by Sandra Marie
“Wait, wait!” he told the guy; he could feel the heat radiating from her face as he untangled her. As soon as the hook was out, he leaned against the bar, amusement dancing in his chest. Cassidy’s nose wrinkled as she adjusted the pins.
“So,” she said. “You were saying you were awkward?”
“…so I come home that night to police lights and had to explain to my neighbor and the cop that the ‘intruder’ in my apartment was just my cardboard stand-up of Steve Rogers.”
Westley slapped the bar top, his laughter intoxicating and completely contagious. Cassidy hadn’t felt this light in so long, especially in the company of someone she hadn’t grabbed the name of. And it was way past the point of asking.
“How many you got?” he asked.
“Avengers? Or cardboard stand-ups?”
He had such a sweet smile. “Both.”
“Two Avengers, three stand-ups, soon to be four.”
“Congratulations on the bundle of joy.” There was a twinkle in his bright green eyes. “What you naming him?”
“Loki. Or ‘man I will kiss good night.’” Oh sweet mother of mercy, she needed to stop saying every thought out loud.
But Westley seemed to not only tolerate her quirks, but crave to know more about them. She’d already gone on a twenty-minute rant about the latest Avenger movie, which he hadn’t seen, but now he really didn’t have to.
No… everyone needed to see it.
“Ah,” he said. “I have a pillow named Scarlett who gets the same treatment.”
“Stop it.” She laughed, knowing he was mocking her but also loving it. Shellie had tried pulling her away in case she needed “saving,” but Cassidy had no need for it. She’d had more fun making a fool of herself in front of the Dread Pirate Roberts than she’d had all night.
“My brothers tell me I’ll die alone,” she admitted with a grin behind her glass. She’d changed her whiskey sour to a Jack and Coke, favoring the Coke side. She only drank herself crazy when she wanted out, and she liked where she was.
Westley nodded, swallowing his drink and pointing to himself. “Yep. That’s a daily conversation with mommy dearest. How many brothers do you have?”
“Two. Both older. Both married… for the time being.”
His smile faltered, and there was the slightest bit of concern laced in his eyes. “Parents divorced?”
Like he needed to ask. Cassidy had never considered herself a jaded person, but apparently she was.
She nodded, drinking the last gulp of her drink. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes divorced?” He smirked.
“My parents are the worst at staying away from each other. But they also can’t stop cheating on each other either. So… that was fun growing up.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah?” a Jesus asked from a few feet away.
Westley’s eyes widened, and he made the cutest face before saying, “Uh, hey!”
Cassidy held in her laugh as long as possible, but it came billowing out when his eyes met hers.
“Okay, new subject,” he said, taking a swig from his glass.
She clapped her hands and turned to face him. “Bring it.”
His eyes fell to her hand. “Is that a tattoo or dirt?”
Warmth rushed through her cheeks, but she smiled and held out the single finger. “Unfortunately, it’s permanent.”
He reached forward, and her breath caught the slightest bit when his glove rubbed against her palm. He examined the mistake she’d made.
“Tattoos courtesy of tequila and a failing grade,” she said.
“That’s pretty bad.”
“Removal is expensive.” She reluctantly pulled back when he dropped his hold. She ran her thumb over the curly mustache alongside her finger, then she held the tattoo up under her nose and made a face. Her nerdiness was rewarded with that handsome smile.
“What class did you fail?”
She buried her face in her palms. “Ugh.”
A soft touch hit her forearms and pulled her free. “That bad, huh?”
“Phys. Ed.”
He didn’t even try not to laugh at her. “You failed gym?”
“I’m uncoordinated!”
“And old enough to get shots and a tattoo?”
No. She put a finger to her lips, leaned in, and shushed him. He let out a breathy laugh that warmed her cheek. Oh goodness, he smelled like cherries, and her stomach growled in frustration. She was about ready to tell the bartender to bring them just a bowl of olives and a bowl of cherries.
“Your parents get upset?” he asked, twisting toward her. A refreshing sense of comfort enveloped her, like a warm blanket on a cold day.
“They laughed mostly,” she said, remembering the look on her mom’s face when she shamefully showed the tattoo she chose. Daddy simply took her outside and tried to teach her basketball, which was the next event in the phys ed curriculum. He’d given up after the ball went through the garage window.
“What about you?” she asked, surprising herself by boldly poking him in the arm. Wow… rocks. “Any rebellious acts on your rap sheet?”
“Sadly no.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes drifted to the ceiling. He blew out a cherry-scented hummmm. “Honestly,” he said after a moment, “my mom was more about getting me into trouble. Still is, come to think of it.”
“She sounds fun.”
“No.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, and Cassidy bit away her grin, ignoring the empty rumble of her stomach. Oy, she’d been taught time and again to layer her drinks with food, but the Halloween themed gummies and candy corn weren’t cutting it, and it would take a natural disaster to get her to eat the foreign red slop sitting on the table.
“She bugging you to date more?” she guessed, given his comment earlier.
He gave her an exaggerated nod. “That’s an understatement.”
“Well, listen to her once in a while,” she teased. “When was the last one?”
“Last date?” He let out a sound like a wheezy engine. “Uh… been maybe a month or so…?”
“How dare you not have a date every night. Your mom wants grandkids!” she joked, but there was a swoop in her gut. She’d sorta hoped he was as unlucky in dating as she had been. Granted, she couldn’t see half his face—he could be an absolute Adonis under there. His lips were beautiful, for sure, but that mustache was ridiculous.
How long had it been since she’d been asked out?
“Believe me, I’m trying,” he said, tossing his hands in the air and accidentally smacking the hat off the fireman standing behind him. She was in serious danger of grabbing him by that loose black shirt and planting a wet one right there on the kisser.
“What about you?” he said with a nod. “Last date you went on. Go.”
Shoot. She wracked her brain for the date and time. It’d been sunny outside, pretty hot. She’d desperately wished she’d brought a jacket, but not because of the weather—to cover up the puddle-splashed t-shirt she’d worn with no bra.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
He chuckled, eyeing her wig. “Well, Buttercup. Count tonight as one.”
Her heart fluttered under her bright red costume. “Okay!” she all but shouted, then cursed herself for being the most awkward human being to ever grace the planet.
“Okay!” he echoed with a laugh, then gestured to the bartender for a refill on their drinks. “It’s by far going much better than any date I’ve had all year.”
“Well, you just jinxed it.” If she made it through the night without royally effing up, it would be a miracle of highest proportions.
Another Jack and Coke was set in front of her, and her gut tossed a wave of acid up to the back of her throat.
“If I got your drink wrong, I’m gonna go hide now,” he said, his eyes on her curled, pressed lips.
She swallowed and gave him a frown. “I’m starving
.”
He made a soundless snap with his gloved hand and pointed a finger. “Right. You wanna get something edible? Head back after?”
“Yes.” She shoved from the bar and grabbed his sleeve so he didn’t lose her. Cassidy had one super power, and that was leaving a room so quickly no one noticed.
She dragged him through the increasingly drunken crowd, through the now stringy cobwebs, and past the slurred karaoke. Machine smoke billowed around their feet, strobe lights blinking faster and faster, making escape only that much easier. She was nearly at the door when Hallie, dressed as a zombie nurse with strategically placed buttons, blocked her exit.
“Picture for the newsletter!” she exclaimed, bringing up her cell. Cassidy blinked, unsure of what just happened.
“Oh, the flash wasn’t on. Hang on…”
A tentative hand fell to her waist, and a warm wave ricocheted across her skin.
“Make it a good one?” Westley asked, his face suddenly very close, his beautiful lips looking tastier every passing second.
She let out a half snort half sigh that made her face match the color of her dress. “Um… obviously.”
He placed a bracing hand on her back and smoothed the other down from her waist to her knee. She dipped easily, his strength enough to carry her entire weight—granted her stomach was pretty much empty.
Her breath stole away for the briefest of moments, laughter on her lips. He posed for the camera, making the cheesiest sex-pout toward Hallie. Cassidy played into it, draping a dramatic hand over her eyes. As the flash lit the room, her heart did a triple-beat.
“Perfect!” Hallie said, much too chipper for someone who was too sick to show up to work earlier. Westley balanced Cassidy back on her feet, his touch leaving her flush and weak-kneed. They stared at each other for a moment before chuckling for no reason.
“So…” he said finally, “food?”
Cassidy’s arm hung dangerously close to Jon’s, and tremors ran up and down his fingers as he contemplated holding her hand. She was a hand talker, so he knew he didn’t have much time to think about it.
The whole evening had been spun on its head as soon as they started talking. Jon had no idea the time, nor did he care, and he barely remembered there had been other people at the party.
Just as he was about to grab her hand, she lifted it to her eye, rubbing furiously. “Oy, these things.”
He shook away his disappointment and pulled open the door to the pizza place for her. Yeah, he was a pizza junkie, and he wouldn’t mind another slice or five.
“You all right, there?” he asked.
She pinched one eye shut, her lashes wet and mascara gathering underneath. “I don’t normally wear contacts.”
“Can’t handle things in your eye?” he teased as she passed. The glass door shut rather quickly, smacking his elbow.
“A couple of hours is fine, but…” She rubbed at it, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “In my defense, I thought I’d be home by now.”
“So this is my fault?” He laughed.
“One hundred percent.” She pointed to the menu, her left eye now a watery, red mess. “Get me a fully loaded slice? Or two? I’ll be right back.”
“You need help?”
“Just the thought of you getting near my eyeball has me freaking.” She waved off her situation, but her lashes were starting to clump together. He hoped she’d hidden a pair of glasses in that costume of hers. “I got it.”
“Okay.” He almost blurted that he was a doctor, but he wasn’t sure if she’d figured that out. She certainly wasn’t treating him like he was her boss, and he wanted to keep it that way.
She disappeared into the ladies room, and he ordered a medium fully loaded pizza, finding it was cheaper to do that than order four slices. He’d most likely put away more than two, anyway.
She was still in the bathroom when the guy handed over the box, and Jon leaned against the wall opposite the ladies room door. The scent of sausage and pepperoni and ham and bacon and cheese and sauce was going to put him in a drooling state. She’d come out and find him with a puddle at his feet.
He scratched at his mask, wondering if it was about time he took it off. He’d be a whole lot more comfortable, but then she’d definitely know who he was.
A muffled curse sounded through the bathroom door, and he laughed to himself. “Everything okay?” he called out.
“These are devil-made!” she shouted back, and his grin turned up to eleven, his heart pounding hard and frantic. It would take all his power not to kiss her the moment she came out of the bathroom, puffy eye and all.
He wiped his palm on his costume, not knowing if it was getting hot because of the pizza box or because he was suddenly back in high school on a hot date, or a combination of both.
“Hey… uh… Dread Pirate Roberts?” she said, then poked her head out. Her hand was over her eye. “Any advice on how to get a contact out with these things?” She wiggled her fingers, her fake nails clicking against the door.
He chuckled and set the pizza down on an empty table. “How’d you get them in there?”
“On a wing and a prayer.” She frowned and pulled the door open wide. “Help?”
Yeah, she had to know he was a doctor—or at least assume so. Who asked just anyone to stick their fingers into their eye?
He settled a palm on her hip, gently coaxing her into the bathroom and next to the sink. He ran the water, soaping up like he was about to perform a c-section and not a contact removal.
“How long you been wearing contacts?”
“I tried them when I was in… eighth grade, maybe?” She boosted herself up on the counter, still holding her left eye. “By last period my eyes were so red and crusted that I never attempted them for more than an hour or two after that.”
“What’d your optometrist say?”
She pressed her lips together, holding back what looked like a laugh.
“What?” he asked, shutting the water off and sticking his hands under the dryer.
“You definitely work in the medical field.”
He snorted. “So do you.”
“In the billing department. I don’t know all this mumbo jumbo. Unless it’s in code.”
“And what code would this be?”
She tilted her head, hand still over her eye. “I don’t know. I work in the OB clinic.”
“Not much call for eye issues.”
“Our codes are usually much more south.”
He shook his head, quiet laughter in his chest. Once his hands were dry, he settled in front of her, nearly placing his palms against her knees, hooking them and pulling her to the edge of the counter. But he’d have to wash all over again.
“Scoot closer?” he asked, and her smile turned nervous, a small whine floating out as her legs straddled his hips.
“It’s pretty disgusting,” she warned.
“I’ve seen my fair share of disgusting things.” He nearly touched her again, wanting to put his hand on her elbow, his fingers against her forearm. He took a deep breath, calming himself down and gaining control of his thoughts.
The corners of her mouth dropped into an adorable frown, and she slowly pulled her hand away from her eye. Her cheek was mascara streaked, her lid red and swollen from all that rubbing. Jon carefully leaned in, focusing on where that contact was. Hopefully it was still resting on her iris.
His lip curled up, noticing how unique her eye color was. From a distance, it was obvious she was a brown-eyed girl, but up close, there were hints of green and blue dancing with each other.
“You have pretty eyes,” he said, settling his middle finger on the apple of her cheek.
“Oh yes. Red and puffy is definitely a turn-on.”
He grinned, spotting the edge of the contact lens. “Don’t worry,” he said, “my nails aren’t nearly as long.”
“Or as fake.”
Water leaked from her tear ducts—both of them. Her right eye blinked like mad, and he was sure her l
eft would be doing the same if he weren’t holding it open. He put his free hand on her slender neck, smoothing his thumb up and down in what he hoped were soothing strokes, but her pulse jumped, and her breath grew shallow and quick.
“You have your glasses?” he asked, hoping to distract her. When dealing with a nervous patient, always divert their attention, even when you’re literally poking them in the eye.
“If I did, that would mean I’m a well put-together person.” She let out a small laugh. “And that would go against everything I believe in.”
“Does that mean I’ll be leading you around the rest of the night?”
“Most definitely. But that will be better than this fresh hell I’m experiencing right now.”
He smirked, pinched the lens, and pulled it free. “One down.”
Cassidy blew out a calming breath, and he let her shake out her nerves before attempting the other eye, which thankfully, hadn’t been irritating her as much.
“You’re so calm,” she said as he propped the right eye open. “How in the world can you touch an eyeball and not gag?”
“I’ve touched a lot worse.”
She jerked away. “Don’t tell me that!”
“I washed! You were witness to my frantic scrubbing.”
“I don’t know how often you do that,” she teased, leaning forward again and looking up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, everyone always scrubs up to their elbows.”
“I do!”
He didn’t doubt that. Almost everyone who worked around patients got a good case of hypochondria.
He shook his head, holding her neck still, wishing he could prolong the moment, but knowing that she wouldn’t have that. Her heart was practically beating out of her throat.
The second contact came out much easier, and he plopped it on the counter next to its twin.
“All done.”
“Praise Thor.” She hopped off the counter, her body bumping into his. He fought the urge to keep her there… trap her against the counter. She was still blinking furiously, and he wondered if he had some artificial tears in the first aid kit in his glove box.
“You want to keep these?” he asked, nodding to the contacts while she grabbed a paper towel and wet it.
