Chapter 2
“No, you did not.”
She nods, and I go in for a second look at her phone screen.
Not one to beat around the bush when it comes to pertinent information, I asked straight out if there’s a significant other in her life.
I went from annoyed to highly amused as she described her last relationship.
And I make a mental note to never piss her off.
This woman finds out she’s been cheated on and changes the sack of shit’s business website to announce his inability to rise to the occasion, if you know what I mean. Personally, I think it’s funny as hell. I’m sure the shart stain would disagree, though.
“Alan was as loyal as a tomcat,” she says. “He got what he deserved.”
And listen, I might fuck around a lot, but that’s a hard no for me. If you’re exclusive with someone, you break that shit off before moving on. My mama taught me better than that.
Plus, I’m not blind. Cassie is drop-dead gorgeous.
When she’s not looking, I sneak glances, hoping she doesn’t notice.
And each time she smiles, the cutest little dimple sinks into her cheek, stealing my attention.
It’s her eyes that really hold me, though.
They’re world weary. Something I’m all too familiar with.
Too fucking familiar with.
But when I say things that make her laugh, those same eyes light up and I feel a hit straight to the chest that I have no defenses for.
She’s everything Singing River has been missing.
In a town this small, you’ve seen the same faces your whole life.
Hers is a view I could get used to enjoying.
Earlier when she went for the cherries, I couldn’t stop staring at those long, toned legs and her tiny cut off shorts.
Then she had to stick that round ass out to tease me, and my dick was twitching against my zipper.
“But it’s his business. His website. Why can’t he fix it?”
Cassie gives a smug smile. “I handled his website and changed the password.” She pauses. “You could say Alan is a pastel.”
My face screws up. “A pastel?”
She nods. “Think about a box of markers. The primary colors? Well, those are the smartest in the bunch, right? Some of the darker colors are the quiet ones. But the pastels? Well, they’re dumb as rocks.”
I bark out a laugh, and right on cue, her phone lights up with the name Alan on the screen. She lunges to grab it from me, but I’m already pressing the answer button.
“Cassandra’s phone.”
A second of silence follows before he spits out, “Who the fuck is this?”
Oh, this’ll be fun. I grind my jaw and respond.
“Name’s Liam. Who the fuck is this?”
“Where’s Cassie?”
“Hmm, that doesn’t answer my question. I repeat, who the fuck is this?”
“Tell her it’s Alan.”
Tilting the phone away, I look at Cassie. “Know a guy named Alan?”
Before she can respond, although I bet she has plenty to say, I put the phone back to my mouth. “Sorry, pal. She’s never heard of you. Now I hate to be rude and cut this call short, but Cassandra is a little tied up right now, and I’m busy with a dick that works every damn time.”
Cassie’s eyes go wide and she mouths, Oh my god!
Alan is still sputtering when I end the call, and Cassie is gasping for breath through laughter.
“That guy sounds like a tool, and I try not to judge folks.”
“That’s one way to describe him.”
Before Cassie arrived, I was having one of those days.
The kind where I’d already smoked half a pack by noon and couldn’t tell you where the rest of the afternoon disappeared to.
The hours just vanished, eaten up by all my swirling thoughts.
It’s times like this, no matter what I do, I can’t get out of my head.
Life feels off key, sometimes too sharp and other times too flat.
I usually end up at the bar just to have somewhere to be that isn’t alone with my thoughts.
Then she walked in, and I thought, Good. A distraction.
But it didn’t take long for me to see she’s more than a simple distraction.
We’ve been chatting for damn near an hour, and if I have my way, she’ll stay at least an hour more.
Talking to women has always come easily to me.
Hell, one of my mom’s favorite stories to tell is the time in first grade I tried to get my teacher’s number.
But sitting here with Cassie is different.
There’s a flicker of interest blazing up behind my ribcage, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.
There’s only been one other woman who interested me right off the bat like this.
The thought arrives without permission, along with that familiar ache beneath my sternum. My surroundings turn to static, and for a second, I’m not sitting in my bar. I’m somewhere else entirely, watching someone else laugh.
Giving my head a quick shake, I dislodge that train of thought, and instead focus on the woman in front of me.
Before showing me the website, she informed me she’s on a mission to find herself again. My gut says there’s more to this story than a simple breakup. Whatever happened, it wasn’t good. She seems pretty worn down.
“All right. From that call alone, I already know I don’t like the guy. So, here’s the deal. Tell me the worst things about him. And I mean, really sell it to me. Lay it on thick.”
Cassie’s eyes drop to where the cherry stem from earlier lies, and she picks it up, twirling it between her fingers. She doesn’t speak right away, just keeps twirling the stem, and I get the sense she’s deciding how much of herself to hand over to someone she just met.
“He was charismatic. He had this way of winning over a room. Everyone we knew respected him. Clients, friends, strangers at parties. That’s how he won me over.
” She winds the stem so tightly around her pinky the skin turns pink.
“So, when he wasn’t nice to me behind closed doors…
” A pause. “Over time I began to think maybe I was the problem. I’d replay conversations in my head, looking for where I went wrong.
Was I too needy? Too sensitive?” Her voice has dropped so low I have to lean in to hear her over the sounds around us.
“And he had so many opinions he treated as facts.” Cassie lets out a humorless laugh.
“He had opinions about what I wore, what I thought, what I enjoyed. And I just rolled over and took it.” She lifts her chin, gaze meeting mine, lips down turned.
“I all but handed him the red pen and let him edit me down until I was invisible. I’m pretty sure nobody wants to feel invisible. ”
The annoyance I felt toward the guy is now a simmering anger. I’ve known this woman for an hour and I already know she’s too good for someone like that.
“But you want to know the worst part?”
Clearing my throat, I find my voice. “What’s that?”
“I’m a licensed therapist. A damn good one with a master’s degree and years of training. I should have known better.”
My brows furrow and I tilt my head. “I dunno about all that. I’ve yet to meet a perfect person. You’re a human who’s allowed to make human mistakes.”
Cassie shrugs again and lets her gaze fall while I study her. I’m no therapist, but I do know what shame is like. I know the feeling of being mired in regret. And I don’t think sitting here in the bar is what either of us needs right now.
“Tell you what. I’ll go clear your tab, and you follow me.” I flick my hand for her to scoot, but she pushes it away, making no move to let me out.
“I can’t just follow you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer.” A hand goes to twist one of several delicate hoops stacked up her earlobe.
I give her a flat look. “While I’d love to show you where I keep all the bodies, that’s not what we’re doing tonight.”
“I’m serious! You’re a total stranger to me.”
I lift a brow. “I assure you I am not a serial killer.”
“That right there. That’s exactly what a serial killer would say. Next thing I know I’m tied up in the trunk of a car.”
“I’d tie you up, all right,” I say under my breath, and she slaps my arm playfully.
She might be saying she can’t follow me, but she’s now slid from the booth, and I quickly follow. Guiding her by the elbow, I head to the bar.
“Sheila, would you please tell my new friend Cassie here that I’m no serial killer. I’m even giving her drinks on the house tonight.”
Sheila’s known me all my life, running around Singing River, wreaking havoc when I was young, and not much better as an adult.
“Young lady, you’re safe with our William.” Cassie’s eyes cut to mine, gleaming with delight and she mouths “William.” But when Sheila speaks again Cassie turns back to her. “He’s a bit of a charmer, a Casanova, but he has a heart of gold. You can trust him.”
I look at Cassie, one brow lifted. See? My brow says. You can trust me.
Her eyes travel between Sheila and me, deliberating, and seems to make a decision.
“Fine.” Turning to Sheila, she says, “My name is Cassie. I’m happy to formally meet you.”
Sheila takes her hand, winking over at me then busies herself zeroing out Cassie’s tab. Meanwhile, Cassie is worrying her bottom lip, clearly still uncertain about leaving with me. Before she can talk herself out of it, I duck down and haul her over my shoulder.
“Liam! Put me down!” Cassie protests, slapping me on the ass between gasps of laughter.
“Simmer down, gorgeous.”
“Have fun you two,” I hear Sheila call to my back as I carry Cassie out the door and into the summer night air.
When we get outside, I head to where my motorcycle is parked up against the building and set her down. Her face is flushed from being flipped, and she grabs my arm to steady herself.
“You okay?”
“Of course I’m okay, but you’re a Neanderthal.” She might be calling me names, but she still hasn’t let go of my bicep. I look from her grip back to her face, and she jerks away, balling her fists at her sides.
I could flirt or say something suggestive, but right now I’m caught up by how pretty she is.
There’s almost something innocent and wholesome about the way she’s peering up at me, eyes curious despite her uncertainties.
Down her chest, dermal piercings sparkle from the street light, catching my attention, before it goes to her hair.
It’s been set free, now a tumble of darkness halfway down her back.
She brushes a strand behind her ear, pausing to twist one of the gold hoops again.
“What are we doing out here, anyway?”
Placing both hands on her shoulders, I spin her, gently guiding her closer to my bike.
“We need a night ride.”
I expect her to protest, but she just watches in silence while I unhook the spare helmet from the sissy bar. She still doesn’t say a word when I plop it onto her head and work to secure the chin strap.
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle,” she finally admits, while I buckle my own helmet. “I’m a little scared.” Cassie’s eyes are still lit up with curiosity, darting from my bike to me.
“What did you say in there?” I ask, jerking my head toward the bar.
“That I want to find myself again.”
“Exactly. Letting the wind hit you under a summer night sky is a perfect way to start.”
“Will you go slow?”
I help her climb on before getting situated in front of her.
Her hands settle on my back, like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
But when she slides closer and they drop to my hips, I tell myself the jolt of awareness I feel has nothing to do with her body pressed to mine.
Turning the ignition, my bike growls to life, and just to show off I twist the throttle and steer us onto the street.
Over the roar, I have to raise my voice and Cassie presses in closer.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Cassandra. Now, wrap your arms around me and hold on tight.”