11. Cassidy
Chapter 11
Cassidy
S ilence. The moment he sat down, cross-legged at the coffee table, Eric poured himself a big glass of red wine and downed a quarter of it before lifting his gaze to meet mine. I’d since turned off the music and now the crackle of the fireplace was almost deafening.
My first glass of red wine had already gone to my head and effectively bruised my ass when I’d lost my footing outside. I was still trying to navigate around Eric’s intensity so countering it with my best charm, I gave him a bright smile and offered him the giant spoon first.
The vegetable casserole sat between us. “I hope you like it. I haven’t made it before, but Lori’s instructions helped.”
“Thank you for making this,” he said politely as he scooped a heap onto his plate. By the time he was done with it, half the casserole dish sat on his plate. Well, for a man of his size, I supposed he would eat a lot. Especially after all the exercise he’d just done. My mind drifted to the image of him chopping the wood and how tightly the shirt clung to his perfectly molded body—which was incidentally confirmed moments ago when he walked out of the bathroom in only a towel. I gulped and felt heat rise to my cheeks.
I was no innocent but the way Eric looked was sinful. I’m sure women fawned over him all the time. I imagined he had ample of options back in Chicago. It was surprising he didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend, but he’d made it very clear he wasn’t interested. I wondered if he’d recently had a bad breakup. Maybe that’s why he looked sour most of the time.
“What’s it like living in Chicago?” I asked, trying to create polite conversation as I served myself. He was already shoveling down his meal. Quietly, I added, “Is it good?” Maybe he was eating it out of obligation.
He waited until he’d finished with his mouthful, then said. “Good and good.”
Right. He studied me as I picked at a small piece and ate it slowly. I turned it over in my mouth, surprised by how good it tasted. I raised my hand in front of my mouth. “Oh wow.”
A warmth spread through his features as I laughed. “Wow it actually tastes good,” I said surprised. Was I turning into the new hot chef on the block?
“Why don’t you cook much, you seem to enjoy it?” Eric asked.
I shrugged, running a hand through Shadow’s fur as he lay between me and the fireplace. It created a certain ambiance in the air—nice and comfortable— and charged with an energy I tried not to acknowledge.
I picked at my next bite. “It’s kind of busy in Manhattan. I always have events and parties on. Everything just seems on the go, you know? It’s much easier to grab a juice that has everything I need than to cook anything. I just don’t have time, I suppose.”
“You know juices aren’t actual food, right?” he said matter-of-factly.
I raised an eyebrow. “That could be a very controversial opinion, Eric,” I teased him.
“Maybe. Well, it remains the same, you should cook more often for yourself. You seem to enjoy it.”
I smiled shyly into my food. What was happening? I was never coy or shy. But I didn’t get to show this side of myself to anyone either. Around Eric, I had no inhibitions and that was worrisome. In Manhattan I was expected to be and act a certain way and unapologetically. And that was me—authentically. But I hadn’t been able to explore this side of myself either. I’d been too focused on finding Mr. Right the entire time as I ran away from Mr. Wrong that I kind of lost myself in the process. The realization left a sour taste in my mouth, and I pushed the meal away.
“What’s wrong?” Eric grimaced and frowned at my plate.
“Nothing, I’m full.”
“You’ve hardly touched your food.”
I cocked my head to the side, studying him, a teasing smile playing at my lips. He seemed to watch me warily. “Eric, despite you’re big broodish size, you’re more like a mother hen.”
Red streaked his cheeks, and I found it adorable. “No,” he quickly snapped. “I just don’t like wasted food.”
“Then you can have my plate too,” I challenged, noticing he was already done with his. I handed it over to him, and with no complaints, he ate it. I found myself rather smug as I watched him eat. There was something rewarding about watching him enjoy the meal I’d made. It was so out of my comfort zone, and yet I felt content.
I stood up, grabbing the bottle of red and topping both of our glasses. I grabbed his empty plate and the casserole dish. “Do you feel like playing a game?” I asked, looking over my shoulder as I stacked the dish in the fridge, then washed the plate. The moment I mentioned “game,” his expression changed, and I felt a heat flood through my core. Oh fuck.
“What kind of game?” His gravelly voice broke through the cracking wood and straight to my pulsing heat. Wow that red wine really had gone straight to my head and three months of celibacy was really starting to bite me in the ass.
“Lori added a pack of cards to the hamper. I thought maybe we could play a few rounds?” I said holding up the deck of cards.
He cleared his throat, as if relieving himself from whatever thoughts he’d been having. Despite the age difference, we were still a man and woman, stuck in a stunning cabin with a crackling fireplace, the mood couldn’t be any more inviting to be tangled in his bed. Another wave of heat. Okay, I really needed to slow down on the red wine.
“Okay, what game?” he asked, bringing my now empty plate to the counter. His large frame spread a heat across my back like an inferno pinpricking goose bumps. My breath hitched. Damn it, why’d I have to see him chopping that wood. Everything in my body sparked at the thought ever since.
I let him gently push me out of the way as he washed his own dish. There was something comical and endearing watching this brute of a man hunched over and doing the dishes, a most domesticated display.
“Poker?”
He looked up at me, a twinkle in his eyes. “You play poker?”
“Well no, but I’m sure I can learn. Why, is it a bad idea? We can play something else.”
He shook his head, that twitch playing at his mouth again. I wanted to make him laugh. Almost yearned for it, like another reward.
He leant across from me, his arms folded over his chest. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, I just didn’t think you’d have the best poker face.”
Sweetheart. There was something about that endearment that put my heart into overdrive. Damn, the way I was going I’d have to pull out my friendly intimate toy ASAP just to relieve myself.
“I have a poker face,” I blurted out, not even convincing myself. “In fact, let’s make it interesting.”
“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow, a smug expression slipping through his neutral and controlled mask.
Like a teenage girl, the only thing cheering in my mind was strip poker, strip poker, strip poker. I swatted away the images that came alongside that devilish dance.
We’d unconsciously leaned into one another. He smelt of fire and wood, everything earthy and grounded. “Whoever wins each hand gets to ask the other a question. And the loser has to answer honestly.”
He considered it, rubbing at his beard thoughtfully. “Okay,” he agreed. “Poker it is.”
I gulped as he inched closer. “Yes,” I breathed, my heart hammering. Only then did he realize he’d pushed off the bench and was looming over me. And it might’ve been because he enjoyed the prospect of the challenge but there was something else in his gaze that in my experience always only led to one thing.
He grunted and pulled away, that cold breeze sweeping through us once again. I almost fell back into the bench not realizing how much I’d also leant forward, my traitorous body acting of its own accord. I was sexually hungry and deprived. After going cold turkey for three months, I realized now how badly I wanted to be touched again.
I followed Eric to the coffee table, sitting across from him cross-legged again as he shuffled the cards. The bottle of red wine was mostly gone already. I decided to stay on this glass for the rest of the night. If I got carried away, I was certain my carefree self would try to seduce to him, thinking with my pounding pussy instead of logic. And wouldn’t that just make things awkward. He wasn’t like a fling in Manhattan. I’d be taking advantage of the man who offered me a place to stay.
Celibacy. Celibacy. Celibacy , I reminded myself. Wasn’t that the promise I’d made to myself? No sex until I met the right guy? And how quickly my body was to forget that.
Eric explained the rules to me, and we trialed a few rounds. By then, Shadow had laid his head in my lap and I absently patted him as I looked at my hand of cards. Okay, so turned out poker had a lot of rules. And I’d only ever played it in the past when it involved strip poker and most of the time I didn’t mind losing.
But this time I wanted to win. Firstly, to prove I did have a poker face. But mostly, to learn more about this big brute. It was so hard to get any personal information from him and the more time I spent with him, the more curious I became.
We revealed our hands. Nonchalant, Eric said, with a smile. An actual smile. “You lose, sweetheart.”
I harrumphed in irritation; I’d actually thought I’d had a good hand on that one.
Eric swirled his red wine around in the glass thoughtfully. “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”
My jaw unhinged. Wow he was actually going to have fun with this. And I was definitely going to need another sip and scan through the large file of embarrassing moments. “Crap,” I grumbled as one particular memory sprang to mind. I needed another sip of wine for this one. He crossed his arms over his chest expectantly.
“Okay so one time, in my early twenties I was at a party in Paris and was wearing a skimpy little top that tied up at the back. We were dancing and partying and maybe I had way too many cosmos. Me and two of my girlfriends thought it would be a great idea to jump up on the booth near the DJ and dance. So we were dancing and having fun and then when we decided to finally leave, I took a step down behind them, except the ties on the back of my shirt hooked on the edge of the DJ booth and took my entire top with it. So I was left there standing in front of an entire nightclub my boobs on for show. I was so humiliated. And then what made it worse was I struggled to get the top back and so security had to come and help me unhook it because I was so fucking drunk. I drank so much after that I can’t even remember what happened. I threw out that shirt the next day.”
There was silence and then a monstrous laugh shook the room. As embarrassed as I was reliving the moment, Eric’s laugh was contagious, and I began to laugh with him despite it being at my expense. I mean the whole thing had been pretty ridiculous. But there was something magical and endearing about his laugh. And I wondered if people often got to hear it, because selfishly, it felt rather rewarding to hear. Like I was slowly starting to chip away at his tough demeanor.
“Okay, that was a good one. Next round.”
Second hand. Eric won. What’s your favourite color? Lavender.
Third hand. Eric won. Do you know any other languages? I rattled off Spanish, Japanese and French. At that he seemed surprised. My parents had given me an extensive education; one that I now rarely had a need to use but being taught at such a young age they were engrained into my mind.
Fourth hand. I squealed, actually squealed as I bested him with a two-pair hand. Shadow perked up, startled, and I rubbed his head apologetically.
Eric’s eyebrows knitted together, surprised he’d lost. I poked out my tongue. “No poker face my ass!” I teased with delight. That twitch of a smile edged at the corner of his mouth again.
“Hmmm, what should I ask?” I pondered out loud, tapping my chin.
“We don’t have all night, snowflake,” he goaded
“For all you know, we might be snowed in together for another day and in that case we do.” I poked my tongue before whiplashing at how boldly I’d said that. Would he think I’d want us to be snowed in together?
“What’s your question,” he said, taking a sip of his red.
Relief swept through me. Hmm, what did I want to ask this man? So many things, and yet all of a sudden nothing at all. So many personal questions that I was certain the moment I asked, he’d lock up again. So, I needed something easy, right?
“What’s your favorite childhood memory?”
He seemed surprised by this and thought about it for a while. “You know, it might sound strange but probably when all of my siblings were born.”
My heart fluttered. I wasn’t expecting such an… innocent answer. Without my need to prompt him to continue, he did.
“I remember how happy it made my parents and when they introduced me to each of them. My memory’s a little hazy around the twins’ birth because I was only four, but I remember my parents promising me they’d be my new best friends. And in a town like this, there wasn’t many at my age. And then when Lori came along I felt almost protective of her in a way, probably because she was my little sister. But it was a little different when Thomas came along. And by then I wasn’t a child anymore either.”
He abruptly stopped, and so I cautiously asked, “Why was it different? The age gap?”
He seemed to regard me, uncomfortable in the direction the question had turned. And I was certain he’d lock up on me, but carefully he said, “Yes and no.” And then he looked into the weakening fire. “There were more complications with Thomas. My parents, although they haven’t always had much, gave us everything. They’d always been loving and somewhat stern, but they still let us be kids. But as I became a teenager I realized that the world wasn’t so easy. That there could be complications and mixed opinions involved.
Five years after Lori, my mother wanted one more baby, she just felt like our family wasn’t yet complete. She had a heap of miscarriages and it began to take a toll on the family for those four years. She was just so desperate to have another child and every miscarriage chipped away at her mentally and physically. It also began arguments amongst our family at the risks it was involving. I’d even called her selfish once.” He winced at the memory.
“But she was right. Eventually she did have Thomas, completing our family. I felt guilty for not believing in her and the grudge I held towards a baby that wasn’t even born yet. I just thought it’d be a disappointment like all the rest. It was hard watching my parents go through that and try to answer the twins and Lori’s questions.”
“You were worried about her health,” I quickly reminded him, a tight knot forming in my stomach at watching him paint himself as the “bad guy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Or maybe I wanted to move out of a small town and didn’t want the responsibility of the family business and their expectation of me. And maybe I begrudged my mother’s ill health and depression at the time from all the miscarriages.” He shrugged, an awkward grimace twisting his expression. My shoulders had sunken in. He still tried to paint himself as the “bad guy” here, and yet I couldn’t even comprehend going through something like that for years. How else was a teenager supposed to interpret that? “Wow, that was meant to be happiest memory, huh?”
“Thank you for sharing it with me,” I gently said, placing my hand on the table. I had the impression Eric didn’t often open up to others and I felt grateful he’d shared a little hidden piece of himself with me.
“I think I’ve had enough for one night,” he said, politely excusing himself as he grabbed our two empty glasses and walked over to the sink. I sighed, disappointed that he’d slipped through my grasp again. Just when I felt like I was getting something substantial from him—a glimmer into how he functioned—he slipped out of my grip.
I patted Shadow, considering how he might’ve been the only friend Eric opened up to. Or perhaps I was being presumptuous. He did, after all, live in Chicago, a life beyond this small town. Surely, he had friends. Surely, there was a different side to Eric there, just as there was for me in Manhattan. And I wondered if I’d ever discover what that Eric was like before I left this cabin.