Chapter 22 #2
“Now, unless you have something you want to officially accuse me of…” Cass reaches a hand out toward me and I stride over to him, letting him curl his arm over my shoulders and drag me against his warm, solid frame.
“I’m taking my girlfriend on a date tonight.
If you need anything else, I’m sure you have my number and hers.
Though I’d prefer you call me and leave her alone. ”
I’m barely listening to the rest of what’s a thinly veiled threat at this point. How can I, when Cass’s words won’t stop playing on repeat in my head?
Girlfriend.
My girlfriend.
I’m his girlfriend? The words have a strange effect on me; especially the way my insides twist and flutter, as the butterflies are resurrected to fly in giddy, nervous circles in my stomach. Sure, we’re sleeping together. And he sort of lives with me at the moment.
And we’re going on a date.
Fuck, maybe I am his girlfriend. And maybe he’s my boyfriend, though those words somehow don’t quite fit.
I miss whatever Cass says, but in a few moments Trudeau is wheeling around on his heel, stalking across the parking lot to his shiny, clearly new police cruiser. It’s not like the ones I normally see around here. It’s not scuffed and well-used and maybe a little muddy.
It’s too shiny, too pristine. Too perfect for an actual working cop. He leaves quickly, tires all but squealing on the asphalt as I gaze up at Cassian with questions on my tongue and curiosity in my eyes. He’s…something.
He doesn’t look down at me, but he lets out a little sigh and pulls me closer into his arms. “I know, I know,” he mutters, finally turning and burying his face in my hair. “We’re not officially dating. And I don’t like calling you my girlfriend.”
My heart starts to plummet at that, and I bite my lip, wondering if he regrets saying it.
“Because that sounds too…temporary,” he huffs. “Like there’s a chance of you being someone else’s eventually. But we both know that’s never going to be the case.” He pulls me even closer, holding me tightly in his arms like he’s afraid someone will try to pull me away.
Or like maybe I’ll try to leave.
“Let’s go get food,” Cass sighs, thankfully not pushing me to answer. “I got us a reservation.”
“Where at?” I ask curiously, going to the passenger door and opening it to slide into the seat. His car is much nicer than mine, and I sprawl out in the seat, legs stretched out in front of me on the very clean, pristine floorboard.
Which is definitely different from mine.
“Guess you’ll see,” he hums in response, reaching out to trace my jaw before his hands settle on the steering wheel. “It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll get you home in one piece. And maybe even before midnight.”
I snort, leaning my face against the cool glass of the passenger window. “Oh good. I wouldn’t want to be out past my curfew or anything. My parents might get mad.” My words are dry and full of sarcasm. It’s not like I have parents who care, and he knows it too.
Ishouldn’t be surprised when he takes me to a Hibachi restaurant with a variety of veggie sushi on the menu. After all, Cassian clearly knows more about my preferences than any of my friends, and definitely my family. So why wouldn’t he know exactly what I like to eat, when given the chance?
“Some people would say you’re obsessive and creepy,” I tell him with my chopsticks in my hand. For his part, he’s eating a meal of teriyaki beef and stir-fried vegetables. Which I’ve made faces at for the last ten minutes. “For knowing my favorite food.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, resting his head on his hand. “You’re right. Some people would definitely say that. Most people, probably.” But he’s clearly not bothered by it. I snort, rolling my eyes at his nonchalance.
A few bites later I’m done, and I rest my chopsticks on my plate, feeling the anxiety that’s been itching at my insides come back again. “So, umm. Do you remember when I asked you about Carissa?” I ask under my breath. “And you said that you’d tell me if I told you about my dad?”
Cassian pauses, laying his own chopsticks down. “You don’t have to tell me,” he assures me slowly. “I offered up the information this morning. I didn’t push you on it.”
“No, I know, but”—I let out a breath, and grin wryly at him—“fair’s fair, right?” He doesn’t answer, and I’m sort of glad about it. I can’t handle his questions just now.
“I won’t go into detail. Not really,” I warn, glancing around to make sure no one is nearby.
We’d gotten lucky and been seated in a rather isolated spot, and our waitress is attentive, sure, but not overwhelming.
I’m not expecting her for another ten minutes or so.
“You know, umm. What he was doing to me.” It’s not a question, and I’m not surprised when he inclines his head in a small nod.
“After you and Carissa, Dad suggested I didn’t need a babysitter anymore.
He said he’d change his schedule around to watch me after school.
Lou fought my parents about it, but she was still at college.
So, she couldn’t do much.” I tap my chopsticks against my plate after picking them up again, rolling the wood in my fingers.
“My dad was drunk that day, more than usual. He tried to uh, go further. He broke my arm and hit me in the face when I told him no.” It’s hard not to grab my wrist where it still aches sometimes from how badly he snapped the bone in a spiral fracture.
From under my lashes, I can see Cassian shift in his seat, but he doesn’t speak.
“Then I ran to his room and locked the door. I knew where his gun was, and I was just so scared. I was alone. Mom knew what he was doing, but she didn’t care.
” My eyes prickle with long-shed tears that ran dry years ago.
“So I thought, what’s left? I’d rather be in jail or wherever instead of getting hurt by him.
He broke down the door and I begged him to leave me alone. He was so drunk.”
Looking up at Cass, my lips are pressed flat and my eyes are wide.
“I don’t regret it,” I murmur. “I don’t regret shooting him five times.
He didn’t die right off, by the way. He laid there, choking on his own blood, and begged me to call for an ambulance.
” A wry grin touched my face. “But I sat on their bed with his gun in my hands and watched him die. Mom was the one who found us. And, well, she’s obviously never forgiven me. ”
Our waitress takes that moment to reappear with our bill, which Cass pays using a hundred-dollar bill and a winning smile. The cost couldn’t be half that, and when he tells her not to worry about the change, she gazes at him like he might be a saint come to life.
“You guys have an amazing night,” the waitress insists, smiling at him then winking at me, her silent look obviously trying to tell me that in her mind, Cass is an absolute gem.
If only she knew the truth.
She wouldn’t feel the same if she did, I’m sure.
Neither of us speak until we’re outside of the restaurant that sits on a busy, well-lit street. There’s an upscale bar on one side, and a BBQ place on the other that I’d balked at before Cass had assured me with a cackle he knows about my aversion to that type of food.
“Thank you.” Cass turns, backing me into the wall, and presses his forehead to mine as we stand there. “You didn’t have to. I just…” He reaches up to cup my cheek. “I wish I could’ve done it for you. Because I would’ve without remorse.”
“It’s okay.” A smile hitches the corner of my mouth upward. “I don’t know; there’s something vindicating about doing it myself. Like, taking back my life, you know? Though I could’ve done without my mom’s love drying up the moment my dad stopped breathing.”
His face hardens at that, eyes cold as he keeps me in place. “I’m sorry,” he says flatly. “You deserve better, Winnie. You’ve always deserved better.”
Instead of replying, I reach up to grip his jacket, tugging him down into a kiss. It’s sweet, at first, before I urge him to deepen it.
He takes me up on the offer almost immediately. Within seconds, his knee is pressed between my thighs, and I’m pressed hard to the wall and panting into his open mouth as he drinks in the soft sounds I can’t help making while he nips and teases at my lips.
“Cass…” I murmur, trying to catch my breath as the words in my brain burn on my lips. “I think I—”
A wolf whistle cuts me off, and both of us jerk around to see two men coming from the direction of the bar, both of them obviously drunk and grinning. “You two puttin’ on a show?” one of them crows, kicking at the gravel under his feet. “Or is this an open invitation?”
His cohort cackles and lifts his hand, spreading two fingers to make an obscene gesture with his tongue toward me.
Cass snorts under his breath and I grip his jacket harder, giving him a baleful look. “They are so not worth the jail time,” I tell him flatly. “Don’t even start.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” But he does smile mockingly and return their sentiments with a rude gesture of his own. “Fuck off,” he tells them too-sweetly. “Go walk in front of a semi or something, would you? I’m sure you’d be doing the world a favor.”
The two men cackle at his insults, confirming my suspicion that they’re too drunk out of their minds to know what’s really going on. Then a group of girls catches their attention and they turn, forgetting about us as they stumble after the women who look like they’d eat these men for breakfast.
“It’s getting late,” I inform Cass with a grin. “I’m going to be in trouble if I’m home after curfew.”
Cass huffs out a laugh and kisses the tip of my nose. “Sure, babe,” he agrees with a chuckle. “I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, I promise. I won’t even speed.”
“Good.” I drag him back toward his car. “Because from what I hear, there’s a cop near my house who’d just love the chance to pull you over.”