by Remy Rose
I bought an off-white, loose-fitting cable sweater on sale at Gap—one of the few purchases I’ve made since putting money away for tuition—and I’m wearing that tonight over a pair of boot-cut jeans, dressing it up with a gold and ivory statement necklace. As I’m tucking my jeans into my pair of like-new cowboy boots I picked up at Goodwill last year, I think unexpectedly of Joshua Beckett. But a few minutes later, as I’m scrunching my moussed hair into loose curls, I think of Carlo Leone.
I’ve still got some work to do on that whole moving on thing.
Overall, I’m feeling more optimistic than I have in weeks. I made it through Thanksgiving, spending the day at Teal's in Lancaster with her dysfunctional family: her high-maintenance, heavily-jeweled mother, her silent, morose father and her ADHD, freckly teenage brother who was trying his hardest to hit on me when he wasn't playing Call of Duty. But surprisingly, it didn't suck. I know Teal was glad I went, and it was better than eating Tofurkey and mushroom gravy alone in my apartment, thinking of He Who Should Not Be Named and picturing my father carving a turkey for his new family.
So one holiday down, one big one to go. I can do this.
Opening the door to Nocturnem, I’m greeted by the sounds of a sax and Garrett's gritty, soulful voice. It’s dim and crowded, but I quickly spot Teal's bright blonde hair at a table in front of the band. She’s sitting with two other people.
“Wow, the place is packed!” I give Teal a quick hug before slipping off my coat and taking a seat next to Whitney.
“I know! My guy really knows how to bring 'em in.”
“Definitely. He sounds great. You must be loving the whole girlfriend of the lead singer thing.”
“Yup. He is sooo going to get laid later tonight.”
“How are you, girl?” Kevin reaches across the table at me, his thick eyebrows arched behind his dark-framed glasses.
“I'm good, thanks.”
The waitress shows up with a cocktail napkin, and I order a Mich Ultra with olives.
“Olives?” Kevin wrinkles his nose.
Teal rolls her eyes. “She's weird like that. She makes unique food choices. Pseudo-vegetarian, yet she's a Ring Ding slut.”
I nod. “It's true. I had an expired one for breakfast.”
Whitney holds up her hand for a fist bump. “I see absolutely nothing wrong with that. I fucking love Ring Dings.”
Teal looks at me, smirking. “Hey, Cass...maybe the president of Drake is single.”
“Or maybe...” Kevin points in the direction of the door and sighs dramatically. “He is. Oh em gee, what a fine specimen of a man.”
I turn to look and draw in my breath. Holy crap. It’s Josh.
Even minus the hat, he still looks the all-American cowboy in a green plaid shirt, dark jeans, leather belt with a big buckle and cowboy boots, his brown leather jacket slung over one arm. He seems relaxed and happy, his hand tapping the side of his leg in rhythm with the music as he scans the crowd.
I quickly turn around before Josh sees me. I don’t want to be rude, but if I say hi, then what? He might want to join us, especially if he’s alone. And I just want to hang out with Teal's friends without anything getting complicated.
Teal pokes me. “Hey. What's the matter? You're looking kinda freaked out.”
“That guy is the new barn hand at Windswept.”
“Seriously? Well, invite him over then!”
“I don't know if that's a good idea.”
“Are you on crack? Why wouldn't it be a good idea? He looks like a total stud. And you know what they say...the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
“I'm not interested in anyone right now.”
“And why is that?” Teal narrows her eyes. “A little too hung up on the CEO, maybe?”
“Uh, no. I just need a break from men.”
“This guy doesn't really count if he's going to be working with you. You''ll be seeing him a lot, right? It would be rude to just ignore him.”
“She's right, cupcake.” Kevin nods, his dark eyes wide. “Plus, there are some of us at this table who might enjoy talking to him, even if you don't. And by talking, I of course mean groping.”
“Okay...you guys win. I'll go invite him over.” I huff, exasperated, but I can’t hide my smile. I know I need to stop taking things—life—so goddamned seriously. This Kevin is hilarious. I’m quite sure Josh Beckett is as straight as an arrow, but it’ll be amusing, if nothing else, to see Kevin try to hit on him. And I don’t want to be rude to Josh. He’s still standing there alone, although he seems pretty at ease with that. From the way a few of the women are stealing glances at him, he won’t be alone for long.
I get up from the table, clear my throat and push back my shoulders as I head toward Josh. He’s now standing at the bar, chatting easily with the female bartender.
“Hey, Cassandra!” His face breaks into a wide grin when he sees me, blue eyes bright with surprise. “I didn't expect to see you here.”
“Me neither. I mean, I didn't expect to see you here. I expected to see me here because I kind of planned it.” I laugh weakly, cringing inside. Effing moron!
He chuckles. “I guess that would make sense.”
The bartender slides a tall glass of beer toward him, and he thanks her before taking a sip. I find myself watching his mouth and quickly look away.
“Band sounds great, huh?” Josh is leaning against the bar on one elbow, his hand curled around his beer glass. His other hand is resting casually on his hip, thumb hooked in his jeans pocket, looking so totally chill that I feel like I’m the outsider here.
“They do...my friend’s boyfriend is actually the lead singer.” I pause and point in the direction of our table. “We’re sitting over there. They wanted me to ask you to join us.”
“They did? So you're not included in the 'they?'” His dimples deepen.
Smooth, Cass. Real smooth. “Oh! I mean, we wanted to invite you. Which would include me.” Seriously, could I be any more awkward?
“I'm just teasing you, girl.”
Being close to Josh under the recessed lights of the bar, I can see that his eye color is really very unique. There’s what looks like a starburst of gold around his pupil which blends into the pale blue of his iris, the outer rim a slightly darker blue. He has light eyelashes and brows, which is much different than Car—
Cool. So I’m not only staring at Josh, but comparing him to someone I’m supposed to be over.
“I was just going to hang out at the bar by myself, so your invitation sounds much better. Lead the way.” He lifts his beer glass and grins, preparing to follow me.
And just like that, things aren’t awkward.
Teal and the crew are in the middle of what seems like a lively conversation. Kevin spots us approaching and scoots his seat over, grabbing an empty chair from a nearby table as I try not to laugh.
“Hey guys, this is Josh Beckett. Josh, this is Teal, the girlfriend of the amazing lead singer, and this is Whitney, and Kevin.”
Blinking behind his glasses, Kevin holds out his hand for Josh to shake. “I have two words for you. Brokeback. Mountain.”
My hand flies to my mouth as Josh turns to look at me in a classic WTF expression. Teal and Whitney burst into laughter.
I’m giggling almost uncontrollably. “Are you sure you still want to sit here?”
He nods and grins at me. “Oh, yeah. I'm sure.”
Well, then.
Between the drinks and the laughing, I’m feeling light and carefree and so glad that I came. Josh hits it off with everyone, especially Kevin, who unabashedly flirts with him every chance he gets, despite it being very apparent that’s going to be a one-way street.
I’m finishing my third Mich Ultra and am quite buzzed when the band starts playing a slow song. Josh sets down his beer glass and holds out his hand, looking at me expectantly.
“Come dance this one with me.”
A zinging in my chest. I didn’t expect this. “Bu
t, um...there's no one else out there.” I can feel Teal's eyes on me, can hear the words she is silently screaming. For Chrissake, just go for it!
“Then we'll get it started.” He’s still holding out his hand, waiting.
Hesitantly, I get to my feet, take his hand and feel his warm fingers close around mine as he leads me to a spot in front of the band. Garrett’s holding the mic with both hands, eyes closed, his voice soft and mournful against the backdrop of the acoustic guitar and deep thrum of the string bass. Josh steps closer until we’re toe-to-toe and ohh...he wraps one arm around my waist, holding one of my hands in a waltz position. I put my free hand lightly against his shoulder, hoping I don’t appear as stiff as I feel.
Initially, it’s a little uncomfortable—where am I supposed to look? Straight ahead at his chest? At the band? Or at his face? I try all three and decide it’s safest to look around the bar and focus on the faces of strangers as he moves me in a slow circle.
As Garrett's voice gets more plaintive and intense, Josh pulls me in closer so that we’re no longer in waltz position with space between them, but swaying as one, my hand flattened against his chest and his belt buckle pressing into me.
At least, I think it’s his belt buckle.
He’s a great dancer, moving in perfect time to the song's rhythm, and as I let myself relax, I find it easier to read his next step. It’s either his soapy scent, or that I’m horny, or that I just miss the closeness of a man, but dancing with Josh is sexy as hell.
When the song ends, the crowd erupts in applause, and even though only two other couples joined us, I realize we could have been dancing alone and it wouldn't have fazed me.
Josh looks down at me for a few seconds before releasing me and says exactly what I’m thinking. “That song was short.”
Blushing, I nod. “Thank you for the dance.”
“My pleasure. I haven't gotten to do that in a while.”
“You're very good. No offense, but most guys don't really have any sense of rhythm.”
He grins. “I'll agree with that. My former girlfriend persuaded me to take ballroom lessons with her. Thought it would bring us closer.”
“And did it?”
“Nope. Hence the term, former girlfriend.”
Josh Beckett checklist: Funny √. Nice √. Hot √. And also very hot √.
We walk back to the table, and Kevin gives Josh a high-five. “I didn't know Buffalo Bill here could move like Jagger. I'm completely smitten.”
Josh laughs and sits down. Teal takes a sip of her Midori Sour and looks at me with wide-eyed innocence. “You know, for someone who isn't a fan of blues, you sure looked like you were feeling that song.”
The bitch. Good thing I love her. “Guess I'm expanding my horizons,” I reply evenly.
Whitney raises her mug. “To new horizons.”
The five of us clink glasses, and I let my gaze linger on Josh's face as the band starts another song. I reach under the table for my purse and check my phone. There are three texts sent in quick succession an hour ago, at 10:30.
I want to kiss you long, slow and deep until you can't breathe...like the time I had you against the wall in the parking lot.
I am aching to fuck you.
I won't give up.
It’s as though everything around me becomes muted: the laughter at our table, the sound of the band, people's loud, inebriated voices. There’s a rush of warmth to my lower half and a tugging at my heart. I know all too well the ache that Carlo’s referring to. I feel like I’m being sucked into a vacuum, where there’s no one else and nothing else that matters except for him.
Teal pulls me back. “Are you okay?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes.” I delete the texts and drop the phone back into my purse. “I am.”
chapter twenty-one ~ Carlo
I’ve tried to fight the comparison, but Liv Malstrom reminds me of myself.
She’s used to getting her way, and she doesn’t give up easily. For the past couple weeks, ever since I dodged her request to come to Manheim and show off Allied's new Teflon packing, Liv seems to have become even more determined. She's continued calling my office and emailing, and if she had my cell phone number (thank Christ she doesn’t), I’m sure I'd be hearing from her a lot more. Yesterday, she left a message with Estelle asking me to let her know when I was available after the holidays, and added if I didn't get back to her, she would pick a day and just show up. Estelle's glare was sharp enough to cut glass when she told me. I laughed it off and said I’d handle it, then finally gave in and decided on the second week in January. Thank God Olivia lives in Connecticut, or I’d really have a problem. And I have enough to deal with.
Like the nightmares and flashbacks resurfacing, exacerbated no doubt by stress. Usually, I can counteract them by exercise and by the physical and emotional release that sex has always brought me. Since the latter is now non-existent, I’ve been stepping up the workouts: running on a fully-inclined treadmill, lifting weights, doing chin-ups on the bar in my basement—pushing myself until I’m dripping with sweat.
Sitting here in my kitchen with the Sunday paper, I’m thinking it might be time to face these fears...to actually try to remember—everything—instead of distracting myself like I always have. Maybe then the hold on me will loosen, and I’ll be able to fucking breathe without guilt, without torment.
But do I deserve to?
The answer is still, no.
I can remember the before. A Saturday in early October, unseasonably mild. We’d gone to the farmers' market that day for pumpkins and chrysanthemums to decorate the front steps, and a bag of apples because she wanted to make a pie to take to her parents on Sunday, to celebrate her father's birthday. A weekend to remember, she had said.
It had been.
I’m shuddering. Fuck, this house is too goddamned quiet. I need music—no classical or jazz this time; it’s got to be hard rock to fill the room, make the walls pulse with sound so I can feel the beat in my bones. I take care of that with my Bose SoundTouch and then force myself to go back to remembering.
We had planned to take my bike to get dinner at a casual Thai restaurant. I told her to dress warm since the breeze would be cool, especially riding on the bike.
I'm never cold when I'm holding you, Carlo. But she did listen to me and put on a thick green sweater.
I can remember the feel of her chin pressing into my upper back, her arms wrapped around me—funny; that always made me feel secure. I can remember heading down Route 772, the gentle curve of the road, the milky white of the moon, her hair dancing, and her words in my ear—just a little faster, Carlo—and I can remember another motorcycle, the driver also helmet-less and giving a quick nod as he passed and pulled in front of us.
Then it was like a skip in time...I woke up in a field to the sound of wind-rustled cornstalks, like they were whispering all around me. I remember the scream that worked its way up from the depths of my core to mingle with the siren's blare.
But I can’t remember the actual accident—only what happened before, and the aftermath.
The doctors told me this wasn’t unusual—I’d most likely blocked out the memory and would never be able to retrieve it.
And it was probably best that way, people said.
So I’d been left with this blank space in my brain where I know something horrific should have been. It’s merciful, but I don’t deserve mercy.
Not after I’d lost control.
Not after I’d lost my wife.
chapter twenty-two ~ Cassandra
I was a little apprehensive about seeing Josh when he started working today at Windswept, so I’m relieved that it doesn’t feel at all awkward. It’s not like we hooked up or anything, but the dancing that night...I’ve got to admit there was some chemistry.
This is soo not what I had planned. I’m not the type to do the rebound thing (Teal's “getting under someone else” theory in action), but Josh just showed up—much like Carlo had just shown up
, in this very stable. Kind of ironic.
So far, whatever this is with Josh doesn’t feel wrong. But I’ll have to watch it, because I don’t want to complicate my life, or lead Josh, on or get hurt again.
It’s hard to imagine Josh hurting anyone, though. Last week at Nocturnem, I sat back and just watched him with my friends, smiling and joking. He was so at ease with everyone. When he got up to use the bathroom, Teal had grabbed my arm. “He's so goddamned nice, Cass. I mean, he's got that hot cowboy thing going on and everything, but on the most basic level, he's just so nice. You know?”
I do.
This Saturday morning at the stable is cold and frosty. I’m standing in front of Tango, Josh's gorgeous tri-color paint gelding, admiring him. He looks like someone splashed him with light and dark chocolate and milk. Tango is as loud and flashy as his owner is quiet and unassuming. He’s a spirited horse but always calms down when Josh comes near.
His nostrils flare as he takes in the scent of me. Speaking softly, I stroke his sleek neck as I slip the rope halter on his head, and his ears flick forward as he looks past me.
Josh is standing across the aisle in a brown suede jacket, arms folded and looking pleased. “Visiting with my boy?”
“Yes, but I'm thinking Brownie will probably be jealous.”
“I wouldn't blame him. I'd want you all to myself, too.”
God. Way to catch me off guard, cowboy. I’m blushing like crazy as I gather up the lead rope and start to open Tango's door when Josh stops me.
“Hey, you want to wait on turning him out?”
“Are you going to ride?”
“I was thinking I could do a natural horsemanship demo in the arena, since you said you were interested. Do you have time?”
“Oh! Yes, I should. I don't really have anything going on after I leave here. Just cleaning my apartment.”
