14. Carter
Carter
B uddy didn’t let her take her bath alone; he insisted on tagging along in the bathroom, crying as though someone had been pulling his teeth in front of the door until she relented and let him in.
Carter only wished he could get away with doing the same.
What the fuck was he doing here?
He actually had the answer to that question, he was just questioning his sanity for submitting himself to it again.
He was dating Cassie.
They hadn’t put it into words, let alone found any sort of label for it, but that was exactly what they were doing.
Whenever something happened to him, she was the first person he told, and vice-versa.
He called and sent texts without reason.
He wanted to know about her day, he told her about his.
And tonight was most definitely a date – an indoor one, which seemed even more dangerous. More intimate. Just… more.
Lost, and a little frightened perhaps, he found himself calling the one person he trusted above all else. Cassie had just gotten in the bath: he had some time for a chat.
She answered on the third ring.
“Why hello, Carter. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can’t a son just call his mother without an ulterior motive?”
“H e certainly can, but we both know he won’t. Get to it, I haven’t got all day.”
He hesitated, because neither of them liked to bring up that particular subject.
“I’d like to talk of Elena.”
“I’d like to forget Elena ever existed,” his mum growled in response.
“You never liked her. But when I told you why she broke up with me, you said you saw it coming…”
“Of course I did, a million miles away. Now, don’t take it the wrong way, but at the time, Harris Toys wasn’t what it is today – you had money, but you were a nobody, and that woman, ” she said, her tone disgusted, “was after a bigger prize. You were just a stepping stone.”
He opened his mouth to contradict her, and closed it again. Elena had always wanted to go to the latest function and mingle. She had left him for an up-and-coming actor.
“But when she said I didn’t pay enough attention…”
“Get real. You forgot your anniversary – so what? Her birthday, Valentine’s Day, her mom’s birthday; you were there for all of those. And every day, after work, you went home to her. Your only mistake there was going for a gold digger.”
Carter was silent on the other end of the phone, considering everything she’d just said.
“You never liked Elena; not from the first meeting.”
“She was shifty. Her eyes never stayed in one place, always looking for something to focus on. Her laugh was fake, too. And she didn’t look at you like you were the best thing invented since chocolate.”
He couldn’t help it, he had to ask.
“And Cassie?”
“Well, she’s too shy, a pretty girl like that should have more self-confidence.”
“She’s gotten better recently,” he said, feeling some pride in that admission.
He knew it was at least partly thanks to him.
“Good. When she looks away, though, it’s steady, and full of humility. She doesn’t fidget or shift. She doesn’t lie. That girl is a pillar – you can count on what comes out of her mouth. You know she got me that scarf, right?”
He smiled. No, no he hadn’t.
“She passed it to Lucy. Softest and warmest damn thing I’ve ever worn – I hope you pay her enough to afford cashmere for your old mama.”
“We pay our employees plenty,” he said, a bit affronted. Then he added, “She’s making some money, too. She writes books.”
“Good ones?”
“Naughty romance. You’d approve.”
“Good grief! Marry that girl before someone else swipes her off her feet, I’m telling you.”
Carter didn’t know what possessed him to confess to it, but he did.
“Someday, I just might.”
“Good boy.”
Some noise from the bathroom indicated that she might be done.
“Okay, mom, thanks for the chat. See you Saturday?”
“No, not before next Saturday night,” she rectified, reminding him, “it’s your Halloween Party, we’ve cancelled lunch this week and next as I’m helping Lucy with the organization, remember?”
“No, so thanks for the reminder,” he groaned, recalling an unpleasant fact.
His mother wasn’t the only one he’d scheduled to see the Saturday after next. He also had a date with Tara.
Fuck.
“For the record? This bubble bath was worth every penny.”
Carter turned and froze. He knew what yoga pants were but he hadn’t registered that they’d fit to her every fucking curve and drive him out of his mind.
It only hit him then that she never wore anything tight – and now he knew why. If she did, every man in her department would walk around with a constant hard-on.
Her appearance right then also explained the hairbands, the pink lipstick, everything she did to make herself look young and innocent.
Shy little Cassie Franklin was Playboy Bunny material.
Long legs, firm thighs, box gap, generous hips, small waist, fucking perfect tits. Hell. With her face cleared of her make-up and her hair wet, falling in waves around her, she was his every fantasy made flesh. How could he not have seen this earlier? How did she hide it so well?
“What?” she asked innocently.
Then she proceeded to bend down to pat Buddy. Oh, god, that ass. Carter found himself biting his knuckles. Un-fucking-believable.
“Nothing. You just look nice, is all.”
She blushed, sending him a shy smile.
“Okay, better start on that risotto.”
Buddy and Carter both followed her around like the lost puppies they were.
Cassie
S omething had shifted tonight, she wasn’t sure what. It was, perhaps, the whole domesticity of the scene - her taking a bath at his place, the shopping, the walk with the dog.
Over the last three weeks, they’d had an untold understanding: whenever they exchanged a hot, lingering look, and remembered what it felt like to feel each other intimately, they ignored it.
Now, Carter didn’t. In fact, quite the contrary.
“How can I help? Put me to work. I can chop and… chop some more.”
She laughed.
“Okay, start with the shallots then.”
They worked side by side in relative silence, Buddy between them.
“Music?” he asked, and without her assent he turned on some blues.
“Summertime, and the livin’ was easy,” she sang along with Ella, the familiar lyrics rolling off her tongue.
“Of course she sings!” Carter exclaimed, his tone half amused, half exasperated.
“Mama wishes I didn’t,” she replied, fondly. “She was a professional singer, you see. She and my sister are very good – I’m not.”
“Honey, some people sing, others torture their surroundings. That was singing.”
“Are you under curtain one or curtain two.”
“Pray you never find out the answer to that question.”
When they stopped speaking, the air was filled with so much tension she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
Thankfully, he did.
“Fuck this shit.”
On that lyrical note, he pushed the chopping board back, took her by the hips, and lifted her onto the countertop before capturing her lips under his.