23. Diego
Three daysafter coming home from Las Vegas, my night with Cassandra felt like a fever dream. We’d woken up that morning for another round of mind-blowing sex and then boarded a plane where…everything carried on like before.
Cassandra held my hand for photographers. She gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek when we were spotted at dinner.
The rest of the time? Friends.
Just Friends.
Painfully friendly.
What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas…for Cassandra, anyway.
Tonight, her head rested on my shoulder, her arm on my thigh as she trudged through a field on screen, looking for a chocobo. So friendly.
“If you’re getting bored, I can take off,” she said, not pulling her eyes from the screen.
“No, this is fine.”
Not fine. Cozy, sure. Frustrating, absolutely. But as an alternative to not having her at all, perfect.
I dipped my head, inhaling clove and cinnamon.
“Got one,” she said, straightening. The top of her head brushed past my chin. A fraction of an inch closer and I would have a bloody nose and an awkward explanation of what I’d been doing.
I leaned forward, pretending to be invested in the game and not in the woman holding the controller, scooting closer to her. She fought the bird until it nearly died before nabbing it with a triumphant cry. She lifted her arms as she turned and wrapped me in a hug.
The controller dug into the back of my neck, and her knee jabbed my thigh. Not a perfect hug, but damn near close. She pulled away with a shuddering breath. The excitement faded from her sparking green eyes, replaced with shock and then…well, it sure as hell wasn’t teasing. Her plush bottom lip disappeared into her mouth.
“Cassandra.” Reluctantly, I loosened my grip on her waist and cupped her cheek.
“This isn’t Vegas, Diego,” she said, but instead of pulling away, she slid her hands onto my shoulders and down my chest. Her gaze followed her fingertips.
“No, but does it have to be?” I brushed my thumb over her cheek, willing her to look up and into my eyes.
Her palms stilled, her head giving the barest hint of a shake. “I don’t know. Does it?”
Her tongue slid across her bottom lip, and my grip tightened. I tilted my head, and her eyes fluttered closed.
POP
Her eyes opened. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said, leaning forward again.
“Do you hear that?”
I didn’t hear anything besides the beating of my heart. “No. Probably the TV.”
Her hands dropped from my chest. “Where’s your water heater?”
“My what?”
She stood up, eyes scanning the exterior of the room before moving to the door. “Your water heater. I think it burst.”
Shaking my head, I stood as she raced out of the room, walking into a small river rolling through the hallway.
“Fuck!” I swore, running to meet her.
“It’s not a big deal,” she waved away my panic, pulling open a door to the laundry room and releasing a flood. “Your water heater is in here.”
“I can handle this.”
She laughed, eyes dancing back to me. “You know what to do with a busted water heater?”
I didn’t.
“Alright, teach me.” I crowded into the small laundry room behind her. Water gushed out of the tank, providing the bare minimum of distraction from Cassandra’s body so close to mine.
“It’s easy. Just shut the water valve.” She grasped a red handle at the top of the tank and pulled it perpendicular to the pipe.
Nothing happened. She cocked her head.
“So, does it take a while for the water to stop?”
“No.” She grabbed the other handle, shutting the valve. Nothing. “Lift me up. I can’t see the top of this thing.”
I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her up. Her ass pressed against my stomach as she leveraged her feet against the tank, angling her head to get a better look.
“Well, that’s not good.”
“What’s not good?”
“Where’s the water turn off for the house?”
“My what?”
“Front yard, I’d imagine. Can you put me down? Someone installed the inlet and outlet backward.”
“What does that mean?”
She buzzed past me, and I followed her up the stairs.
“It means you need to get a shit ton of towels, and I need to figure out how to shut off the water to your house. Do you have a toolbox?” she asked. I grimaced. “Okay. Not a big deal. I’ll grab some stuff from the kitchen and figure it out. Can you make some berms? You’re gonna want to contain the water and hope it doesn’t warp your floors.”
“I can call someone. You don’t need to worry about this,” I reassured her. Could I just let the basement flood and convince her upstairs? Probably not.
“Unless they can come in the next fifteen minutes, maybe it’s better you let me handle this. Don’t worry. I’ll charge you for my time.” She scooped up an assortment of utensils from the kitchen with a wink and darted outside.
I gathered up every towel in my house, stopping to google what the hell a berm was before I set a rolled-up towel at each doorway and sopped up the water gushing out of the heater. By the time I secured the doorways, the flood coming out of the water heater had receded to a trickle.
Cassandra returned, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow and her hair in disarray. “Well, that was an adventure. I’ve never turned off a main water shut off with a spaghetti server before. Also, I owe you a pair of tongs.”
She dropped to the ground, grabbing a towel from the pile beside me and sopping up the water.
I could find an open receiver in double coverage. I could deadlift five-hundred pounds. I could run a sub-five second forty-yard dash. But what the hell could I do off the field?
Not much, clearly.
“How’d you learn to do that?” I asked in awe.
She shrugged. “I’m capable of anything if I’m brave enough and watch enough DIY videos.”
“Wow,” I blinked. “That’s a life motto.”
“It’s served me well. I conned someone into giving me a job as an apartment manager thanks to that motto.”
I sat back on my haunches, turning to face Cassandra. “You’re phenomenal.”
“I’m a college dropout with a resume longer than most chain store pharmacy receipts and a family that thinks I’m squandering my potential. But, yeah, I guess I can also shut off the main water valve.” She kept her eyes glued to the floor, soaking up a small pond gathered in front of the bathroom.
My stomach clenched at the biting assessment. One that sounded completely unlike the woman who let problems roll off her like water off a duck. The woman who didn’t give a shit what anyone thought.
Or so I thought. The brief glimpse into her thoughts took me off guard. Made me mad at whoever put those thoughts into her head.
“And all I can do is throw a football and run. I can’t identify water heaters or mix a bourbon sour or charm a group of tourists.” I brushed her arm, letting my fingers slide down her forearm and my hand settle on hers until she looked up. “You’re a Renaissance woman, and that’s way better.”
Her eyes reluctantly met mine with a shy smile. “A Renaissance woman. I like that.”
I like you.
The words stalled on my lips as she swept up the soaked towels in her arms, some sense of order restored to my basement and her confidence. She dropped the towels into the washer and turned to face the broken water heater. “I could swap that one out, but honestly, you’re loaded. Get a tankless heater.”
“I don’t know what that is,” I admitted. “So, I’m gonna need some help picking one out.”
“I’ll call a plumber in the morning.” She held her hand up as I opened my mouth to object. “Just let me handle it. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything other than football.”
“Is that all you think I’m good for?” I asked with a grin. I set a hand on the washer, crowding her space.
She leaned closer. “Maybe that’s not all you’re good for.”
“Are we going to talk about Las Vegas?”
“Do we have to?” She glanced up at me with a wan smile. “What if it goes poorly and I don’t want to find someone to replace your water heater anymore?”
“I’m willing to chance it if you are.” She pursed her lips, drawing a sigh from my lips. “I don’t think I can forget about that night as easily as you can.”
“I didn’t ask you to forget.” She tilted her head up, crossing her arms. “We shouldn’t have slept together.”
“But we did.”
“But it’s not happening again.”
“Why not?”
Cassandra sucked in a breath at the question, and my stomach tumbled. Why not? Sure, the contract complicated things. Her sister complicated things. My job complicated things. But over the last three days, I couldn’t come up with a single reason that we shouldn’t at least try.
“We have chemistry. We have fun. We work well together.”
She cocked her head, strands of tawny brown hair sticking to her damp skin. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“I’m asking if you want to give us a shot. If you want to date me. Not a joke, but for real.”
Her mouth opened and then closed again. Her brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and shock.
“What did you think I was going to ask?”
Her cheeks bloomed red. “If we should keep banging.”
“Well, I like that, too, just I’d like to do that in the context of dating.”
She pursed her lips, pushing off the washer and walking into the hallway, surveying the floor. “Do you have a fan? I’m afraid the water is going to warp the boards. Is this vinyl or wood?”
“Cassandra,” I followed her into the hallway, placing a hand on her elbow and turning her back to face me. “I don’t give a shit about the floors.”
“You should.” Her chest heaved, and her eyes danced around the room, looking for anything but me to rest on. “You can’t date me, Diego. You know that, right?”
“No. Why not? Are you married? Engaged? Dating someone else?”
Cassandra shook her head. “No. It’s just a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. This…” She spluttered, hand waving.
“The broken water heater? Floods? Home ownership?” I forced a grin onto my face, my tone more teasing than serious despite my sincerity that I wanted to date Cassandra.
“No.” She closed her eyes, tilting her head back with a strained smile that made me want to wrap her up in my arms even as my heart stayed glued in my throat until she agreed to a date. She gathered herself, squaring her eyes on mine. “What if you just like the idea of dating me?”
“I do like the idea of dating you.”
“No,” she rolled her eyes. “I mean, you like the idea of dating me more than actually dating me.”
“Impossible.”
“Very possible,” she countered. “Probable even.”
“Are you just coming up with excuses because you don’t want to date me?” My stomach clenched, but I kept the levity in my voice, teasing her into the conversation.
“No. I don’t need to come up with excuses when there are so many good ones.”
“Name three.”
“One: I signed a contract to pretend to date you, not actually date you. Two: my sister already has you on her shit list and you’d move into the persona non grata if you actually want to date me. And three: you just allowed me to find you a water heater, so I’m sort of your employee.”
“My HR department doesn’t have a policy on intrapersonal relationships.” She giggled, which felt a little like progress. I pressed on. “Alright, you have some valid points. I’m glad you’ve been thinking about dating me, too.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I understood what you meant.” I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. “So, is that a no forever or a no for now?”
“It’s not a no.” Her mossy green eyes met mine, and she smiled shyly. “It’s a not right now. A deferment.”
“Until…” I prodded. ”
“Ask again, once the contract is over.”