13. Cassie
Cassie
“Y ou’re kidding!” Amelia laughed so much she was half-snorting.
“Nope. I really let him spank me on his desk.”
This. This was why wine should be outlawed.
“I just can’t imagine you doing it,” Erin replied when she managed to pick her jaw up from the floor. “I mean, me? Anytime, anywhere. You’re just so… innocent.”
Cassie smirked, wondering if her old friend would think so if she knew what she did with most of her free time.
“So what now? You’re dating, or…”
She shook her head, and took another sip of wine. Unwise choice, as it turned out, as she found herself replying, “No, he doesn’t want my pussy because it’s unused.”
T hat was all she recalled of the events of the previous Friday night. Saturday she found two outbound calls, one that had lasted five minutes, another one that had lasted thirty-nine seconds. Both were to Carter.
Oh fuck.
He’d also sent a text she couldn’t bring herself to read until she’d had two coffees and pancakes.
You owe me. I shall collect by using you as a buffer. Today, 1pm, the Waldorf. Wear a dress.
Oh fuck. Glancing at the time, she hurried to take a shower and get ready; fifty minutes later, she was running out of the subway station on 51st Street, and made it to the Waldorf by five to one.
Carter
“T here she is!” his mother cooed, greeting Cassie like she was a long-lost prodigal daughter finally returned to her.
Which, admittedly, was probably exactly how she saw this.
Cassie looked the part today: she wore a virginal white dress Marilyn Monroe would have approved of, and her hair, usually styled, just fell in soft golden waves around her shoulders.
Shoot me now.
Carter didn’t think, he just acted, getting up to pull her seat back.
“And you said you were no gentleman,” she teased him, shooting him a smile.
He couldn’t help himself; he just had to bend down and press his lips on her cheek. A simple hello, acceptable in any social setting… but it felt different with her.
Intimate. Meaningful.
“I was so delighted when Carter said you were joining us, sweetheart,” his mother intervened, thankfully breaking the spell.
He went back to his seat, and relaxed as the two women chatted away.
This felt good.
This felt right.
When she’d drunk-dialed him the previous night to tell him that he was silly not to want her unused pussy because it was likely to be tighter, it had taken everything out of him not to get dressed, call the chauffeur, and get to her.
At the back of his mind, a voice was telling him that no, fucking the shit out of a drunk woman was not acceptable. Annoying voice.
The second phone call, when she’d told him she was going to dream of him as she touched herself, had been his undoing. He’d known then. He needed to see her today – he wasn’t going to last until Monday.
He wasn’t sure when his arm had casually stretched around the back of her chair, but there it was when the waiter came to ask for their order.
She didn’t seem to mind; it didn’t even look like she’d noticed. It was so natural, so easy…
So dangerous.
H e had a problem; the first step to recovery was to admit it, right? Well, by the following Thursday he took that step, fully acknowledging that he was fucking addicted to Cassie.
He texted her all day long. All day. Not constantly – they both had jobs to do and all – but every half an hour or so, he just had to send a line, and she always replied promptly. Damn, what kind of an executive was he? He should fire his ass, and hers too.
Then they’d have more time to hang out.
After their discussion from the very first Friday night, when she’d dumped her bombshell about her V-card, Carter had decided that the obvious course of action was to make some distance from her. Consequently, he asked her to come up to his office for lunch. Every. Damn. Day.
He started off with the best intentions every morning, and then, poof, boom. They all collapsed, obliterated by the overwhelming need to see her and chat.
That was the worst part of the issue. They were just chatting. He would have understood his own condition if he was getting blowjobs on demand, but they discussed her books, X-Men, the usual Marvel vs DC, and other things geeks generally talked about.
Turned out, they liked the same stuff, with just enough difference to make things interesting.
“Shut it. The X-Men would definitely win against the Avengers. They have Phoenix. She can destroy whole worlds. ”
“Duh – Hulk? Or better yet, Thor? You know, the god of Thunder?”
Each time they bickered, her cheeks went red, passionate little thing that she was, and all he wanted was to kiss her silly until she forgot how to speak.
Somehow, he didn’t.
Three weeks later, after the late-night drunken call and the lunch with his mother, he couldn’t help it. He changed the game, making it infinitely more dangerous.
“I have the new X-Men.”
Her mouth popped open.
“I thought it wasn’t out for three weeks?”
Carter just shrugged.
“Well, I know someone who knows someone…”
“Can I borrow it?”
The answer should have been yes, of course. Have at it. Enjoy.
Instead, he found himself saying, “I was going to watch it today. We could do that together.”
He pleaded insanity. No other explanation seemed sufficient.
No woman had ever set foot in his home, other than his mother, Lucy, and his cleaning lady. It was his and Buddy’s place; when he wanted to entertain , he went to the women’s homes or a hotel room.
But he’d invited her. Worse yet, he didn’t want to take it back; on the contrary, he looked at her, willing her to say yes.
“Sounds good. Shall I cook, or should we grab a takeout?”
“I don’t mind calling for some food…” but as he wasn’t a saint, he added, “but if you really don’t mind cooking, hell yes.”
“Okay, no worries. I love cooking.”
The very thought of her in his kitchen, preparing food for him, was making him want things he shouldn’t think of. Things he couldn’t have.
“We’ll probably need to go grocery shopping first, though. I use my fridge for beer, and that’s about it.”
She rolled her eyes, muttering something probably unflattering about men.
“Okay, so shall we go right after work?”
Cassie wrinkled her nose.
“I like to have a bath at six, I always feel icky. And get into comfortable clothes – you know, yoga pants. The usual stuff for movie-watching.”
He should have said it was fine, they could meet up later.
“You have to come shopping with me, I’ll have no clue what to get. How about, I send Lucy out to get you yoga pants, and you can take a bath at my place, mh? I’ll need to feed Buddy and take him for a quick walk before the movie, anyway.”
“Buddy?” she repeated.
“My puppy. He’s a German Shepherd. He’s four months old and weighs more than your average Labrador. He’ll probably be bigger than you in a year or so.”
He wondered if that would be it, what he really needed: a concrete reason why this thing between them was not going to go anywhere. If she couldn’t stand dogs, he knew he’d write her off.
She yelped – actually yelped – and started a series of “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I’m so jealous, I’ve always wanted a dog – a big one, too! They are the police dogs, right? The ones with black and gold?”
The universe hated his guts.
“Buddy is sable, but yes,” he sighed, wondering if he should just throw in the towel and marry the damn woman.
Then, he remembered what happened the last time he’d tried that.
Cassie
“T he packaging is just a ruse to convince you to pay more for the same thing,” Carter insisted.
“But this one looks so much better! I’ll pay the damn bill.”
“You’ll do no such thing, Cassandra Franklin,” he growled. “I just can’t believe you want to spend thirty dollars on a strawberry bubble bath when there’s one for five on the same shelf!”
“Well, the cheap one might give me spots.”
“Chocolate might give you spots.”
“Now you’re just being nasty.”
Cassie rolled her eyes and pulled the shopping cart away, now that he’d relented and dropped the nasty cheap thing back where it belonged.
“You’re just adorable,” an old woman said, beaming at her. “How long have you been married?”
“Jesus!” Carter exclaimed, stalking away as fast as his feet could carry him.
Cassie just laughed out loud, explaining to the surprised lady, “We’re just friends.”
“Ah, I see. Friends. I remember when my Malcom and I were just friends , too. I give it a year, dear.”
If only.
They argued over five items – he wanted pancake mix, she couldn’t believe he wouldn’t try to do it from scratch.
“If that’s so important, you’re staying until morning and cooking the damn pancakes!” he yelled.
“Fine!”
After which, he swore, leading them away.
“Great. Now you need a fucking toothbrush.”
Then, there were king prawns and little shrimps. She assured him that the cheaper option would still be lovely with her risotto, but he didn’t want to hear of it. He won that one – and the wine, too.
“I only need it for cooking.”
“You’ll use a glass, max, and I hate waste. If I’m supposed to drink wine rather than beer, it has to be a decent one.”
One hour later, Carter was two hundred dollars poorer and they were on their way to his place in a cab.
She loved that, like any other New Yorker out there, he took cabs, rather than parading around with a driver.
Cassie also loved his apartment. The simple, modern décor felt homey – the walls were light grey or blue, and most of the furniture, white. There were dashes of various shades of blue here and there; curtains, cushions.
She loved his kitchen. Granite counter top, the very best appliances; she almost cried – it was completely wasted on a man who didn’t cook.
But above everything else, Cassie fucking loved his damn dog.
“Careful. Buddy comes from a breeder who seemed pretty severe – he doesn’t really like anyone except me,” Carter warned her as the quiet, stoic dog eyed her with interest.
If he hadn’t said that Buddy was a four-month-old puppy, she would have assumed he was a fully grown dog – he was huge, and seemed so quiet, so well trained.
But the adorable floppy ears betrayed him.
“Hello, Buddy,” she said tentatively, kneeling a couple of feet away from him.
The instant she reached his level, the dog jumped into action, his tail wagging with fervor, whimpering as he jumped at her and proceeded to lick her face.
“Never mind,” Carter laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.
Buddy didn’t leave her side – not when Carter went to feed him, not when he told her her bath was ready.
Yes, he’d run her bath water for her. Yes, she was very giddy about it. It was… intimate. Caring. The kinda stuff that fed her imagination, making her believe that this was heading somewhere it just wasn’t going.
Friends , he’d said. When would she finally stop seeing more? This was pathetic.
Unless he’d changed his mind…
“It’s time for your walk, Buddy-boy,” he announced, shaking his lead.
The puppy eyed him with contempt, and proceeded to carry on making a fuss over Cassie.
“Alright, ’fess up. The dog took two weeks to warm up to me.”
“That’s because you’re a dominant alpha male and all that jazz. I’m just a big softie and he knows it,” she replied, stroking his tummy.
“A dog walker takes him out every four hours, but it’s really time to go. Do you mind coming with? I’ll run you another bath.”
She didn’t mind at all; in fact, she could get used to it.
Too easily.