by C. L. Parker
Cassidy
I lived for weekends. Saturday nights, in particular. And not for the hippest clubs offered up by one of the trendiest cities in the country. No, I was sort of anti … well, all of that. For me, Friday evenings were spent recuperating from the long week, and Sundays were spent preparing for the next, but Saturday was my day to do nothing whatsoever. And I had the perfect place to do it; an escape, and I didn’t even have to travel far to get it.
Living on the top floor of a twenty-story apartment building in the heart of San Diego had its advantages. Best of all was the view from the rooftop balcony Quinn and I shared. That was where I kept a crappy little garden, where I’d botched every bit of gardening advice given to me by Ma and, instead, only managed to torture Mother Nature’s seedlings until they were wilted and in need of some serious herbal CPR. Within a couple of months of moving in, I’d switched to greenery that was nearly impossible to kill, and so far, the plants had been hanging in there, but the prognosis wasn’t good.
My rooftop was also where I’d come to watch the sun play its magnificent tricks on the water of the bay. In the evenings, it morphed from a deep sea blue to liquid silver to hues of gold and chocolate or pinks and oranges at sunset, until finally the reflection of the sun was replaced by those of the city lights dancing across a canvas of pitch black. But neither the private garden nor the view of the bay was what made my rooftop a sanctuary.
It was the sky. Always the sky for me. For as long as I could remember.
Stonington, Maine, was a fishing village with a population of just over a thousand. If you lived there, it was because you were born there. You fished lobster or worked the docks, gave your neighbor the shirt off your back, and loved your country with a passion that ran soul-deep. It was small-town America, a place where everybody knew your name and you couldn’t get away with jack squat without someone running to tell your da and ma. So there were days when Casey and I would sneak away to our secret spot on the roof of my house. It was this cute little alcove between the pitches that gave us just enough room to hide out and still have a spectacular view of the harbor. Every time Casey and I disappeared, our parents would read us the riot act for wandering so far from home. We never told them we’d been right above them the whole time.
Casey and I would sit for hours on that roof, just watching the clouds and making up stories to go with the shapes we found there. I was the best at that part. Most of my stories were funny and some of them were even pretty epic, but then there were also the romantic tales. Those were the ones when Casey would touch my hand and look at me like nothing else in the world mattered. Like there was only him and me and those clouds and nothing else. I suppose at the time, there wasn’t.
That small stretch of time when the sun disappeared and twilight turned to dusk was when we sat quiet, like we were both holding our breath and waiting for the last sliver of sun to fade from the sky. Then dusk turned to night and the stars took center stage. That was where Casey had shined. I’d been in awe of his stories, and the reflection of the stars in Casey’s baby blues as he’d told me about the hero Perseus sitting atop his flying Pegasus as he rescued Andromeda from the sea monster was a sight that would forever be burned into my memory. He’d known everything there was to know about stars. Though he’d never admit to it if I’d asked, he’d been skipping his homework so he could learn about them just to impress me. Because he knew I’d loved them. I still did.
The stars weren’t the same in San Diego. They weren’t as bright, and if they were twinkling, they lacked the luster and sparkle of the ones back home. The one constant, though, was the moon. I could always count on it to be there, to be the brightest thing anyone could see in the night sky, no matter where they were. The same moon I was seeing was the same moon Casey would be looking at as well. I’d talked to that moon like writing in a diary, pretending that somehow, Casey could hear me through it. Sometimes, all the comfort I’d needed was to believe that somewhere on the other side, 3,258 miles away, Casey might have been talking to me, too.
Casey Michaels knew me better than anyone else ever could. The epitome of a lobster fisherman, he was six foot one, 180 pounds, usually wearing a T-shirt and flannel button-up, with sandy blond hair, blue eyes, a scruffy face, and a slight bow to his blue-jean-clad legs. His steel-toed boots carried a mighty man who worked every bit as hard as his father and his father before him. Casey was nothing if not traditional, a legacy, and he was my hero. He’d also been my best friend and my constant partner in crime from the first day either of us could cognitively recognize the other.
Our mothers had been best friends before us. Those two had done everything together. They’d flirted with the boys down by the docks together, gotten married on the same day to the two lucky fellows that had fallen madly for them (also on the same day), and had even gotten pregnant at the same time. Their friendship had begun on the day they’d met and realized that both of their first names started with the same letter. So Abby had named her son Casey, and Anna had named her daughter Cassidy. They were like sisters in every way. And even though Casey and I had been raised like siblings, we’d never felt that way. Our connection was something else entirely, something foreign that no one else could touch. Which was a good thing, because that would’ve made things extremely awkward when we’d started dating, even more so when we’d lost our virginity to each other.
Casey was all I’d ever known, and I’d loved him for my entire life. He knew my secrets and my fears, and I trusted him more than anyone else on the face of the planet. He was an extension of myself, and although we’d never defined what we were to each other, there had never seemed to be a need to. Whatever we’d had, we’d always have it. But then I’d left him all alone.
Whether or not I’d go to college had never been a question in my mind. That was, until I’d started to receive acceptance letters from all over the country. I remembered the look on Casey’s face when I’d gotten the first one. We’d both been excited. In fact, he’d picked me up and swung me around until I’d thought the resulting dizziness might get the best of me. And that kiss he’d laid on me. The memory of it still made my lips tingle to this day. But then reality was like the Jaws of Life prying us apart the moment Ma said, “My little girl is leaving home,” and we realized … I was leaving home.
Casey’s grades hadn’t been spectacular, even though I’d tried to tutor him. But none of that had mattered because he’d always known, we’d always known, that he would follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d be a fisherman, which meant he couldn’t come with me. And I couldn’t stay.
Boston College had been my choice because it was close enough to Stonington to allow me to go home for every break. Still, it had been an expensive education, and Da and Ma had sunk every dime they’d had into it and then some. Lobster fishermen earned an honest living, but it was the sort of check that only just got our family by from year to year. The extra expense of my education, including law school, had cost Ma the savings she’d been setting aside to open a bed-and-breakfast. She’d sacrificed her dream so that I could have mine. So when it came time to look for a job, I took the position at SSE. It was a gazillion miles away from Casey, but it was the only offer at the time that afforded me the ability to give back to Ma what she and my da had sacrificed. Now Ma had her bed-and-breakfast, but Stonington, Maine, didn’t rank high on the tourism list, so she was spending more to keep the Whalen House running than she was bringing in. The regular checks I sent back home relieved the strain on Da’s wallet and let Ma continue to live her dream.
When I’d left for college, I’d told Casey I’d be back, and he’d told me he’d always be waiting. We’d kept the promises we’d made, but after school, my trips home dwindled down to a week at Christmas and another during the summer. For the past couple of years, the summer trips had fallen off; I simply had too much work to do. I couldn’t afford a vacation when my clients needed me.
But for those few days when I was home, Casey and I had
picked right back up where we’d left off. Like the teenagers we’d once been, Casey would steal one of Abby’s hand-sewn quilts, lace his fingers through mine, and practically drag me down to the docks. In the dark of night, we’d sneak aboard Thomas Michaels’s boat and into the cabin for some quality naked time. Most of my trips home had been spent with Casey between my thighs, like we were trying to catch up on all the fucking we’d missed out on over the past year and squirrel away some for the next year to come. Inevitably, I had to say goodbye again.
And each time I had, my heart had broken a little more. Eventually, we had to be the grown-ups we’d become and admit that things were no longer working the way they were. We’d officially ended the relationship, giving each other the freedom we both ultimately wanted, to see where life would take us. But we knew we’d always be lifelong friends, and if fate ever brought us back together, maybe we could try it again.
Per his normal Saturday night routine, Quinn poked his head through the balcony door and paused the phone conversation he’d been having long enough to say, “Hey, Cass. I’m home,” before proceeding on. Or so I thought. Until he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, backed up two steps and angled the phone away from his mouth again, and said, “Hold on. Who have you been f’ing?”
“What?”
Quinn put the phone back to his mouth. “Yes, girl, she has been F’ed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Tilting the phone down again, he turned back to me. “Demi wants to know who it was.”
“Who was what?”
“Don’t play with me, Cassidy Whalen. Whose dick have you had inside you?” he enunciated. “Did you understand that?”
Yeah, not going to answer that one, I thought. I put on my best “you’re crazy” face and scoffed. “Me? Having sex? Pfft, I wish!”
Quinn looked me over suspiciously, and then his expression eased. “False alarm,” he said, resuming his conversation. “Something must be wrong with my Spidey senses. I’m usually always right, but she’s looking just as constipated as always. She needs to get laid. When’s Christmas?”
I should’ve been insulted, but I was too busy being relieved that I’d managed to pull off the fake-out. Quinn really was good at detecting that sort of thing, but I didn’t want anyone, even my best friends, to know what I’d done with Shaw. They could keep a secret, so that wasn’t the issue. The problem was that I knew they’d be able to tell how much I’d liked it. And I’d been trying to lie to myself about that part.
Sex with Shaw wasn’t like sex with Casey. I don’t know that I’d say it was better, just that it was … different. Casey had always been loving and gentle, but Shaw was rough and dirty. He’d found my weakness with the savage way he’d scraped his teeth along my hypersensitive skin. And the things he’d said, that sound he’d made when he’d first felt how wet I was for him …
His moan had been the sort of sound that was just on the edge of a growl, a tortured groan of wonder and approval. He’d been pleased by my body’s reaction, and the knowledge of that was quite satisfactory. The sudden warming of my skin now had nothing to do with the air around me. I squirmed in my chaise lounge from the memory that caressed my brain and sent pleasure signals down my spine, and was reminded of the soreness left in the wake of his sexual fury. Jesus, why had that turned me on?
I’d like to say that I’d made a bad decision while under the influence, but I’d be lying. I’d known exactly what I was doing. Though I wished like hell that drunken disorderly conduct had been the case. At least then I would’ve had a viable excuse as to why I’d made out like a streetwalker in a cootie-infested alley in the middle of the pouring rain. The fact that it had actually been raining in Southern California should’ve been enough reason for me to take cover, but no … I’d fucked in it. And worse, I’d fucked Shaw Matthews in it.
What was next on the seven plagues of the Apocalypse list? Locusts? Frogs? Blood on the moon?
Maybe it had been the best sex of my life, but hell would freeze over, pigs would fly, and frogs would grow hair before I would ever admit that to Shaw Matthews.
God, I hope none of those is a plague. I needed to find a church and a confessional. Fast.
That was the good little Catholic schoolgirl in me speaking.
The naughty little Catholic schoolgirl in me—oh, the irony—was still basking in her postcoital bliss while conspiring with my cooch on how we could make round two happen. I had a feeling liquid courage wouldn’t be needed the second time around, but it had sure helped last night. Holy Mary, Mother of God. I’d nuzzled his neck! I’d pulled his freakin’ cock out! The only bit of redemption I had was that at least I hadn’t put it in my mouth.
But I’d wanted to. And I was pretty sure Shaw wouldn’t have stopped me, either.
I might have instigated things, but he’d been right on board, issuing his dares and challenges. He must have thought I was stupid, that I didn’t understand that he was throwing down the gauntlet just because he knew I couldn’t resist picking it up. And the only reason he’d do that would be if he’d wanted me every bit as badly as I’d wanted him.
But why now, all of a sudden? That was another puzzler, wasn’t it?
I cocked my head to the side and stared up into the vastness of space. “What’s your angle, Matthews?” The neurons in my brain must have been putting on one heck of a light show as I scrambled to figure it out, but the answer to my question wasn’t written in the stars.
“I’m out,” Quinn said from the doorway.
I shook myself from my stupor and turned to him. “Where are you headed?”
“Daddy’s back from his business trip, but his wifey thinks he won’t be back until Monday morning,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Demi and Sasha are already at Monkey Business. You going?”
“Nah. I think I’ll just hang out here. I’ve got some work to do, anyway.”
“On a Saturday night?” he asked, then rolled his eyes. “Typical. Okay, well you just stay here with your moon and stars and your laptop and your pie charts or your moonpie chart of the stars or whatever. But real life is happening down on Earth, Cass. Not up in space. It’s dark, lonely, and cold up there. I recommend you snuggle up to a nice hot body. That’s what I’m about to do.”
“Stars are hot.”
“They’re also full of gas.”
“And Daddy isn’t?”
“Well, yeah, but I can snuggle him. You can’t snuggle a star.”
I could argue further on semantics alone, but I understood the point he was making. Nothing was keeping me from Monkey Business other than the fact that I wasn’t ready to face Shaw, and I knew he’d be there. The weekend would be my buffer. Surely by the end of it, the shock of what we’d done would have worn off.
“Have fun with Daddy, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I said, turning back around and relaxing in my chair.
“If that’s not a contradictory statement, I don’t know what is,” he mumbled, and then I heard him walk away. The front door opened and closed with a click of the lock, and I was alone.
Alone was good. No distractions meant I could get more done, think a little more clearly. Though if recent memory served me correctly, my stupid brain weaving its wicked thoughts in my subconscious and then conscious mind was exactly the distraction that had gotten me into the mess in which I currently found myself in the first place.
I just needed the weekend. One full weekend of no Shaw and then I’d be ready to face him on Monday. I rested my head against the chair and closed my eyes to enjoy the solitude, but I quickly opened them again when a deluge of images depicting Shaw’s fuckface converged on my peaceful tranquillity.
Dammit. What had I done?
The past fifty-three hours had been torturous at best. Not that I was counting. And I’d been asleep for over half that time. The peaceful weekend I’d hoped for had been riddled with thoughts of Shaw, Shaw, and more Shaw. Oh, and Shaw’s cock. And mouth. And fingers, too.
<
br /> Quinn had spent the weekend in some luxurious location with Daddy, so I’d had nothing to take my mind off what I’d dubbed the worst mistake of my life. Left alone, I’d discovered that my crazy thoughts turned to crazy actions. So if all I’d been thinking about was frolicking naked in the rain with a man who liked to give reverse shoulder rides, some frustrations had been bound to build up. I’d felt forced to relieve some of those frustrations by any means necessary, and really, there’d only been one way. To my credit, I’d honestly thought masturbating would be like killing two birds with one stone. Not only would it get rid of the perpetual ache in my nether region but also, perhaps, I’d finally be able to stop the insanity and get off the Shaw Matthews loop-de-loop.
That line of thinking had led to something like a dozen orgasms over two days. See? Crazy begets crazy, and I was begetting it all over the place. I’d even tried to swap the image of Shaw for one of Casey, but that devious bastard had kept creeping back into my fantasies like a demonic horror movie that refused to let me get any peace.
If his haunting presence over the weekend had been any indication, he was going to be just as impossible to get rid of in the physical sense.
Rosary beads, holy water, and salt along the perimeter of my office were probably the only things that would work. If only I’d thought of that an hour before, I would’ve had time for the pit stop. Well, I had time, but not if I was going to avoid an egocentric with cause to be arrogant. He’d be insufferable, and I couldn’t handle that so soon after. As it was, I’d already forgone my coveted morning coffee stop so I wouldn’t accidentally bump into him, the stalker. I mean, what would I say? Worse, what would he say?
Stepping off the elevator and then into my office suite, I saw my hopes of avoiding him go straight out the window. Shaw was perched on the corner of Ally’s empty desk with a cup of coffee in each hand and an arrogant smile on his face. Really, I wanted to punch him in the throat. I’d made it a point to get there before everyone else, including Ally, and he’d still beat me. Again.
