It didn’t make her really popular with the family.
But it didn’t matter whether or not she was popular with us Cassidys. It mattered whether or not she had seen what Danny and I had been doing last night. And it mattered whether or not she was going to tell our dad.
Humiliation washed over me, even as I tried to focus on washing my hair and lathering up my skin. Nothing. There was nothing to be done about it.
When she told dad, I’d try plausible deniability first. I’d tell dad that Suzanna was crazy; she didn’t know what she saw last night. Danny had only been getting an eyelash out of my eye. And when she argued that she knew exactly what she saw—how it had been so much more intimate than any two siblings had a right to be with one another—I would tell dad that it had been a big misunderstanding. An accident. We’d been drunk and both suffering from grief. We’d been so drunk, in fact, that I’d mistaken Danny for someone else. A boy I liked in New York City. And Danny… Danny had definitely done the same. I looked like a lot of girls.
My excuses sounded lame even as I rehearsed them in my head. Did I honestly believe that my dad was going to buy into this crap?
My only hope was that dad wanted to believe that nothing happened bad enough that he would buy any lie I fed him. Which was probably the truth anyway. What parent wanted to hear that their kids were sleeping with each other?
No one wanted to hear that.
My reassurances and excuses and inner promises to myself were enough to calm me down. I didn’t feel better about the whole thing necessarily but, at least, I didn’t feel like my whole world was about to crumble down around me at any minute. Dad would believe me.
But what about Danny?
I rinsed out my hair and shut off the water. Reaching for my towels—they were a deep purple color, an echo of my little girl bedroom with all of my lavender obsessions, but much more adult—I wrapped up my hair in one and used the other to dry off my skin. When I was more or less dry, though still sticky, I wrapped that towel around my middle and grabbed my lotion. I headed over to my bed—the whole apartment was a studio, so it wasn’t so much a different room as a couple of steps that led to the “bedroom” and a different type of flooring that distinguished the living room from the kitchen.
Taking a seat, I began to massage lotion into my skin. Winter was on the way and as the temperature dropped, the humidity dropped, too. The dryness made my skin crack.
It also meant that my skin felt itchy and cracked.
As I worked the lotion into my skin, I considered what had happened with Danny. What we’d been doing back in Wisconsin had been a very serious mistake. What had we been thinking? It was so wrong, and the fact that either of us, much less both of us, had managed to convince ourselves that it was okay just because we weren’t related by blood, was absolutely ridiculous.
How had I let it go that far?
Adding more lotion, I found myself frowning. Let it go that far? Hell, I’d encouraged it to go that far! I’d pushed at Danny until he realized his own feelings for me—I tried to convince myself that it was only grief, but I wasn’t buying it—and then I’d done a one eighty. After he’d come around, I’d realized how wrong we were.
Which was why we were in this mess in the first place. Now Danny was probably furious with me. I felt a tug at my heart at the thought. It was probably for the best, I reasoned. If Danny was upset with me, then he wasn’t going to try and get back together or anything.
“Back together,” I repeated aloud to my empty apartment. “Like we were a couple who broke up.”
I shook my head. It was exactly that kind of thinking that had gotten me into trouble in the first place. With a sigh, I put the lotion on my bedside table and laid down. It was early, since I’d left that morning without much warning to Danny or my dad—I felt a little bad about that—but I’d also called my boss and let him know I’d be in later that night for work. Getting a little shut eye now wouldn’t be a bad idea, since I’d be working late nights again.
Closing my eyes, I tried to block out images of Danny—so inappropriate with his exposed, bare body and his rippling muscles and his long, hard member so eager to plunge inside of me—but they came anyway.
I fell asleep to thoughts of him and dreamt that we were together again.
***
I ran around trying to find my work shirt—if you could really call it a shirt. Phil told me when I started that the only way to get tips was to show some tit. For a brief, panicked moment I worried that I’d gotten myself a job at a strip club, but Phil had laughed at my worry and explained that he didn’t necessarily mean literally, but sort of.
I didn’t have to walk around with my boobs hanging out, thank god, but if I wanted to do well at the bar—which I did, mostly out of necessity; rent was so much higher than I could afford—then I was going to have to give the guys a little something to look at.
He explained all of this to me right before he showed me the uniform and as soon as he gave me mine, I understood why he’d taken the time to explain it.
Phil was a pretty decent guy. He didn’t grope the girls and he made sure we were treated with respect, whether we deserved it or not. So it was a little weird that he’d give us uniforms that consisted of black booty shorts (or a black booty skirt; we could wear either as we chose) and a t-shirt that was two sizes too small and stopped short of our belly buttons. Bandit’s was stamped across the chest of the shirts in big, bold black lettering that got stretched out on those of us who had larger breasts.
Like me.
I accused Phil of being a sleaze and a jerk the first time I’d been there and had nearly walked out after the first night. He told me that if I wanted the job, I was welcome back, and by the end of the week, I was.
I’d still grumbled about the awful uniform and the injustice of being treated like a piece of meat by a bunch of drunk slobs, but Phil ended up being right. In that skin tight, undignified uniform, I got tips galore. Enough that I not only could pay for rent AND food, but I could also go out with the girls sometimes, and on occasion had enough money to take singing lessons.
Not every week, but once or twice a month. They weren’t necessary since I was already pretty damn good at singing, but they helped keep me sharp. Which was especially good since New York City had a lot of aspiring young singers just like me.
I still hated the uniform, even as I slipped it on now.
When I was dressed—and had managed to untangle my hair; I’d slept with it wet which was a no-no—I made it out the door with time to spare. Which was good since I’d be walking. (Still better than the subway.) Cindy would give me a ride if I asked, but she rarely drove her car to work and I hated to make her do that if she wasn’t already doing so.
I got to work several minutes early before my shift was supposed to start and headed in towards the back. I always wore a coat over my uniform, even during the summer, because I knew better than to wear something like this out in public. It was all but screaming to be harassed by every sleaze who thought I was an easy meal.
When I slipped my coat off and hung it on the bar, I looked over at Phil who was at his desk.
“I’m back,” I let him know, not expecting much in way of a greeting. Phil was a bit of a rough man and didn’t do a lot of talking or bonding or any of that.
That’s why I was surprised when he glanced up from the paperwork he was pouring over to look my way. “Hey, kiddo. You holding up?” His words were still a little rough around the edges, clearly not accustomed to being concerned or affectionate. But they’d softened a little and I was sort of touched that he was asking at all.
What was sad, however, was that my first thought was that he was asking about Danny. It took me half a second too long to realize that he meant my stepmother’s death, and I felt like an absolutely horrible person because it made me realize I was more eaten up about losing Danny than about losing Selene.
Forcing a smile, I nodded at Phil. “I’m here.”
&nb
sp; He nodded once. “Alright. Take it easy. If you need a minute, you let me know.”
And with that, he went back to his paperwork. It made me smile genuinely this time and I shook my head a little at him. Despite his rough and tumble exterior, he was actually a really good guy. He was in his mid-thirties, so a little older than I usually went for, but if I was going to try and date—for real this time, not just because I was going through the motions—he probably wasn’t a bad guy to start with.
Other than being my boss of course.
Laughing at myself, I headed out into the main room and took my place behind the bar. What was it with me and trying for guys that I wasn’t supposed to want?
A guy asked for a beer and I popped the cap and swung it over to him. It was fairly subdued that night though it was absolutely packed. It took me a minute to realize why; there was a game on. Bandit’s was a sports bar, despite the emphasis on hot, big breasted bartenders working here and the general sleazy atmosphere. It meant that there were several large TVs set all over the place and that guys came here for three reasons only; the booze, the boobs, and the ballgames.
Since it was football season, I was doing a pretty good job about keeping up with who was playing when and how they were all doing. I’d missed a couple of games because of Selene’s death and then the last one I’d seen was Danny’s. I swallowed harshly. The one where he’d gotten seriously injured.
I took a steadying breath and pushed thoughts of my stepbrother forcefully away.
Most of the guys at the bar were ignoring me, their focus on the game. The only time someone got my attention—usually in the form of “Hey, Honey” or “Baby” or “Hot stuff”—was when they wanted another beer. Which suited me just fine. It meant it would be an easy night and by the time they were leaving they’d be plowed, and probably half of them would be happy enough from their team winning that they’d leave a pretty generous tip.
I took to cleaning the bar and waiting for Cindy. Her shift overlapped with mine, but because she was only part time, her shifts generally weren’t as long and were usually more sporadic throughout the week. Which was fine. We spent some time together at work and when we got the chance, we’d get together outside of work.
She was still planning on going out this weekend—probably Sunday since I’d have to work on Saturday (tomorrow)—and I wanted to talk to her about it. I was debating whether that was just what I needed to take my mind off of Danny or if it was absolutely the worst thing I could do at that moment. It was just hard to say right now.
As I was cleaning, I happened to glance up at one of the large TVs to see who was playing. My schedule was all messed up since I’d gotten back and I couldn’t remember—was it the Packers still? Or had I missed a game in there somewhere?
When I caught sight of the screen and saw the green and gold uniforms, I knew instantly it was my home team. It was what made me glance at the score—we were up by three—and make a quick sweep of the field to see what kind of shape we were in. We looked good, I thought.
“Hey, Hotcakes, wanna turn it up?” asked a red haired man from the bar who looked like he’d been watching more than he’d been drinking.
I ignored the hotcakes comment and reached for the remote. Turning it up, the man turned back to the game and now I could hear the announcers as they commentated on the game.
“…miraculous recovery has left us all thinking that this is the year for the Packers,” called Jim Nantz.
I wasn’t really paying that close of attention, pouring a guy a shot of vodka and putting it on the bar in front of him, but then Phil Simms answered him and I froze.
“It certainly seems that way. Cassidy has been on fire tonight! Like a man possessed, he is relentless and the team owes him no small thanks for the work he’s put in today. And listen to that crowd!”
“They definitely love him…”
The two announcers went on about how great of a player Danny was and how miraculous it was that he was already healed up and back on the field. They talked about how he was a crowd pleaser, a fan favorite, and that before the game he’d posed with several fans for pictures and signed a few jerseys.
But I wasn’t listening. I’d frozen as soon as they said Danny’s name, because while the announcers and the coach and everyone in that damn stadium tonight thought that Danny Cassidy was just that big of a badass that he could come back after only a day to blaze through and when the game, I knew better. Danny wasn’t supposed to be playing. Dad never would have okayed it if he thought the doctor hadn’t given him a clean bill of health. Meaning that, Danny had lied.
I held the rag in my hand in a vice grip, strangling it as I watched the next play. And the one after that. And the one after that. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the TV, positive that Danny wasn’t going to get hurt again, but this time not a minor injury. It was going to be something worse, something debilitating. It was going to be compounded on top of the first injury and he was going to be in a coma and—
“Damn it, miss!”
The guy who’d gotten a seat right in front of me was snapping his fingers in front of my face trying to get my attention. Even as he did so, I only half acknowledged him.
“What do you want?” I snapped at him angrily. “I’m watching the damn game.”
“Can I get a beer, d’ya think?”
I thrust a beer his way and tuned out his grumblings about what a shitty bartender I was. I didn’t care. The only thing that was important to me at that moment was Danny and that game. Cindy came in and greeted me, but I barely even acknowledged her. She muttered something about my crazy football obsession. At one point I even think Phil had to come out and help me tend. He hadn’t had to do that since my first night, but I didn’t care. Not about any of it. I couldn’t until I knew for sure that Danny was safe.
The Packers scored and that was the game. They won, but more importantly, Danny was safe. I slumped down over the counter, intense relief filling my system and spent the rest of the night fighting back tears of relief, fear, and anger.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Chapter Fourteen
We were headed towards Boston. We were slated to play that weekend against the Eagles—a shit team if I ever saw one, but the fans were fanatical to the point where we’d have special escorts to and from the stadium and personal ones should we decide to go out while we were in town. After our victory over the Cowboys a couple of nights ago, the whole team was feeling pretty pumped, but I just couldn’t get myself into it. I was too wrapped up in myself and my own problems.
I was too wrapped up in Ashley.
We were on the plane so my phone was off, but I glanced down at it anyway. I’d called her a hundred times when I found out she’d hitched a plane back to New York City, but she refused to pick up. She wouldn’t even answer a damn text from me and it had me on edge. I was so full of hurt and anger that the other guys had started to give me a wide birth. I was eager to take out my frustrations on the field and in the game, but when that wasn’t an option, I was plenty alright with picking a fight with one of the guys.
Sam still had a sore jaw and had picked a seat near the front because I was sitting in the back. Several of the guys had tried to talk to me about whatever was going on—a few assumed it was about my mom and I briefly wondered whether or not coach had told them or if it was just in the news—but I’d shut down each and every attempt almost instantly.
I didn’t want to talk about this to anyone. How could I? I could just see how that conversation would go.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I’m just upset because I’ve been banging my sister and now she’s finally figured out what a fucked up deal it is and has fled to another state to get away from me. But don’t worry, we’re not related by blood.”
Yeah, no one was going to be alright with that.
It was another hour until we were set to land in Boston, so I took a deep breath and reclined my seat. I tried to close
my eyes and take a nap, sleep off some of my lingering, intense anger, but it didn’t really happen.
As soon as I closed my eyes, I saw her face. My mind traced along her full lips, pulled into an innocent smile that was at odds with those blue, seductive eyes. Her hair hung down over her shoulders and briefly hid her large breasts from my view, but I knew all it would take was a gust of wind, a movement of her head, or my hands brushing the silky strands of hair away to expose her lovely orbs.
I pictured her naked, because now that I’d seen her that way, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’d been in her goddamned pussy for Christ’s sake and there was no way I would ever be able to forget that. I wouldn’t be able to forget how tight she was, how wet she was, how eager for me she was. I wouldn’t be able to forget those little sounds she made and the way she watched me as I pounded into her.
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