How Cassie Got Her Grind Back (19 page)

That wasn’t a no,
and neither was the warm kiss she gave him when he bent down to her.

Fifteen minutes later he turned onto the street she’d directed him to and looked for the house with multi-colored rock and a porch wrapping around one side. It was easy to find with the house number displayed on her mailbox. He parked the truck on the curb behind a dark blue Lexus so she could park in the driveway and shut off the ignition. He took a moment and tried Samson’s cell phone again.

“Hey,” Samson growled into the phone. “What’s up? Everything go okay?”

“It was fine. I just wanted to let you know I’m at Cassie’s place. I’m making her supper. Her mom is going to be okay. She had a panic attack—you can imagine why, with Cassie’s dad throwing a tantrum.”

“Did they let her go home?”

“She’s staying overnight in the hospital so they can observe her. There must be a few other symptoms they want to keep an eye on.”

Samson made an affirming sound and said, “I’m curious to know what her dad was saying about Bill.”

Ivan chuckled, knowing Samson would feel territorial already. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It appears her dad doesn’t have much control or influence over our Cassie anymore.”

“‘Our Cassie.’ I like the sound of that.”

“But if you want to ask her, you could always come over. I’m making crawfish étouffée.”

“Damn it. I wish I could, but it’ll be late by the time I leave.”

“I’ll text you the address just in case you change your mind.”

“I think she needs to be the one to extend the invitation, don’t you? Besides, on your own, you may be able to make up some of the ground I seem to keep losing with her.”

“You do have the worst luck, don’t you? Any more skeletons going to fall out of your kinky little closet?”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

Removing the key from his pocket, he walked up the steps. “I’ll tell her we spoke. I’ve got to get started. Talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Have fun. I mean it.”

“I’m just cooking. We’ll see what happens. I’m the new kid on the block, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“So chivalrous, too. Okay, talk to you later.”

Ivan put his phone away and slid the key into the deadbolt lock and went inside. He smiled at the sight that greeted him. Her house was tidy, spic and span. Not a speck of dust or disorder anywhere. She’d always been a tidy person.

The open floor plan led from the entryway to the living room, and then he got a load of the large kitchen beyond.

Wow. Niiiice.

Hammered copper pots in every size glinted from their hooks on a pot rack suspended above the granite island. The built-in gas cooktop gleamed below the pots, the burnished hardware of the burners beckoning him with their culinary siren song.

He set his car keys on the island and looked around at the obvious love she’d lavished on her kitchen. Glass-fronted cabinets painted in a soothing muted greenish-blue displayed sets of crystal glassware and white china. A large arrangement of fresh tulips filled a vase on the counter, and he smiled as he approached the stainless steel refrigerator. Peeking inside, he spotted a bottle of sangria and recalled she’d liked it the night at the Pony. He reached into a nearby cabinet and took out two blown-glass wine goblets and filled them with the wine.

Taking a sip from one, he marshaled his thoughts or he’d still be lusting after her pretty kitchen when she got home. The sangria went down easy and made him think of her kiss, that night at the club. Their first.

Standing there, taking in the warmth and tranquil atmosphere, he heard a sound from down the hallway. After listening, he realized it was soft music playing. Perhaps she’d forgotten to turn her radio off on her way out the door early that morning, or maybe she was the kind who preferred to have a little ambient noise all the time. A little music to cook by would be nice. Maybe once he had all his ingredients laid out, he’d go in the living room and see what his options were, but first things first.

He was in the pantry, selecting a yellow onion, a bell pepper, along with the stalks of celery he’d gotten from the refrigerator—the holy trinity of Cajun cuisine—when he heard the distinct sound of water shutting off somewhere inside the house. There was no way she could’ve made it back that fast from the bank and the store, and he wondered what was going on. Was someone using the faucet outside perhaps?

He looked out the front window but didn’t see any movement, just the vehicles parked in front of her house and the neighboring houses.

Listening quietly, he heard muffled noises from the back of the house and then a distinct clicking sound. His footsteps were softened by the carpet as he walked slowly down the hallway, drawn toward flickering light in the darkened bedroom at the end of the hall.

What the hell?

The humidity of the shower and the scent of body wash came to him as he passed three other closed doors. He paused at the sound of rustling sheets, and then a
male
voice called out. “I thought I heard you get home. Why don’t you join me, Cass? I’ve been thinking about you all day…and needing you.” A familiar male voice.

Red. It was, in fact, possible to see red.

He stopped in the doorway, imagining all the different ways he could kill Cassie’s ex-husband. Bill Resendez was sprawled on the piled-up pillows at the head of the bed, buck naked, pulling on his dick to get it hard. Bill’s pitiful effort went limp when he saw the shape in the doorway that could in no way be mistaken as Cassie. There were times when being tall and bulky came in handy.

“What the fuck?” Bill hollered, his voice cracking as he grabbed at the sheets—Cassie’s sheets—to cover up his now limp dick.

“Funny,” Ivan said as he flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with bright light and revealing Bill’s need for a little manscaping. He had no idea the guy was so hairy. “I was just thinking the same thing. What the fuck are you doing here, Resendez? Did you not get the memo about the divorce four years ago?”

“This is still my house!”

“Ergo, your ex-wife is still your property? I don’t think so. Get dressed before I puke.”

“Fuck you! What are you doing here?”

“Cooking a beautiful lady supper after her long, stressful day. I won’t ask what you’re doing here because it’s obvious…or at least it was before it shriveled to the size of a cocktail weenie. You thought you’d get laid pulling this bullshit?”

“I thought I’d surprise her. I talked to her about possibly rekindling—”

“The only thing getting kindled is your hairy ass if you don’t get dressed,” he said, growling under his breath as he advanced. Bill backed up until he bounced the headboard against the wall and could go no farther.

“You’re trespassing in this house,” Bill began, his face going ruddy, and he frowned as he flexed his muscles, trying to appear more intimidating.

“No. You are, chesty. I was expressly invited. You broke into her house.”

“I have a key. I own this house—”

He had no idea what Bill meant but planned to get to the bottom of it. “You entered a private dwelling without permission with intent to ‘surprise’ the resident with a proposal to have sex. Wonder what Hank would think,” he added, getting out his phone and pulling up Hank’s number.

“Wait!” Bill yelled, holding out his hand to stop him from placing the call. “Fine! I’ll get dressed, but I’m staying to talk to Cassie.”

Ivan growled but then said, “Whatever. Just put some clothes on.”

With a pound of shelled crawfish in hand, Cassie came to a stop in the health and beauty aids aisle of the grocery store. Emma said lubricant. Lots of lubricant. She glanced at the jar of extra-virgin coconut oil in her little shopping basket, which Emma had suggested as a natural alternative, and wondered if it was obvious she intended to try it out as a lubricant, rather than to use it in her cooking?

What? It’s not as is I’m wearing a sign on my back that says, “I’m a foodie freak!”

She bit her lip as she looked at the vast rainbow-colored display of condom choices. Ribbed, lubricated, textured, colored…glow in the dark? Then her eyes happened upon the row beneath those to the magnum-sized condoms. Did they need those?

Get a grip, girl. You’ve birthed two normal-sized babies. You can take ’em.

And
that
was when her face turned hot. But she wasn’t leaving until she found what she needed.

She took a deep breath and glanced in both directions. “Nothing to see here, folks,” she said under her breath in the blessedly deserted aisle.

She zeroed in on the box marked “most recommended by doctors,” made sure they were just regular plain-colored and not flavored but lubricated. She tried to feel normal standing there with condoms in her hand, as though she was perusing the fine print.

Why am I looking at these? I’ve had a hysterectomy. Would they expect me to have them if we um…yeah? Would they be shocked to know I have them? Do they carry them in their wallets or something?

Wait, why in the fuck are they carrying condoms in their wallets?

You idiot, they’re normal men with probably normal sex drives. I’ve heard men their age have better-than-average staying power.

Whoa, I definitely need to get more lube.

But will they think I’m of loose virtue if I already have them?

Silly, better to be prepared because of STDs.

And where could they have gotten STDs from?

Do I ask them when the last time they had sex was, or do I wait for them to ask me—Shit!

She threw the box of condoms in the basket, where they bounced off of the crawfish.

The lubricants were the same, all manner of scents. Flavors. Cooling gels. Warming gels.
Warming
? Then she remembered they might enjoy anal play and put the warming gel back.

Nope.

She picked out two brands she recognized from television commercials and slid them in under the crawfish. Now her ratio of sexual aid products to necessary food products was skewed, and she thought about getting a loaf of bread until she saw the packaging on the shelf between the condoms and the lubricant.

Dude. Jerry Batson sells vibrators?

Making sure the aisle was still deserted, she peeked around the end and saw Mr. Batson’s wife, Betty, was the only cashier on duty. She’d known Betty for forever. Betty hated the way gossip traveled in the small town, and Cassie was pretty sure if she could trust anyone to get through that cashier stand without her purchases making headlines at the
Divine Courier
, it was Betty.

Chewing her lip, she looked over the packages hurriedly before Betty took a break, and while there wasn’t a line at the register, and selected a purple box proclaiming,
“Five different settings, three intensity levels, phthalate-free and hypoallergenic! Doctor recommended!”

She could almost imagine Emma winking and nodding and slid the purple box into her basket and hurried past the Depends and feminine hygiene products.

Betty greeted her, her grin growing perceptibly wider as she ran each item over a scanner and slipped them discreetly into a shopping bag. When she made eye contact with Cassie, she tipped her chin as she made change, to draw her closer and said, “Hey, have you read Veronica Benedict’s
Bound by the Bonfire
?”

She’d heard of it, but she was still busy working her way through a historical series and shook her head. “Is it good?”

Betty mouthed, “
Oh my God
,” as her husband stepped out of his office and headed to the back after nodding at them. “It is so hot. You should Google it and buy it. The next one in the series,
Bound at the Bed & Breakfast
was just released, too, so you can read them back to back!”

Veronica Benedict was pretty much out of the closet as a romance writer living in the community, but Cassie didn’t know how much Betty knew about Grace’s and Rachel’s writing careers so she said, “Well, I’ve read everything by Caressa McFarland and Jane O’Malley. Are they like that?”

“Oh, yes!” Betty said with big eyes as if she had a secret of her own to share and nodded. “You’ll love all of the Bound books.” She pointed at the packages of batteries on the peg next to the tabloids and whispered, “You’re gonna need some of those in triple-As for that toy.”

Cassie nodded and grabbed a package as another customer entered the store, and Betty rang them up and put them in the bag and chirped, “Have fun,” as Cassie thanked her profusely and hurried out the door, wondering why she felt so scandalous.

I’m a woman of the new millennium. I can buy a vibrator if I want. Or condoms and lubes. I can even have sex or read erotic books if I want. Why, I can even have anal sex or double up if I want to.

The thought made her bottom clench as she got into her car though.

What am I doin’?

She glanced in the mirror—and smiled at her reflection.

“I’m a renaissance woman, and I’m seizing the day, baby!”

Ivan’s big fancy truck was already at the house when she pulled in the driveway. Her mind was in turmoil as to how to get all her purchases squared away without looking so obvious. With her heart pounding in her ears, she rushed inside and slipped the paper-wrapped package of crawfish into the refrigerator and noticed he didn’t have the base for the étouffée sautéing yet. Maybe he was on the phone out back.