraid if I say it out loud that it will somehow jinx everything. It’s only been a week since we got back from our trip, and every time Aiden touches me (which seems to be any stolen moment he can find the chance to do so), I think that this will be the time he finds out. I’ve been careful to keep my scar hidden from him, and if he thinks it’s weird that I keep avoiding taking off my shirt or that I’m always pulling him into a position that hides my back—he hasn’t said anything yet.
“He hasn’t figured it out,” I say again. “Who I am.”
“But something is different,” Wanda accuses. “You look more nervous than a prize turkey in November.”
“Did you know only male turkeys gobble?”
“Little girl, if you don’t tell me what happened right this second . . .”
“I—” I make a frustrated sound, falling back against her couch cushions and grabbing for one of the throw pillows to press to my face to whine her name. “Wanda.”
“Oh boy. What did you do?”
I keep the pillow against my face, mumbling into the fabric. “I slept with him.”
“What? Can’t hear you.”
“I slept with him,” I say louder, peeking over the pillow.
Wanda blinks back at me with an unreadable expression, dumbstruck for a few seconds before she blows out a breath through her lips with a shake of her head. “Well, shit.”
“I know.”
“Was it good?”
“That’s your follow-up?”
She raises her hands innocently. “What? If you’re going to hell anyway, you might as well enjoy it.”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me what a bad idea this is?”
“Oh, it’s a terrible idea, but it’s also been, what? Like eighteen months since you got any?”
“I told you that in confidence,” I grumble.
“If anyone deserves a good trip to Pound Town, it’s you.”
“Please don’t ever say Pound Town to me again.”
“You still haven’t answered the question. I’m old, Cassie. I need some excitement in my life.”
“You get more play than anyone I know.”
“I was trying to spare your feelings.”
I throw an arm over my face. “It was great, okay? It is great. We haven’t stopped since we got back from Anaheim.”
“Oh boy.”
“I know. Am I a horrible person?”
“For which part: sleeping with your boss, or not telling him he used to watch you diddle your skittle on camera?”
“Oh my God.”
“What? What do the kids call it?”
“I want to die.”
“No, you don’t,” Wanda laughs. “You know I’m just pulling your leg.”
“But you’re right. I’m terrible, right? I should tell him the truth.”
“I mean, yeah. You probably should. The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be, you know?”
“I know that. I do, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I’m scared, okay? I like him. He’s not just some voice on my laptop anymore, he’s Aiden. And he’s perfect, and I’m afraid of fucking it up and him disappearing again.”
That’s an understatement. I’m terrified. Everything about the last week has seemed like something out of a dream, and deep down, something tells me that if Aiden were to find out what I’m keeping from him, it would all be over. It already happened once, so it stands to reason that it will happen again.
“First of all,” Wanda starts. “Nobody is perfect. So knock that off. Second, I don’t care if Aiden has two dicks and a seven-inch tongue—he’d be a damned fool to toss you aside.”
“Again,” I point out. “Happened once already.”
“He didn’t know who you were,” Wanda insists. “And you didn’t know him. Not really. You can’t plan your whole future just because of one bad day from the past.”
“I guess.”
“But that doesn’t mean you need to be keeping secrets.”
I frown. “I knew you were going to say that.”
“Because you know I’m right, Cassandra.”
“Ouch. Full name. Pulling out the big guns, huh.”
“You always think the worst of people,” Wanda sighs. “You can’t just assume something will go wrong before you give it a chance.”
“Well, in my experience, that’s exactly how it’s been.”
“Oh, horseshit. Only when it comes to those garbage parents of yours. And you don’t even talk to them anymore. You can’t let the bad taste they left in your mouth ruin your whole dinner.”
“Well, that’s a fun analogy.”
“I’m just assuming Aiden is tasty.”
“Oh, gross.”
Wanda chuckles, shrugging at me. “But am I wrong?”
“You are just entirely too old to be this horny.”
“Don’t be ageist.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So, are you ever going to tell him? You know I’m right. The longer you wait, the uglier it could get.”
“I know that. I know. I’m going to tell him. I am. I just . . . I’m not ready yet.”
“You might never be,” she tells me. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.”
I groan. “Why do you always have to be so right?”
“It’s because I’m—”
“Old,” I finish. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just give him a chance. People can surprise you, if you let them.”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” she says forcefully, grumbling as she pushes up from her rocker. “You know why?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I huff, waving her off.
“You want a drink?”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“You think time matters when you pass seventy?”
“I have to pick up Sophie in a bit.”
“More for me then,” she says.
I watch her shuffle into her kitchen, pulling at her terry robe and belting it tighter around her waist. I’m left staring at the popcorn ceiling of her apartment as she begins to rummage through her fridge. I know that she’s absolutely right, that continuing to keep things from Aiden will only make it that much harder when he inevitably learns the truth; it’s not like I can keep the scar on my back a secret forever, after all. And given its size and its meaning and that he’s one of maybe four people who know it exists—I don’t think I can explain it away easily.
You can’t plan your whole future just because of one bad day from the past.
I hate that she’s always right.
I don’t tell him that night, or several nights after, and a week later, I’m still vacillating between whether or not I should tell him at all. I could argue that there is hardly time for a discussion like that since all our alone time is filled with secret kisses and touches that make me lose my head, but I’m well aware it’s a threadbare excuse at best. How in the hell do I even start a conversation like that?
Oh, by the way, you actually used to watch me touch myself. I thought you liked me, but then you ghosted me. Isn’t it funny how we found each other again?
Even in my head it sounds ludicrous.
I’m frowning at the coffee maker on this particular morning, watching coffee drip into the pot while my thoughts are far away, and it’s probably for that reason that I don’t hear him coming down the stairs. I don’t realize he’s there until I feel Aiden’s arms sliding around my waist to pull me against a solid body, and I can’t help the silly grin that forms when I feel his lips at my throat.
“Good morning.”
“Sophie . . . ?”
“Still passed out,” he tells me. “I just checked.”
“Someone’s getting bold,” I tease.
“Mm. Addicted, maybe.”
“I call that job security.”
He pulls away from me laughing. “Hysterical.”
“What do you want for breakfast?”
“Whatever it is, we better start now before Sophie wakes up, or we’ll be having pancakes again.”
“I think you’re just sore that she doesn’t like your pancakes.”
“I’ve cooked for senators, and I can’t satisfy a ten-year-old. How would you feel?”
“Maybe try something else. Even you can’t mess up eggs and bacon.”
I catch Aiden rolling his eyes beside me, and I wink at him before I return my attention back to the now beeping coffee machine. “Go on. I’ll make the coffee. You can be the breakfast hero.”
“She’ll probably hate that too,” he grumbles.
“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to make them right,” I say seriously. I turn on my best Norman Osborn impression. “You know, I’m something of a chef myself.”
“Should a Spider-Man reference turn me on?”
“Probably not,” I deadpan. “Something is probably seriously wrong with you.”
I yelp when he suddenly lands a smack against my ass, grinning back at him while he starts to rifle through the cabinets for a pan. It’s moments like this that make it so hard to entertain the thought of telling him the truth, this easy routine between us making it even more difficult to try to find some sort of opening to reveal our history. Things have been so perfect, and don’t I deserve a little perfect in my life? It’s been ages since I’ve had any. There has to be some universally accepted perfect-to-shit ratio for everyone.
I do hear Sophie when she comes down the stairs, turning to catch her stretching her arms over her head when she reaches the last step, looking just like her dad when he first wakes up. I feel like I shouldn’t feel so happy to have noticed it.
You’ve got it bad, Cassie Evans.
Sophie lurches sleepily into the kitchen to join us like a newly turned zombie, mumbling, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Your dad is cooking,” I tell her.
She makes a face. “Not pancakes, right?”
“Hey,” Aiden counters, sounding offended. “What if I’d been practicing?”
“Have to be a lot of practice,” Sophie snorts.
Aiden looks at me incredulously with a spatula in one hand and a skillet in the other. “Do you see what I deal with?”
“Oh, poor baby,” I coo, pouring a cup of coffee for him. “So mistreated.”
He shakes his head, returning his attention to the stove. “Everyone is against me.”
Sophie grins at me from the counter, where she’s found a seat, and I return it conspiratorially as I grab my own mug. I watch quietly as Sophie and Aiden continue chatting back and forth while he busies himself with breakfast, and again there is that creeping sense of guilt that settles in my chest like a sticky weight. It’s something I’ve never experienced, this warm sense of family time. When I was a kid, I was usually making my own breakfast, and more often than not, I did it in an empty house. Is that why I’m so hesitant to screw things up here?
Thinking about it makes my head hurt.
“Cassie?”
I turn too quickly, realizing Aiden is talking to me. “Hmm?”
“I said, how do you like your eggs?”
“Oh. Just however you guys have them is fine. I’m not picky.”
“Over easy it is,” he decides.
Sophie blows a raspberry. “I like scrambled!”
“Scrambled it is,” Aiden corrects.
Sophie leans on her elbows over the counter. “Can we go back to the park after breakfast?”
“You have school today,” Aiden reminds her.
“She’s off today,” I tell him. “Parent-teacher conferences.”
Aiden frowns. “I didn’t know that. Am I supposed to go?”
“Nope,” Sophie says smugly. “I exceed expectations.”
Her grin makes me laugh. “She got a note in her backpack that said she didn’t need a sit-down. She’s making straight As.” I cast an apologetic look in Aiden’s direction. “Sorry, I meant to tell you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Thanks for staying on top of it.”
“So can we go?” Sophie looks expectant. “To the park? Please?”
“I don’t know,” Aiden says with a cluck of his tongue. “I don’t know if I can manage the walk while I’m still so devastated about my terrible pancakes.”
“You’re good at other things,” Sophie tries. “Like . . . you always know where the batteries are!”
“Wow,” Aiden says dryly. “Suddenly my life has meaning again.”
I’m trying to hide my smile behind my coffee cup when he looks at me, feeling my stomach flutter when he flashes me a lazy grin that shows just a bit of teeth. Even after everything we’ve done, it still takes me by surprise, how effortlessly gorgeous he is; just looking at his mouth is enough to make me flustered. Not for any particular reason, of course. I’m absolutely not thinking about the way his mouth was between my legs last night, that’s for sure.
“You know,” I tell Sophie, trying to push those thoughts away before I start blushing. “I found a Frisbee in one of my boxes I’ve been putting off unpacking the other day. I bet we could totally kick your dad’s ass.”
“Yeah, let’s kick his ass.”
Aiden frowns. “Sophie.”
“Oops.” I shoot him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
He doesn’t look angry, in fact, I think he’s trying not to smile. “Also, you should both probably know that I was on an Ultimate Frisbee team in college.”
“Oh, wow,” I say amusedly. “I can’t tell if that’s impressive or sad.”
Aiden raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“Go ahead and go shower,” he tells Sophie. “I’ll be done with breakfast by the time you finish.” He turns to point his spatula at us both. “And then I’m going to kick both of your asses at Frisbee.”
Sophie giggles as she hops off the barstool, bounding back upstairs to leave us both alone. Aiden flips the bacon in the pan again before he lets the spatula rest at the edge of the skillet, sneaking a glance toward the stairs before he crowds me against the counter.
“What was that about kicking my ass?”
I peek up at him through my lashes, smiling slyly. “Are you worried, Mr. Reid?”
“Not at all,” he says with confidence. “With full respect to you and my sweet little girl who I love dearly—I’m going to destroy you both.”
That probably shouldn’t make me so excited.
“Maybe I’m a secret Frisbee champion? Maybe I played at nationals in high school.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“See, the fact that you don’t know about nationals doesn’t instill confidence about your skill.”
Aiden grins, leaning in to let his nose run along my jaw, distracting me. “Would you be willing to make a bet?”
“Mm.” I close my eyes when I feel his lips at my throat. “A bet?”
“Just to make it interesting.”
“And what happens when I win?”
“If you win,” he corrects.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“If you win,” he says, his lips tilting against my skin, “I’m going to fuck you on this counter tomorrow after I take Sophie to school.”
“Oh?” My laugh is shaky now, his hand curling at my hip and making it difficult for me to keep my mug steady. “Is that a prize for me or for you? What happens if you win?”
He pulls away, smiling lazily as he looks down at me before closing the distance between his mouth and mine. “If I win,” he murmurs against my lips, “I’m going to fuck you on this counter tomorrow after I take Sophie to school.”
“Wow. Those are some serious prizes. It sounds like I win either way.”
“I promise, I’m the winner here.”
His lips brush against mine, and my lashes flutter closed as he applies more pressure, my head doing that thing where it goes all fuzzy just like it always does when he kisses me. I feel the warmth of his tongue as it teases the seam of my mouth, opening to let him in as he kisses me in a slow, dizzying way.
“Your bacon is burning,” I mumble distractedly.
Aiden sniffs as he breaks away from me. “Fuck.”
“Are you sure you’re a chef?”
Aiden scoffs as he attempts to save the bacon. “Everyone’s a critic.”
I’m still smiling as I take another sip from my mug, my thoughts less focused on my guilt after his touch but not gone entirely. It’s this that I don’t want to fuck up, I think. This easy morning that could become a norm if I let it. I don’t want to lose Aiden’s touch or Sophie’s smile or their cute bickering about pancakes. I don’t want to lose any of it.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter, my brain hopes. That we knew each other. Things are different now, right?
I take another slow sip, trying to push this line of thought down.
I’ll tell him, I assure myself.
Although, at this point, I’m trying to convince myself more than anyone.
—◊—
I should have asked her to do this a long time ago. Seeing her bent over her bed as she fucks herself with the vibrator I bought her—I can see everything like this.
I’m imagining how soft she’d feel if I slipped my fingers inside her, how wet she’d be if I gave her my cock. It’s all I think about anymore, and seeing her like this . . . her ass in the air and her pretty pussy fully on display for me?
I might actually be going insane.
—◊—
