Stripped 2

  “Yes, it is. I love this show.”

  “You would.” She giggles. The sound fills me, and I’m greedy for more.

  “Why is that?”

  She gestures toward the picture. “It’s The Sweater Slut in Paris—sexy news at sexy times.” She says the last part in a deep, manly voice.

  “I didn’t realize the sweater slut was a hermaphrodite.”

  She laughs and nearly spews her drink. She slaps my arm with the back of her hand. “You know you like her.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, watching the smile fade from her face. I want to ask her, but I can't hear the answer be no. I have no idea what she thinks of me, even after offering me a blowjob. How fucked up is that?

  I decide against it. I don’t want to know.

  “Hey, Cass, come out with me today. Skip work.”

  “I can’t. I need to pay rent.”

  “You already cleared it. Come on. You haven’t had a day off in forever, besides, being your boss has got to have some perks.”

  She smiles suspiciously. “You don’t have to hang out with me, Jon. I know you have other things to do.”

  “Nope. I really don’t. You’re the only thing I want to do today.” I grin brightly at her and stand, offering her my hand.

  “I’m a thing?” She sounds offended.

  “The prettiest thing in pink pajamas.” She swats at me again. I take her hand, intertwine our fingers and hold her for a second. “Come on. Say yes.”

  No stripping. No strutting. No naked Cassie with plastic smiles and dead eyes. I want to make her laugh. I want to see the girl I once knew come to the surface again. I’m not an idiot, I know I can’t hold her there, but I have to try.

  She looks at my hand holding hers and flexes her fingers, tapping the back of my hand one finger at a time. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. Cassie glances up at me with those dark eyes and nods. “I’d like that. Are you sure someone can cover for me?”

  “It’s already done. There’s a line of girls waiting to take your spot.” Over the past few weeks, I’ve turned away more strippers than I could shake a really big stick at—my reputation is spreading. Club Ferro is a safe place to work with no bullshit and good pay. It made me wonder what else I could manage.

  She frowns lightly. “Are you going to give my job away?”

  I kiss the top of her knuckles. She doesn’t flinch, but she doesn’t act like she felt it either. “No. I promised it’s yours as long as you want it.” I watch her, wishing to God she’d say she doesn't want to do it anymore. For no reason I can fathom, she stays. She keeps working, and won’t leave. Beth doesn’t know why either.

  Cassie bobs her head up and down. “You think I’m weird, right? Not wanting sex, but working a job like mine?”

  She asked me this once before, then changed the topic, killing the conversation before it started. “Yeah, I think you’re weird. I’ve always thought that. You were the proudest virgin I’d ever met. Life got in the way, but you kicked ass. Now you do what you want.”

  She watches me from beneath those dark lashes, perched on the couch next to me, clasping the coffee between her hands. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Do you know what you want?” her eyes drop to her coffee. “I know you, Jon. You weren’t meant to be alone so often. You weren’t meant to be the kind of guy who sleeps on the floor. I feel really bad about it, but you won’t leave, and I can’t throw you out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Beth would kill me. Glitter tape and milk? She’d marry you today if you asked her.”

  I laugh lightly, smiling. “I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

  “Who?” She watches me too long, too intensely. Her lashes flutter, and I think she’s watching my mouth between glances at her cup.

  Every fucking thing I read said not to tell her. It’ll add pressure and that’s bad. Be her friend, no strings. No sex. Nothing. She has to come to me.

  So I lie. “You don’t know her.”

  “Jon, you’re sleeping here. She’s going to flip out. I would. Maybe you should spend the day with her instead.”

  “Cassie.”

  “I mean it. You’re too nice to me. I don’t want to screw things up for you. Go on. Go home.” She leans closer to push me, but our fingers are tangled.

  Her eyes look glassy, and when she gets this close to me, I can’t help it. My head sways toward her, inching closer to her mouth. The pull to her is stronger than it ever was before. My gaze remains locked on her lips, wishing I could taste her, to slowly suck on that bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth and nipping it with my teeth.

  It turns out I can protect Cassie from everything except me. I exhale loudly and laugh. It’s completely inappropriate, and makes her frown. When I start to pull away, she tugs me back, pulling my hand.

  Nose to nose, she says, “I shouldn’t want you sleeping so close to me, but I do. I shouldn’t want to touch you, but I do. You shouldn’t be here with me. I don’t want to make you lose a girl you obviously care about very much.” Her eyes are full of tears. A big one rolls down her cheek, and she smiles, looking away from me.

  Fuck it. I can’t do this to her either. Navigating all this shit is a nightmare. I’m tired of lingering and waiting. I want to help her, and this feels passive, like it’s not doing anything.

  I touch the side of her face lightly, turning her back to me. “I do care about her. I love her. I told her, and she said she loved me too, but nothing ever came of it.”

  Her bottom lip juts out and quivers. “Oh?” Her nose scrunches and her face wrinkles like she’s going to start crying.

  “Cass, it’s you. I love you.” I rub my thumbs over her cheeks, pushing the tears away.

  “I thought you wanted Gretchen?”

  “What? Why would you think that?”

  “She said you'd been together, that she did things to you—things that sound like you—so I thought…” She shrugs and watches me carefully with tears building up to replace the old ones.

  “I wasn’t with her. In any sense. Ever. She tried to get into my pants, but I said no.”

  She recoils. “You said no?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Yes. What happened to the more sex, the merrier? Where’d that guy go?”

  “He grew up, Cass. He regrets not keeping the virgin by his side. He regrets everything.”

  “So do I.”

  I lean in closer to wrap my arms around her, and hug her, but Cassie lifts her chin and presses her mouth to mine. The kiss feels so heated, so charged that it’s hard to keep calm. I have no clue what just happened, but Cassie is kissing me, and that’s all that matters.

  She starts laughing and buries her face in my shoulder. “I thought you guys were together.”

  “Why would I be sleeping here, then?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Because you’re Jon Ferro? No one knows what you’re doing.”

  “I only want you, Cass. I’ve wanted you from the moment we met and never stopped.” She smiles at me so brightly it's contagious. She throws her arms around me and presses her body against mine, hugging me hard. Nothing ever felt so fucking good.

  Cassie’s my glitter tape, the thing that makes me happy, the thing so far out of reach I thought I’d never have her.

  CHAPTER 18

  CASSIE

  Jon drives into the city and parks in front of a store where half a dozen male forms sport the latest designer looks. I glance at the pizza shop next door and assume we’re headed in there. Jon races around to open my door as a valet waits to take the car. Jon holds out his hand and smiles down at me. I slip my palm into his, and he helps me out. The little sports car sits low to the ground and, since I’m wearing a sundress, it’s difficult to get out without flashing everyone on the sidewalk.

  Seriously, the dichotomy between when to expose myself and when to keep it covered should have me acting like a crazy person by now. Maybe I crossed
the line a long time ago, and it’s so far behind me I can no longer see it.

  Jon’s thumb rubs the back of my hand, and he watches me for a moment. His blue eyes are flicking between our hands and my face. He’s wearing a sapphire-colored button-down shirt tucked into a pair of slim-fitting black pants. With his other hand, he tugs against the open collar at his neck. He clears his throat before saying, “I need to ask you something. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you, and things with my family are shit right now, but I have to—I need to be there for Pete. He’s getting married, and I’m a groomsman.”

  I glance up at the tux shop again, and it dawns on me that he must need to run inside for a fitting or to pick something out. “Right. I nearly forgot. Peter seems like a nice guy. He obviously loves Sidney.”

  “He does.” Jon’s eyes are on the side of my face. I drop his hand and take a step toward the window, studying the woven textures, pinstripes, and varying shades of gray. My wedding pops into my mind, unbidden, and I banish the thought before it fully materializes.

  Jon steps up next to me. I glance down at the sidewalk and his shiny black shoes. He wanted to get dressed up today. Actually, I didn’t realize he planned to look so fancy. Feeling a little self-conscious, I was surprised when he handed me a dress bag and asked if I’d want to wear its contents. When I unzipped it to reveal the dress inside, I nearly cried. His gift is a perfect mix of past and present. Cut from seersucker fabric, the cotton sundress is ruched across the chest and bodice, with tiny rosebuds spilling across the skirt. A wide, feminine ruffle swishes from the hem just above my knee. Miniature daisies are embroidered on the straps and scattered along the neckline. He removed the tags, but I know it’s not from G&G, where everything is less than twenty bucks. The bag this dress arrived in probably cost more than that.

  It’s so pretty and soft that it makes me feel something I haven’t experienced in a long time. Now, as I gaze into the store window, enjoying the sensation of the soft fabric caressing my thighs as I move, I feel the rest of it. It’s not only the appeal of looking ahead and hoping for the best, but it's also living in the moment without worry. It’s as if I stepped out of the shower and stayed clean. There’s no residue from my past clinging to me like old grime. The things I’ve done, the situations I’ve endured, they leave a haze that doesn’t scrub away. It lingers and grows.

  Some people can’t endure it. They fall and never come up for air again.

  I’ve been bobbing somewhere in the middle for a long time. Today I don’t feel like I’m bobbing, no more gasping for air before I sink again. I feel good, and I know why.

  It’s Jon.

  The way he treats me is refreshing. I’m not a skank, but I’m not the nun I used to be. To him, I’m Cassie. No strings, no labels, and no treating me like I might break. At the same time, he doesn’t belittle what’s happened to me, what I’ve experienced. It’s like he understands on some level. Maybe it’s empathy, but I suspect there’s more story there—something he’s not told me—an incident that happened a long time ago, changing him. There are moments in life that alter everything. I know. I feel like I’m standing in one now.

  Jon slips his hands into his pockets, pushing back the cuffs on his shirt to reveal a chunky watch. It’s white and rose gold with exposed gears. I don’t recognize the brand. It’s French, something I’d never see, never mind own. It suits him. I glance up at his clean-shaven face, which is a rare sight to see. His usual grin is gone, and I feel the tension flowing from his body. He wants to say something but seems hesitant.

  “What is it?” I turn toward him. “Your mother won’t keep you out. Peter won’t let that happen.” I guess at his concerns but miss the mark. I can tell by the way his lips part and then close again.

  He glances at the shop window, then cuts his eyes back toward me. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t have a date. I never asked anyone. Someone from my past appeared, and I couldn’t think of anything else. Then more shit happened and the next thing I know, I’m standing with you outside the tux shop a few days before the wedding, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to ask you.” The corner of his mouth pulls up on one side as he speaks, and it sounds like he wants to laugh it off but can’t. Those bright blue eyes lock on mine. Vulnerability spreads across his beautiful face as he tucks his chin and finally asks, “Cassie, will you be my date?”

  It’s sweet and incredibly unlike him to be anything but confident. I take his hand, lean in and peck his cheek. He could have said any other word, but he chose ‘date.’

  “I’d love to go with you. I can discuss the weather with your mother. It’ll be awesome.” I joke about the sore spot and squeeze his hand.

  Relief washes over his face, and he looks down at me. “You make everything awesome, Cass.”

  A smile spreads across my face, and I wish he’d kiss me, but he doesn’t. He stands there, watching me in a way I can’t understand. It’s equal parts affection and distance. I wonder about kissing him again, but I can’t understand why he’s not touching me. He said he was interested in me, but he’s not acting like it. Old Jon would have been trying to talk me out of my panties from the first second. This man doesn’t do that. It’s like he’s going slow on purpose.

  I need to stop over-thinking everything. My emotions have been shocked too many times, too close together. It’s like my heart took a flying leap onto the third rail and stayed there. It shorted out my ability to sort through everyday feelings, disconnecting and jumbling everything.

  I take his hand again, wanting more of his tender touches. I weave our fingers together and enjoy the sensation of warm skin on skin. It’s okay to revel in it, to enjoy it at face value. For once, a person in my life doesn’t have an ulterior motive to be here, to want to know me. I can’t concoct one that would have him sleeping on the floor this long, dealing with a neurotic girl that runs hot and cold all the time. Nothing is worth the trouble I put him through, the pain I cause, and yet—when he looks at me like that from beneath those dark, thick lashes, I melt.

  Does it matter why he’s here? Can’t I just enjoy the moment? That’s all life is, a series of moments scattering to the wind on a whim. At times, getting from dawn to dusk is hard enough. I can’t think ahead at all. I’m always running, even in my mind, racing through life trying not to feel anything anymore. I can’t take another heartache. I can’t fathom surviving another devastating loss. I should push him away, make him keep his distance.

  It’s safer. It’s smarter.

  But it doesn’t lead anywhere. This path dead-ends with me alone, forced into a cul-de-sac of regret.

  “Cass?” Jon’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re thinking too much.”

  “No, I’m not.” I smirk at him and duck my eyes to the side. “I’m just pondering.”

  “All right. I’ll bite. What are you pondering, Miss Hale?”

  I make a face. “You sound like Sean when you speak like that.”

  “God knows we don’t want that!” He chuckles, tucking his arms into the crooks of his elbows and leaning his shoulder against the brick on the storefront next to the window. “Spill. Inquiring minds want to know.”

  My fingers play with the flowing fabric of my skirt. I look down at the pavement, watching the ruffles wiggle as I swish the fabric while I speak. “Have you ever wondered what your life would be like—who you would have been—if a certain crappy event hadn't happened?”

  I glance up at him in time to watch his face fall. He nods once.

  “I do that a lot, and if I’m not careful, I get stuck there, wondering about things that will never happen. My life went down a different road I would have never taken. I mean, who wants to roll around naked in a cactus field for years?”

  Jon smiles, tucks his chin, and lifts his eyes to mine. His guard is up, but he seems like he’s trying to fight it back down. Like he’s not sure where I’m goin
g with this.

  “It hurts. I’m covered in scars no one can see, but for once—without even trying—I feel normal. Standing in front of a shop in this dress, talking about your brother’s wedding,” I shrug my shoulders and let out a content sigh. “It’s something from the normal road. No cactus patches in sight. I’m not sure how I got here, but I’m glad I am, and I’m happy that it’s with you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  JON

  That confession makes me want to rip my hands out of my pockets and throw my arms around her. I’d never let go, so I make fists and leave them there. Before I met Cassie, I thought I had no self-restraint. The truth is I never needed it. I took what I wanted, no waiting required. But it’s never been that way with Cassie. The game faded fast, and I’d do anything for her because I want to. The conquest lost its thrill when I started to care about her. The entire situation changed.

  I changed.

  Now I need to make my family accept it. They still see the old version of me, and I suspect they will for some time, but Cassie is part of my life. She’s not leaving and if they chase her off things won’t end well. I know myself, now. I know where I stand. Before this, I wasn’t willing to fight for much, but Cassie shifted my outlook on the world, and I won’t back down.

  There’s always been a discrepancy that bothered me in Cassie’s story about the reporter. I figured she just didn’t want to admit to telling them everything, but now I’m not sure. In the past I accepted my family at face value, but not anymore. Sean is pissed at me and will do anything to get what he wants. He’s a clone of my mother and, from what I can tell, the two of them are working against each other, gearing up for World War III.

  I never saw my father as a threat, but I'm no longer confident in that assumption either. The story in the paper included the mistresses, both that he had them and that mom allowed it, but the story skipped the part about me screwing my father’s women. I thought it would be there, but that part was missing. I always thought Cassie was holding that card, waiting to play it if she ever needed to. But it never happened.