Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ISAIAH
Cassidy lies on her stomach with her head resting on her folded arms. The bed sheet is slung low over our waists, and the dimples above her butt are showing.
I thought that she was a bombshell when we met, though nothing compares to how gorgeous a blissed-out Cassidy is lying naked next to me.
Between traveling, crashing through the ceiling, and lack of sleep from all the sex, I’m running on fumes. But her contented sigh amps me up, making me feel like a million bucks for the number of orgasms I wrung from her.
“Why are you not self-conscious of your body?” I rub my sore shoulder and lean against the headboard, trying to get comfortable.
“Why?” She gives me a wide, dreamy grin. “My liberal hedonism hasn’t bothered you so far.”
She’s right. It hasn’t. Nor did tearing at one another’s clothes after my fall.
Kylie was never happy with her looks. There was always one hair out of place. Depending on her outfit, her breasts and hips were too big or too small. My wife couldn’t sit around the house without a dewy foundation of moisturizer. Her lacquered nails were whatever glamor length was trending, in sharp contrast to the short French manicure Cassidy has.
Yet, I can’t accuse Kylie of being high-maintenance without admitting my faults. We got ready for awards shows with his and hers clothing and hair stylists and make-up artists. Lately, I’ve tried to make sense of who we were, who I am, and what my future is supposed to hold.
“Curiosity,” I wince, shifting to my side.
I stuff a pillow under my head and move a blonde lock of her hair that’s blocking me from seeing her entire face.
“My mama is a health nut. She talked a blue streak to my sister and me about loving your body. I’m not sure if Mama was always like that, but she was also my daddy’s physical therapist after he lost his leg. She taught us you are whole exactly the way you are, bodies come in different shapes and sizes, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. So, I’m not.”
“ Hmm.” I hum, satisfied with her concise answer.
Still unable to get comfortable, I roll onto my back. It doesn’t help, so I flip to my stomach, mirroring her position. The whimper-like groan I let out surprises even me.
Cassidy moves on to her elbows, concern etches her brow. Her eyes grow wide. “Isaiah, your back is bruised.”
“You’re just noticing you’ve clawed the crap out of it? I saw the divots you left last night.”
For her short nails, Cassidy has powerful hands. Maybe it’s from kneading bread.
She’s unconvinced. “No, I mean you have a black and blue and scrapes I didn’t put there. Waiting to rip each other’s clothes off until after you saw a doctor probably would’ve been better. You took a decent fall.”
“And the bed broke it. And you did the kind of job of nursing me back to health a man would die a thousand deaths for. Although, I wouldn’t turn down a sponge bath.”
She taps my bicep. “Stop joking. I’m serious.”
“I’ll grab some pain reliever on my way to the shower. Care to join me?” I am sore, but my words are meant to assuage her.
Falling was my own damn fault. I got triggered and went too far into my head. In spite of the merciful way Cassidy understood I needed to be inside of her hot little body to recover, I’m still messed up over allowing the stress I left behind in Nashville to take over.
I want to regain the headspace I’ve had the past two days, able to forget my problems. The idea of hot water on my weary muscles feels as sensational as the sight of Cassidy under the spray could.
She fingers a tuft of my hair. “I’ll wait my turn. You need to scrub to get all this white stuff off. I’ll get dressed , check out the mess, and let my sister know there’s damage to the suite’s ceiling. We didn’t bring down the last of the boxes, either.”
“Don’t go back up to the attic without anyone around,” I caution, sitting up. I’d prefer she not climb the ladder at all. I guess that makes her concern about my bruising make sense. “Promise me.” I cup her cheek.
“I won’t.” Cassidy leans into my palm.
“Do you mind if I use this shower?”
“Nope. I like you in my shower.”
I press my lips to hers before getting out of the bed and walking toward the door in my birthday suit. Twisting the knob, I give a quick glance around as not to surprise anyone. Then I grab my suitcases, phone, and notebook from the hallway. Scampering back into the bedroom, my back is screaming as I place the bags near her dresser and bend to unzip them.
“Needed my clothes,” I explain to a smirking Cassidy.
“ Oh! So, you don’t go falling through ceilings and prancing around naked in the halls at bed-and-breakfasts all over the country?”
“Only this one.”
“Lucky me.”
Nah, lucky me, I think.
With tented knees, Cassidy continues watching what I’m doing. I have to admit I enjoy having her attention. And since she seems as comfortable around me as she’d be around a normal guy, I don’t feel like I’m pulling out the stops to prove the glitz and glamor of celebrity life. It’s more the mundane she’s impressed with.
For instance, I don’t think Cassidy expects me to repair the hole in the ceiling. But if I couldn’t wield a hammer and drive a nail into a board, her respect for me would slip.
“Do you have a vacuum? I can work it. It has a button.” I try sounding like I’m adept at cleaning a rug. How hard can it be?
“Vacuums have switches… And why?”
I point to the faded white footprints on her carpet. The steps I took carrying her from the suite and into the hallway are a breadcrumb trail to Cassidy’s bedroom.
“We’re so screwed.” She shakes her head, her palm covers her face. “I’ll get it from housekeeping while I’m downstairs. Are you hungry at all?”
“Now that you mention it, I have somehow worked up an appetite.”
“I’ll warm the desserts from lunch and bring those, too.”
“Are you planning to parade around with no clothes on?” I ask because she’s still in bed, making no effort to move. I’ll wait around to see that.
“I’m finding my sea legs. Then I’ll get dressed.”
“There you go again, chou, stroking my ego.” I laugh, holding onto fresh clothes. I don’t know why I need them. Both of us back in her bed is my ultimate goal.
“How about I stroke your— eek! ” She squeals as I rush the mattress.
I tickle her and we collapse into a puddle of hard bites, soft kisses, and laughter.
Everything about being with Cassidy feels right. Particularly when she’s looking out for me, and even when we— I —make a disaster out of it.
A warm spot grows in my chest. There’s something special about leaving to wash up and knowing she’ll be here when I return.
I turn the water on and enjoy the daytime view of the vineyard while it heats. On the way into the shower, I notice the bruising on my back that Cassidy was worried about.
I’d say that’s gonna leave a mark, but obviously.
The worst parts are purple with some red scratches. Nothing I’m overly concerned about. Except once the water hits the broken skin, it’ll sting like a motherfucker.
My mind hits rewind from the split-second I felt the floor fall out from under me. Air whooshed up my pant leg and I remember thinking if I went down straight as a board, I risked breaking my legs the way they say happens when someone jumps off a bridge. I tucked my knees on instinct. Although I hardly remember the bump at all, I must’ve banged my back into a two by six as I crashed through the ceiling. My next thought was actually about my own stupidity. Then I was falling. And the final thing that crossed my mind was that my stupidity was ruining the amazing thing I have going with a sexy blonde I don’t fucking deserve… And how I’d be an idiot not risking everything for her.
Cassidy’s suggestion to have the bruising checked out is on-target. The last thing I need to do is ignore it and risk a complication. If I lose my balance when I’m on stage during the upcoming tour, and tumble into the pit while taking a selfie with a fan’s camera, the crowd will tear my shirt off. The view underneath I’m currently saving for a pretty blonde baker.
I tap a message to Vespa about finding a private local physician. My cell rings almost as soon as I hit send and I answer my assistant’s request for a video chat.
“Are you sick?” Vespa gets straight to the point.
“I took a tumble.” I shrug, holding the camera up to hide the indecent rest of me.
“I assume you don’t mean in the sheets with someone.” Her face pinches. “Nice bathroom, by the way.”
Between the dinner reservations, the suit, and having her pack and send a suitcase with enough clothes to tide me through for a week, my assistant is sharp enough to see the writing on the wall. I’m involved with someone.
Vespa’s also not the type to coddle anyone, so she’s equally as pissed I haven’t messaged to get the plane ready.
Not that getting on her bad side is anything new. I’ve been at it since I made her coordinate Kylie’s funeral.
“I’ll give the owner your stamp of approval on their restroom decor… I don’t think I mentioned sleeping with anyone… And through the ceiling.” I tick off the responses on my fingers, hoping to communicate the information she needs quickly and get into the shower.
My irritation with Vespa has been on a slow simmer since she mentioned I should think twice about staying in Texas to meet with Cris and Jake. This is a call I’d rather not have. Hence, why I texted.
“Jesus Christ! Are you kidding me? Are you even thinking? Can you make my job any more difficult, Isaiah?” Vespa reprimands. Her expressions are a wild mix of disbelief, but her sharp black bob remains an unmoving helmet on her head. “What’s gotten into you?”
I could make a shithead comment to rile her up by saying what I’m getting into is Cassidy’s pants, but that’s disrespectful to both women.
The tactic I use instead is restarting the fight my assistant and I began last summer.
“If you don’t want to do the job anymore, Vespa, just say so.”
I once thought being on top of the world meant I had it all. But my rising star was the start of a lie I’ve been perpetuating. The growing list of falsehoods I keep from my fans and Kylie’s bind at my wrists. Not that my marriage was any of their business. I often circle back to the guilt I have about how I treated my wife on the day she died and what I’d do differently. Sometimes I want to slap myself and say “snap out of it!”
My therapist said I’m not the only one with reasons to make amends. I’m just the only one who can. Because I’m still alive, I’m stuck fixing a situation that’s not necessarily mine to fix.
But Vespa? I hired her to manage my affairs.
And not the kind where I expected her to keep any bigger secrets then a surprise anniversary gift for my wife.
Vespa’s job is literally to fix things for me and make my life easier.
So, why can’t I ask her to find me a doctor and then leave me the fuck alone?
I’m well aware that Cassidy and I hardly know one another. I’m pushing too fast straight out of the gate. I should care more about what happens when whatever is happening between me and Cass implodes. But I’ve been lost for a while now, and finding my bags by the door while I was holding Cassidy enveloped me with an uncanny sense of belonging.
Oh yeah, and the proverbial floor disappearing out from under my feet isn’t exactly a new thing for me. But hell if I’m suffering over it this time. I’m grabbing life by the horns.
Considering Vespa currently believes I’m one bad decision away from career suicide, she probably won’t take too kindly to me telling her I’m finally thinking about myself.
Used to self-centered assholes, my assistant only growls at me for telling her to quit.
Vespa might be prickly, but occasionally in show business you need a viper in your corner so that you can keep up the nice guy act. She stays on with me, and I keep winning this fight because I’m not the biggest asshole she’s worked for.
“Just find me a doctor who makes house calls and keep doing whatever it is you have do to take care of everything else.” I snarl, popping two ibuprofen and swallowing them dry.
You’d think like Monty, she’d be happy for a break from my dumb ass over the holidays.
Annoyed, Vespa hangs up on me.
However, I’m sorely mistaken if I think my biggest problem is dealing with an irritated personal assistant.