She turned onto her street and saw the reflection of rear tail reflectors on a familiar dark blue Lexus parked in front of her house. It was Bill’s car. Turning around was looking better all the time. Pulling closer as she prepared to turn into her driveway, she noted the driver’s seat appeared empty. That could mean only one thing.
“Damn it.” He’d taken the liberty of letting himself into the house. “Why didn’t I take his key or have the locks changed?” Because of the kids. It’d been a decision made with them in mind. They needed their dad as much as they needed her, and she’d decided after the divorce was final that he could come by as needed, to see them. She’d regretted the decision immediately because he was over more than he needed to be, even for meals, until she’d given him a hint that the phone worked well, too.
He was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine from the bottle he’d just opened. He grimaced after taking a sip. “How can you stand this sweet, fruity crap?”
“Well, for starters, it needs to be refrigerated first. I happen to like it, and I don’t need to justify it to your rarified tastes, Bill. And since when do you just help yourself to whatever you want around here?”
Bill drained the glass and shrugged. “Since I own this house.”
She blinked and arched both eyebrows at him. She so wasn’t in the mood for his shit. “Excuse me? What are you trying to say?”
“Merely a reminder I paid off the mortgage on this house before we divorced and didn’t force you to agree to sell it so the kids would have a place to live and to come home to after college, if need be. I could buy a larger house, which would include space for them, and then you’d be left in a tight spot if I decided it was time to sell, wouldn’t you?”
“My work around here all those years had value, and you didn’t accomplish paying off the house on your own, Bill. And don’t make it sound as if you gave me the house. I make mortgage payments as per our contracted arrangement. Are you backing out of that agreement? Tell me right now what it is you’re saying.”
Bill smirked and waved his hands at her as though he was placating a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Calm down. I’m not saying anything of the sort. I was merely pointing the fact out. Don’t get your panties in such a twist.”
She craned her head to look in the den, remembering he’d had a date with him that night. “Where’s Brittany? Was it past her bedtime? Did she have homework?”
“She got tired. I’d forgotten what a bitter bitch you can be sometimes, Cass.”
Her dentist had told her it was bad to grind her teeth, but that nickname drove her nuts—and Bill knew it.
“It comes from being under the thumbs of macho assholes all my life. What did you come here for?”
Bill took another sip of the room-temperature sangria and winced before pouring the full wineglass into the drain. “I didn’t intend to get you riled up.”
“And?”
He tilted his head and assessed her, from her high heels to the top of her head, as he crossed his arms over his chest. She stood there, waiting.
I could’ve turned around and gone back to the Pony. I should’ve heard the guys out.
“Bill, do you remember us having a talk a couple of years ago, about how there were some visits that could be handled over the phone rather than you just walking in the house?” My house. “What is it you want to say?”
He let out a long breath and then gave her a crooked little smile, his eyelids sliding to half-mast as he stared at her breasts. “I was seeing you in a new light tonight.” He shook his head and shifted his stance to lean against the kitchen counter. Her ick-meter ticked up when she realized he was attempting to inconspicuously accommodate an erection. “You were never this spirited when we were married.”
“You just told me I was a bitter bitch. Which is it?”
He firmed his jaw as he gazed at her. “I’ve had time to think about our situation.”
“Our situation? Which situation is that? The one where you committed adultery? Or the one where you abandoned me when I was facing surgery? Or by ‘situation,’ are you referring to the fact I’m doing fine making a living without you? I’m not your doormat anymore, and I don’t know what’s going through your head,” she added, flicking a glance at his boner, “but it’s not happening.”
He licked his lips and smiled crookedly. “We were a good thing, once.”
She scoffed. “You have a selective memory. You had a ‘good thing, once,’ but you blew it.”
“Fine. I’ll give you time to think about it. You’re here alone, which tells me you struck out with Cutters One and Two. Maybe there’s a reason why, besides that they’re losers.”
Cassie shook her head and gestured to the door. “Please go home. And leave your key on the table by the door. You could’ve given me a heart attack if I hadn’t seen your car parked out front.”
He shook his head. “The deed on the house is still in my name. What if there was an emergency?”
She didn’t feel like arguing anymore. She had to remember her kids were his kids. It wasn’t as if he’d ever come in and hurt her, and being a dickhead wasn’t a prosecutable offense.
He walked out of the kitchen, and before he closed the front door, he called out, “You were looking fine tonight, Cass.”
Shaking her head, she filled a glass of ice, pondering his change of tune, and poured herself a glass of the sangria. Was he high? Stupid?
I wouldn’t take his sorry ass back, even if he was the last macho asshole on the face of this planet.
She put the bottle in the refrigerator, and after making sure the house was locked up securely, she took her glass into the living room—her living room.
She’d botched her reunion with Samson and Ivan, and now she had Bill’s unwelcome visit to worry about.
“Nope,” she muttered as she slipped a DVD in the player and got comfortable in her recliner with her fluffy blankie and the remote. She had the day off on Sundays and no respect for sleep. An Outlander marathon would cure what ailed her tonight.
Chapter Eight
Startled awake by the ringing of her cell phone, Cassie blinked in confusion at the blue screen on the television in her living room. Her eyes felt sandpaper-ish as she felt around on the side table for her phone, nearly knocking over her wineglass in the process. “Okay, okay, okay,” she muttered to the insistent ringing. “Hello.”
“Hi, Mom. It’s Joseph. Did I call too early?”
“No, no,” she said, sitting up in the recliner as she looked out at the dim sky. “Is everything okay? What time is it?”
“It’s a little after six. You’ve always been an early riser so I thought it would be okay to call.” He paused and then chuckled. “Oops. I forgot your class reunion was last night, wasn’t it? So were you out all night?”
“No!” she said with a giggle as she shuffled into the kitchen. “It was a lot of fun, but I wasn’t out late. What about you? Have a hot date last night?”
The scent of the French roast coffee aided her still sleep-muddled brain. At work she served coffees, teas, lattes, mochas, espressos, but at home, she preferred a simple, fragrant cup from her good old Mr. Coffee coffeemaker.
Joseph snorted softly over the line. “Mom, you know better. Once I get my ducks in a row, I’ll think about dating. Until then, I’d just be wasting time and resources. If she’s out there, as you say she is, then she’ll understand about my goals.”
“Hey, it was worth a try. So are you counting down yet?” Joseph was finishing up the last of the credits he needed to graduate from the International Culinary School at The Art Institute of Dallas.
“You know I am. Listen, Mom, I’ve decided to move back to Divine after I’m done here in December, to help out with the family business.”
“Is that what you truly want? Don’t make a decision like that because of me, you hear me, Joseph? I’ll not have you wasting your degree—”
“Hardly, Mom. Yes, I’ll love being able to eat your
cooking more than just once or twice a semester. That much is true, but it’s not the only reason.”
“You know you’re always welcome. I’ll have your room ready.”
Another amused sound came over the line. “Mom, I’m not moving back home. You and Dad taught me great money management skills and how to survive on my own. I’m not like all my cousins, who expect to live at home until they get married and get a down payment on a house for a wedding present.”
She laughed, thinking he wasn’t far from the mark about her family. “Thank goodness! Although I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here until you find someplace permanent.”
“I need my independence, and so do you. Besides, I can’t bring all my hot dates home to my mother’s house. They’d think I was pathetic.”
“I thought they were all on hold until your ducks are in a row.”
“I meant that, but I’m not a monk either, Mom.”
He’d been so focused for the last four years she was happy to hear him talking about having a little fun, too. “I know, I know. But remember there will always be a place for you and Tamara in my home. Always.”
That was the main reason she’d pushed the arrangement she and Bill currently had. He held the note on the house, and she made payments directly to him, so the kids would always have the home they grew up in to come back to.
“I know, but you raised us both to be independent and chart our own courses. Our home is not a brick and lumber dwelling, Mom. It’s you. It’s okay to let go of the past and take care of the present and future, maybe find a new place to make new memories. It wouldn’t bother me or Tam if you wanted to sell the house and find a smaller place so you didn’t have all the upkeep on a four-bedroom house.”
“Nonsense. This way you always have somewhere to bring your families for the holidays. And I’ll always have enough room for everyone.”
“Mom, we’ll come wherever you are for the holidays. Don’t worry about that. Can I ask you about something kind of personal?”
Raising her eyebrows, she leaned against the counter while the coffeemaker gurgled and hissed. Was he planning to ask her if she was already dating anyone? “Depends. What would you like to know?”
He sighed on the other end. “I talked to Dad last night.”
“What did he say?” Do I even want to know?
“He gave me the impression the two of you were considering reconciliation.”
That bastard. He’d called their son trying to enlist his help in whatever idiotic plot he was cooking up. At least she had confirmation it wasn’t her imagination. “Cariño, your father and I are not getting back together. I know it would probably make you and Tamara happy, but we had our reasons for splitting up.” Me, for discovering he was a cheating bastard, and him for being idiotic enough to think having a hysterectomy meant I would lose my femininity. She thought it, but she didn’t say it. They didn’t need all those details.
“Mom, I’m not four. I know there were problems, and probably knew all along. Tamara, too. If he’s dreaming and plotting, well…I love the man, he’s my dad, but I’m not pushing you at him. I want to see you both happy.”
She longed to hug him so hard. “I love you, baby. Thank you for understanding and caring so much about me. I’m not taking him back.”
“I liked that you allowed him so much access to us when we were still at home. I guess he’s thinking it would be easy to just get everyone on his side and coerce you into it?”
Well, it worked once before. She shook her head, wishing she could erase the memory of how she’d given in to her father and uncles pushing her at Bill.
She poured a cup of coffee and said, “Should I start looking for an apartment for you?”
“Already have a lead on one near the shop. It’ll be available mid-December, which is perfect. And once I’m settled, I’ll start looking for a house. If you want, I can look for a nice, smaller house for you, too.”
“Not so fast,” she said with a chuckle.
He responded with an easy laugh. “I know. I’m putting the cart before the horse. Actually, my main reason for calling is to talk to you about the shop.”
“The shop? What about it?”
“Well, you’ve built a solid, profitable, and popular business in Divine. I want to talk to you about expanding and maybe exploring some new opportunities—and maybe interview with Divine Drip’s beautiful, smart CEO for the position of manager. I’d like to assist in taking Divine Drip to the next level.”
“Next level? Where do I go from coffee, kolaches, cupcakes, and breakfast tacos?”
He made a quiet yet gleeful sound she recalled from when he was younger. “You’ve made Divine Drip so much more than that, Mom. Under one roof, you’ve pulled together multicultural food services, a mainstream bakery, a coffee house, and don’t forget the wedding cake business. You, Mom, are a force to be reckoned with. But you only have twenty-four hours in your day—”
The only other male family member who’d ever affirmed her abilities had been her Uncle Rudy. Her voice grew husky as she said, “Whoa, honey! You’re making me tired just talking about it.”
“And now you’re getting to the point I wanted to make, Mom. On your own, you can only do so much: managing the shop, food prep, advertising, equipment issues. You do it all.”
“No, I have very good help.”
“Which shows your ability to manage people. Mom, let me help you take Divine Drip to the next level. And if you don’t like my methods or don’t understand, just say so. Question anything. I don’t want to take it away from you or make you feel like you’re not in the loop. You’ll be consulted on every decision, and we only go forward with changes if you agree. Best of all? I’ll make you money.”
The earnestness in his voice was heart-warming and made her so proud of the respectful and levelheaded man he’d grown into. “And you’re sure you want to waste your degree managing my little homegrown coffee shop?”
“You bet I do. And the idea is to make your job easier, let you do the parts of the business you enjoy most, and with easier hours, because you’ll have me.”
“Mi hijo, you make me so proud. Yes, let’s talk about it when you come for Thanksgiving. And you know…there are plenty of sweet, nice-looking girls in Divine. I could introduce you—”
“Mom, you’re killin’ me.”
Cassie laughed with him as she stirred sugar into her coffee. “I know, I know. But I need grandbabies to cherish if you’re going to put me out of a job.”
They finished sharing other bits of news, and the phone hadn’t even cooled off from ending the call before it rang again.
She didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. “Hello?”
“Hello, beautiful.” Ivan’s gruff baritone sent a thrill up her spine. “So, we’re a package deal, huh? Does that mean if we hadn’t gotten sidetracked last night, you might be considering us?”
“M-Maybe. I regretted leaving in such a rush, but I needed time to think…and cool off.”
“You’re sexy when you’re fiery. Did you get much thinking done?”
“Yes.” No. Only the subconscious kind that happens during the wedding episode of Outlander. “But I haven’t come to any conclusions. I…didn’t have enough information. I mean I know Samson goes to the club, but what he does there is a big black hole to me. Last night I got hung up on the mental image of Samson enjoying hurting someone I care about.”
“Before you say anything further, you should know I don’t know much about it and never cared to learn more, even after I discovered Samson was into…that. But we talked last night, in private, and he explained some of it to me. I’m more intrigued than repulsed.”
“Does that mean you want to…I mean, you’re twins and all. And you’re both so damned big and strong. I imagine the women, and, to be fair, probably men, line up to be spanked or...or tortured or whatever.”
“If you’re asking if I’m a secret sadist, the answer is no. But I understand better why he
gets off on it. And you’re right, although not in the way you imagine it. He said members of the club request time with him, and if that’s so, then it must be because they trust him. He couldn’t go into personal detail, but he told me about a masochist in a high-level, high-pressure position and what Samson does for her is her stress outlet. It’s therapeutic.”
“Did you ask if there was sex between them? Does he have sex there in the club with everyone watching?” Her mental images were going from bad to worse.
“No. I specifically asked him because that would be crossing a line that can’t be uncrossed. Total deal breaker for me.”
Well, that was a relief to hear. “But he beats on her, right? Or what?” A shiver ran up her spine.
“He said she prefers he use a whip.”
“A whip?” That doesn’t sound like a good thing…or romantic…or anything besides painful.
“He marks her back but never cuts her. The pain takes her to a different place. Lots of endorphins. He says she feels better afterward, and she asks for him several times a year.”
“Well, I’m glad she likes her warm fuzzies enough to ask for a repeat.”
“He made it clear they don’t have any kind of romantic relationship, and I believe him. It might not be as bad as I’ve assumed all this time. I mean really, does Samson strike you as anything but a reasonable man, capable of loving someone and being loved?”
“Well, of course he is.”
“Could we give him the benefit of the doubt?” he asked in that velvety, cajoling tone of voice his brother also possessed.
“Yes, but I’m still very cautious. I know he’s a sweetheart—”
Ivan scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Now me? I’m a sweetheart—”
“You hush,” she butted in with a soft giggle. “But if he lays a hand on me, to cause pain so he can get his jollies, I pity the fool.”
Ivan chuckled. “I like it when you take that fierce tone. You’re a hot little Latina badass when you cuss in Spanish. So does this mean we can come over and woo you some more?”
“Woo me?”
How Cassie Got Her Grind Back [Divine Creek Ranch 23] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 10
