Chapter 12
Cadence
In the morning, I trail my fingers up and down his arm. We managed to sleep the same way all night, neither one of us wanting to move. Or able to move. I think he’s been asleep this whole time. But I’ve been awake for a while, waiting for him to open his eyes so we can discuss something I’ve been thinking about.
It’s nuts, and it makes my heart want to jump right out of my chest. But he’s the one who asked last night in front of my family. So it’s time.
“Mmm,” he groans, his voice deep and gravelly. He tightens his arm around my waist. “Good morning.”
Another smile I can’t help spreads across my face. But then I remember what I want to say and my stomach knots up. I take a deep breath to combat the nerves before rolling over to face him.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a shy grin. Looking down at his chest, I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat.
Before I can try again, he kisses me. Right on the lips. It’s a sweet, gentle kiss. The kind you’d give a spouse you still can’t get enough of after twenty years. The kind that melts my rapidly beating heart into liquid.
“You stole my move,” I say cheekily.
His dimples come out to play. Then he readjusts his head on his pillow. “Yeah, well, I felt like doing it.” He winks at me for good measure.
“Speaking of things we feel like doing…” I trail off, bringing my hand up to his chest and laying my palm flat.
His mistakes my meaning and hooks his hand around my leg, pulling it over his waist. “Oh yeah?”
I let out a laugh, but I use that palm on his chest to push him slightly away. “No,” I say on a short giggle. “Not like that.”
He buries his face against my neck, his lips peppering kisses on my sensitive skin. “Then what’s it like?”
“Well,” I start, still not sure how to word it. “I was thinking.” Which is a total cop-out. This is a given.
“I thought I could hear the wheels in your head turning,” he says, pulling back to look at me. “What’s going on?”
Sooner than I can start my confession, his phone buzzes on his bedside table. He apologizes as he turns onto his back to reach for it. When he checks the screen, his happy, carefree demeanor vanishes. Without touching him, I can feel how solid and still his body has gone. And I can tell how much whatever’s on his phone has upset him by the power he uses to drop the phone back to the table.
Over his shoulder, the only thing I was able to make out was “Joyce” at the top of the screen. I wasn’t trying to pry, but it was in my line of vision. Obviously, I was curious, but it isn’t my business who’s texting him on a Saturday morning. Or any morning. Or night. We’re just for show. And sex sometimes, apparently.
That reminder is all I need not to say what I was going to say.
“Sorry,” he says, rolling back toward me. “I thought it was on silent.”
“That’s okay. If you need to take that…” I peek over his shoulder to indicate his phone.
“Nah.” He snuggles back into his pillow and we resume our previous position. “It can wait. You were saying something.”
I give him a halfhearted shrug, shutting down and chickening out. “Oh, it was nothing. No big deal.”
He lowers his eyebrows and narrows his eyes. “You sure? Because you can always tell me that you want me to wear turquoise to the wedding. You want it, you got it.” His dimples flash again, making me a little weak in the knees.
Thank goodness we’re already lying down.
“How’d you know?” I ask, feigning shock and surprise. “You said you can’t, but you definitely can read my mind.” My heart twists as I pretend with him, but it’s okay. I’m used to pretending with him, aren’t I?
“Hmm.” His eyes stay narrow as he thinks. “Right now, you’re thinking about”—he brings his lips to my neck and kisses me—“all the places I could”—he brushes his nose against my cleavage—“lick you, aren’t you?” He finishes by looking me right in the eyes, his head dipped a little.
“Well, I wasn’t before,” I tell him, smirking at him, “but I am now.”
As though gladly, he ducks under the sheet and shimmies down my body. When he’s settled at the apex of my thighs, he parts my legs and dips his tongue into my folds. And the sweet distraction of pleasure takes me over. No need to think so hard. No need to contemplate the future. No need to worry that other women are texting him—and maybe warming his bed when I’m not in it.
Nah. I’ll just stay in the now.
Apparently, it’s not time to say something. And that’s okay. Living the lie will get easier the longer I do it.
I hope, anyway.
∞∞∞
Matt
She’s not telling me something. She’s playing it off well, but I can see right through it. I won’t force her to tell me though. Probably because I have an idea of what it is and I don’t want to go there right now. We made an agreement, and I’ll honor it. And that text message from Joyce, reminding me about our coffee date, had me clamming up anyway.
Though I won’t say I haven’t given it—us—some thought. Now that Joyce and I have talked and she apologized, I feel like I have a missing part back. A part of me I need in order to be in a relationship with someone else. But I’m still not ready. Because I’ll probably end up hurting Cadence if we commit to something more and I’m not fully up to the task. It’s been years since I’ve been in a relationship, so I’m beyond rusty.
Plus, let’s be honest. She’s the one who came up with his impersonal no-strings rule. The last thing I need to do is fall for a woman who really doesn’t want a relationship.
And she’s been tight-lipped about her past too. Clearly, something happened to her. Something that left her in pieces she’s trying to mend as well. So neither of us is ready for that next step. Not until we come clean.
I’ll admit that something’s been bothering me. Ever since I talked with Aidan about her not knowing my name, I’ve wanted to tell her. She hasn’t asked, and she’s never said it, so I’m sure she doesn’t know. She definitely knows I’m not Brian, but that’s it.
Another thing that’s bothering me is that we rely on her ordering things on the internet to see each other. If whatever we’re doing has a chance to become something more—and I’m not saying either of us want to or are ready for that—then we need a phone number exchange at the very least.
Now, I just have to get ahold of her. Seeing as I still don’t have her number, that might be hard. I can stop by her house, but she’s a busy woman. She’s almost always in running gear when I see her, but a lot of the time when I drop packages off, she’s not home. Work, I assume. It takes time and lots of effort to be the successful real estate agent she is.
While out for deliveries on Monday, I’m reminded of what she does for a living when I spot a sign with her face on it. It reads Open House Today! Which means she’s there. So perhaps it won’t be so hard to get ahold of her.
Leaving my truck out front, I walk up to the door and then knock. She opens it, fresh-faced and smiling widely. The sun glints off her white teeth, and her pink skirt suit complements her curves in a mostly-business way. Even though I prefer her more natural, there’s something to be said about a woman in clothes that fit the powerful role. It suits her too, and I’m rather taken aback by how much I appreciate her in her work environment.
Her expression turns from all pleasant business to something full of shock before the previous professional grin turns into a sexier smirk meant for me. “Oh hey,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “You in the market?”
Depends on what the market is, I think. But, sooner than I can comment—or mentally slap myself out of that shit—she keeps speaking.
“I’ve seen your place. You could get a lot of money for it.” She folds her arms over her chest and leans against the doorway.
“Ahh, no,” I tell her before dipping my head down. “Just saw your sign”—I jut my thumb over my shoulder—“and wanted to stop by.”
Her face lights up for a split second. She’s quick to school it back to something less fueled with emotion. Something more professional. Then she says, “Well, that was nice of you. What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I seem to remember lots of things you can do for me,” I say it before thinking better of it, and I punctuate it with a wink. Hopefully those dimples all the ladies love do some magic.
They must, because her cheeks turn a light shade of pink and she licks her lips.
“But,” I add, getting down to business, “I’m here to ask a favor of you, seeing as I think you owe me one.”
“Oh, I do, do I?” Her smirk is so sexy. “I seem to remember trying to return a favor and someone not letting me finish.”
My gaze falls on her perfect, pink mouth. God, it felt incredible wrapped around my cock. So I tell her, “Well, you’re more than welcome to finish that favor some other time, but I think dinner at your mom’s house earned me this one.”
Slowly, she blinks at me, that smirk never leaving her lips. “Okay, then,” she says after a few moments. She adjusts her stance. “Lay it on me.”
Her familiar words sink in, and hope finds its way into my own when I say, “It’s small. And relatively harmless. I promise.”
She raises one eyebrow as if to say, Get on with it.
“All I’m asking for is your phone number.” I give her my best cheesy, hopeful, pretty-please smile.
Her shoulders fall a little. Relief? Disappointment? I’m not sure.
“I already told you to wear whatever tux you have,” she says, brushing her bangs to the side of her forehead.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not for that,” I clarify.
“Then what’s it for?” she probes, popping her hip out and putting her hand on it. “We’re quickly running out of nights to spend together, seeing as the wedding is this week now. So why would you need my number?”
Her reaction was unexpected. After this weekend and what she was saying in my bed, I thought she’d be on board with this. That maybe I needed to make the first move. So the words get stuck in my throat. As much as I want to give her a small confession about hoping we can still see each other when this charade is over, I can’t seem to do it. She’s cold again, all business about this situation. This agreement.
So I put my hands up in surrender instead and say, “Never mind.” To cover my tracks, I tell her, “I guess late-night booty calls aren’t your thing. Got it.” Then I wink for good measure.
Her throat works and bobs as she swallows. “Then that’s settled. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work,” she says, pointing inside the house. Then she looks at the watch on her wrist. “I have a scheduled appointment in ten minutes.”
“Yeah,” I say, backing up from the door—and her. “I should get back to work too.” I point a finger toward my truck. “Lots of packages to deliver and all that.” Inwardly, I berate myself for being so fucking lame.
“Okay, then. Saturday. See you at three thirty.”
Before I can answer, though, she shuts the door. Slams it, almost. I stare after it, wondering why she felt she needed to do that. Stress from the wedding and her job? Anger because I dared to ask to talk to her on the phone? What the fuck.
Well, that answers that, I guess. So, as I walk back to my truck, I pull my phone out to text someone who does want me to talk to them on the phone. Actually, she wants to see me in person, and I intend to make that happen.
Me: Coffee. The Steam Room. Wednesday. 8am okay?
I barely have time to set my phone in the cup holder before it buzzes with a reply.
Joyce: Absolutely. See you then.