28. Cassandra
Never takeliquor from a guy named after an animal.
I woke up the next afternoon, head foggy and relieved I’d ended up in Diego’s bed and not curled up by the bonfire. Thankfully, Marla had a pot of coffee on standby, even as she cooked dinner.
I poured a cup and got corralled into helping Marla with the meal. She elbowed Paul out of the way to make room for me, still convinced that she could turn me into a chef despite a lifetime of box macaroni and ramen noodles.
And despite my distinct lack of culinary skills, I couldn’t help but gravitate to Marla. Blonde hair, blue-eyed, and barely five feet tall, Diego had inherited little from his mother physically. Instead, he’d gotten her natural charisma and undeniable charm. Her open smile and warm eyes. She’d clucked over me like a momma hen, making me feel safe and warm and adored. I loved her immediately.
By the time we served dinner, I felt more human. Not great, but not hungover. The piles of food on the table didn’t hurt matters. Fried meat, potatoes, and battered vegetables. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and piled my plate high.
“What are you two up to tonight?” Marla asked as she sipped her red wine.
“Night fishing,” Diego answered breezily between bites.
Paul set down his fork, head tilted. “I didn’t know you fished.”
“Of course I fish,” Diego said.
“Really? I’ve never seen your fishing rods or your tackle box. And your mom keeps all your stuff.”
“Garage,” Diego answered, shoveling a bite of steak into his mouth.
“I cleaned out the garage last summer. I hope I didn’t throw them away by accident.” Paul’s bushy eyebrows furrowed.
“He’s not taking her fishing, Paul,” Marla said with an exasperated sigh. “You remember when the sheriff caught him and Mary Grace out at the lake? That’s what he calls night fishing.”
“Really, mom?”
“Don’t ‘really’ me, Diego. You didn’t have to face her parents at church that Sunday.” Marla set down her wine glass with a faint smile.
Diego shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
His friends had been all too happy to spill how teenage Diego had taken his dates on a long drive on a secluded stretch of country roads to a rarely used fishing lake out in the middle of nowhere. Conveniently, Diego nearly always forgot his fishing gear, but remembered to throw a couple of sleeping bags and a blow up mattress in the back of his truck.
I faked shock. “Wait, we’re not going fishing?”
Marla sighed. “Please tell me you weren’t about to take Cassandra to your make out spot without telling her.”
“Make out spot? I thought we were going fishing.” Diego caught the grin on my face, but I wiped it off before Paul’s wide eyes turned on me and then back to Diego.
“Diego! Really?” Paul tsked.
“You promised me fishing,” I said, pursing my lips with a frown.
Paul’s face turned red as his eyes ping-ponged from me back to Diego. “You know, that’s despicable, Diego. I can’t believe you would act that way. I said the NFL wouldn’t change you, but clearly?—”
“Don’t believe her!” Diego said, eyes wide. “She’s trying to get me in trouble.”
“Me?” I clutched my chest. “After I’ve done so much to help you this season? Why would I want to get you in trouble?”
Marla snorted a laugh, rolling her eyes. “For your own sake, Diego, you better hope Cassandra just wants to night fish. She’s a little out of your league when it comes down to it.”
Hardly.
Although, away from the team and the fancy trips, I could see myself with Diego much easier. We made more sense: lower-middle-class kids with proud parents, loving friends, and a tight-knit community behind them.
“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Diego said with a wry smile on his face, his soft brown eyes making my stomach tumble and my breath catch.
“I’ve got some bait in the workshop. I’ll make sure you’re stocked up,” Paul said warily.
“You sure you don’t want to come with us? You can show us how it’s done.” I stifled a giggle at Diego’s bugged out eyes as Paul considered the offer.
“You’re not going, hun.” Marla patted his hand and stood to collect the dinner plates. “If you two are going to stay out late, be quiet coming home. I’ve got a shift in the morning, but I’ll be back just after lunch.”
“Well, don’t wait up for us,” Diego gave his mother an exaggerated wink. “And if you get worried, just remember that you don’t have to see Cassandra’s parents at church.”
* * *
There was a joke in my hometown: blink and you’ll miss it. The small New Hampshire mountain town had more rotaries than traffic lights, a single restaurant, and a convenience store that also functioned as a grocery store and a bar.
Diego’s hometown made Franklin Notch look metropolitan. One stop light at the intersection of a rundown main street. Diego pointed out the old sock mills and stores, all husks of a vibrant community that now could barely support a gas station.
He turned off the main drag and onto dirt roads, navigating the unmarked roads with ease. Despite my pleas to take the station wagon, Diego drove us in an old truck inherited from his father and left at his mom’s house for his infrequent visits. Judging by the clean interior and the fact the car still drove, I could only guess that Paul kept it serviceable in between Diego’s visits. In the back, Diego had packed a cooler, some sleeping bags, and a couple of fishing lines.
He eased the truck off the road and down a narrow one-lane path. Tree branches and brush bounced off the large body of the truck, mowing down a path until we reached a lake.
“This is nice,” I whistled as Diego executed a five point turn so the back of the truck faced the water. “What’s it called?”
“Lake Elvis Presley.” He shot me a wink before tossing the keys on the seat and exiting the truck.
“You’re joking.”
“Look it up if you don’t believe me,” he said as he pulled the tailgate down and hopped into the back.
I pulled out my phone to prove him wrong but had no service. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”
While Diego busied himself with setting up our site, opening the tackle box and setting up the sleeping bags, I walked along the water’s edge.
“Watch out for gators,” Diego called after me, the advice not even worth taking his focus off the container of worms that Paul had pushed on us before we left.
“Are you serious?” I eyed the water warily. In New Hampshire, I only had to worry about bears, moose, and the occasional snake. Nothing in the water.
“Maybe,” Diego shrugged. “Or maybe I’m lying to get you to hang around me.”
“If you’re scared I’m going to tear off into the woods to get away from you, you’re clearly mistaking me for one of your exes.”
Diego pulled two bottles of beer from the cooler, popping their tops and handing one to me. “Which ex would that be? Because mom hasn’t met a single person I’ve dated since high school.”
“Zoey Meyer didn’t want to come meet your parents?”
He shrugged before taking a long pull from the beer. “I think we both realized that her coming to my hometown would have shattered the illusion we had anything in common.”
“Zoey didn’t come from humble roots?” I wandered over to the fishing poles leaned against the truck bed, moving them aside to hop up.
Diego sat down beside me. “Her dad was a director. She grew up in a mansion outside Beverly Hills. I think the closest she ever got to a place like this was on a movie set.”
“And you’ve been to my hometown, so you know I can slum it in a small town?” An awkward hollow feeling gripped my stomach. “And because we’re not really dating, I guess.”
“Not dating yet,” he corrected with a cocky grin.
“You seem awfully sure about that.” I rolled my eyes.
Diego’s arrogance was impossible to ignore even despite the contract and the drastic differences between our lifestyles. And I blamed that cocky arrogance on why I asked him to bring me to his high school make out spot. Last night, under the influence of peach moonshine and way too much confidence, I believed I’d take him out here, tease him mercilessly, and give him nothing.
On Lake Elvis Presley of all places.
Kismet. And a disaster.
I pushed off the truck bed, scooping up a fishing pole and opening the tackle box.
“We should get these in the water before the sun sets. What are we catching?”
Diego followed in my wake, watching me sort through the assortment of hooks and lures. “I’m not actually sure. Trout and Crappie, maybe?”
“I’ve only gone fly-fishing. My strategy is to pick the shiniest lure. It’s always served me well.”
“You don’t actually want to catch anything, do you?”
The slight tremor in his voice brought my attention away from the tackle box and onto him. “Um…yeah. Why else are we out here?”
“We’re out here so you can see if I can actually fish?”
“I’m also interested if you can gut a fish,” I smiled. “So, two reasons, really.”
“I’ll save you the effort: I cannot gut a fish. Weak stomach.”
I laughed. “And you’re admitting that?”
“What’s the alternative? Catch a fish and have you find out firsthand how high my voice can get when I’m nervous?”
“No. Hope to god I don’t catch anything and maintain your manly illusion.” I grabbed a silver lure with long metallic streamers shooting out the end.
Diego watched me tie on the lure, eyes growing wide. “Oh, shit, you’re serious.”
The sun set over the tree line and with the fishing poles in the water, we climbed back into the truck bed, one sleeping bag propped up behind us and the other over my legs, watching the lines.
“So, did Elvis swim in this lake or something?”
Diego grinned, his brown eyes glinting in the dying light. The chilled air brushed my skin and I pulled the bag above my waist, my body listing into his. “Born nearby. I can’t confirm or deny that he swam here.”
“But thanks to him, you’ll only ever be the second most famous county resident.”
He blew out a breath. “And he was technically born in the next county over. I’m probably never getting a lake, though.”
“You might get a bridge. Or a highway.”
“More like a picnic table.” Diego set his beer on the wheel well, his other arm sneaking around my back, fingers brushing my waist.
“Hey, buddy. I’m just out here to show you how to fish. No funny business.” His grip tightened on my waist, and I rested my chin on his shoulder. “This isn’t Vegas.”
“But you know who sang Viva Las Vegas, right?” The cocky confidence in his voice made my stomach flip.
“Are you quizzing me on Elvis trivia? Because if you are, you’re probably going to win.”
“Maybe. Or I’m trying to distract you from watching your line.” His lips brushed my forehead.
I tilted my head up. “But the jig is already up. I know you can’t gut a fish.”
Everything about sleeping with Diego had bad news written all over it. Even ignoring his seasonal dating history and the contract, I doubted my ability to keep things casual between us. He wanted to date me. Not just sleep with me. Not just hang out with me. Worse, the idea of dating Diego made my knees weak and made me crave something besides the transient life I’d cobbled together.
“Cassandra,” he murmured, taking my hand and pressing it against his pounding heart. I curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, my entire body lighting up with the way he said my name. “I didn’t bring you here to go fishing.”
“Well, good news, I didn’t ask you to bring me here to go fishing.” I ran my hand up his chest and cupped his cheek, running my thumb over his jawline. “Even though I am a very accomplished fly fisher.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He brushed his lips over my forehead, the faint touch making my skin tingle. “You’re good at everything. Ghost tours, catching chocobos, plumbing, kissing.”
“Truly a murder’s row of talents.”
He ducked his head, his lips colliding with mine. His tongue slid into my mouth, and his hand snaked up my stomach, each touch of his body on mine making me desperate for a little more. My palm slid down his neck, fingers diving under his neck band to brush the light traces of hair on his chest. He broke our kiss, shucking off his shirt and throwing it onto the ground.
The setting sun highlighted his muscled abs and contoured his broad shoulders. Apollo. That’s what I’d thought in the parking garage. A living, breathing Apollo. A guy better suited to television screens than under my palms, heart beating fast and lips desperate for mine.
I ran my hand over his stomach, each ridge a reminder that I shouldn’t be here. That this man wasn’t for me. Even if he said all the right words and made me feel all the right ways.
I pushed those thoughts away for later. I’d spend months and years combing over the memories of tonight, just like I had our first kiss. But for now, better to just live them.
He palmed my breast, the fabric separating his hand from bare skin fueling a desperation in my chest. I wiggled out of my shirt, slipping a hand around my back before Diego had the chance to remove my bra. He watched me flail with a grin, setting his chin on my lower belly until the bra joined the growing pile of clothes surrounding the car.
“God, you’ve got an amazing body,” he said, pressing a kiss to the fluffy bottom portion of my stomach.
“Thank you,” I laughed. “I’m still boycotting gyms. It’s become a key component of my personality.”
“It suits you. Change nothing.” He gripped my waist, trailing kisses up my stomach until his tongue teased one nipple and then the other.
I closed my eyes, soaking in the pleasure shooting through my body, and arched my back, pressing my body flush with his. His hard dick strained against my inner thigh. With shaky fingers, I pushed him away far enough to unclasp the button on his jeans.
He braced a hand beside my head on the wheel well of the truck, his lips on my neck and his other hand kneading my breast. Cold metal chilled my back as I struggled to push his pants over his hips. After failing miserably, he groaned against my skin and pushed himself up.
“All clothes, off,” he commanded in a tone that made me want to stand at attention.
“Yes, sir.” I gave him a salute before slipping out of my leggings.
“I like that,” he said with a wink, pushing off his pants.
I bit my lip, memorizing every detail of Diego naked and bathed in the light of the setting sun. Irresistible. Irresistibly calculated too. “I can see why this was your spot.”
“I love the outdoors.” He swooped down, pulling my leg over his hip as he settled between my legs. I wrapped an arm around his back, drawing my fingertips over the muscles of his back and burrowing my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling sunshine and tasting salt on my lips.
How easy would it be to fall in love with Diego?
Impossible, but a nice thought. One that made my body achy and eager. Too eager.
“Please tell me you brought condoms,” I panted as his lips wrapped around my nipple.
“Condoms? Plural?” He pulled away, the night air doing nothing to cool me off. “I like where your head’s at and yes.”
“They better be close.” I arched my hips, dragging his thick cock down my slit, a hum of lust coursing through my veins.
He covered my breast with his hand and rooted around in the cooler with the other, pulling out a handful of condoms that would have made his high school sex ed teacher proud. I grabbed one from his hand, ripping it open with my teeth and sheathing his cock. Maybe taking a little longer than strictly necessary, but when Diego Salazar closed his eyes and knocked his head back with a groan, well…he definitely made stopping hard.
His hand gripped my wrist, pulling me away. “I’m not going to last like that, Cassandra.”
“Good thing we have all night.”