"I'm sorry, miss, have you been staring at me?"
"Why, yes, I have," I say, fluttering my eyelashes and pretending to be a shy young girl.
"You'd better be careful, looking at a man like that," he laughs. "People will think you're some sort of scandalous vixen, and the gossips will get those tongues a-wagging. Then you end up married, just to stop the whispers." He winks at me, looking around as if he has something to hide.
I wave my hands in front of my face, pretending to be an innocent old-fashioned belle. "Why, you darling thing, I just couldn't help myself. I'm just a helpless young woman, captivated by sexiness," I say, completely ruining the effect by dissolving into giggles.
"Yeah, I'll captivate you later," he grumbles, embarrassed, and I can't help laughing. He leans down so I can help him with our drinks, and then he drops the taco box on the table. Pulling out a stack of napkins, he hands one to me and I spread it in front of me, spreading another for him as he sorts through the box.
"Soft for you, crunchy for me," he says, finally lowering himself to sit across from me. He pushes a stack of paper-wrapped soft tacos to the center of the table, neatly lining the crunchy round lumps of his tacos beside his napkin.
"So precise," I say, and he looks up at me, winking.
"Well, I know how I like things, Miss Keaton," he says, blowing me a kiss. My cheeks flame, and I lower my eyes, turning my focus to unwrapping my lunch. He watches me, carefully refolding the soft tortillas around the taco fillings so that they don't fall apart.
"So precise," he says, looking at me expectantly.
"I have learned how I like certain things too, Mr. Kingsley," I say, lowering my voice so that it takes on the low breathy tone he likes to hear in the dark. His eyes widen, his gaze intensifies, and then he grins at me.
"We'll just have to see if you can teach me the proper way then," he teases.
"Well," I murmur, my breath quickening. "We shall have to see about that."
We eat a while in companionable silence, Drew stopping now and then to comment again on the crystals we chose for his parents. I love his enthusiasm; his obvious excitement over what he feels will be meaningful to his mother. Thankfulness washes over me as I realize again how fortunate I am to have been given a second chance to be with him, to meet and be taken into his gracious family.
All too soon, I look up, and over his shoulder is a familiar face that stops my heart. Drew must have noticed a change in my posture, or maybe my horrified expression, because he tenses, lowering the taco he'd been preparing to unwrap.
"Cass?" he asks, reaching over to touch my hand. "Cass, what's up?"
"Rick. That's Rick, there's Rick, over there behind you."
"Okay, don't panic, I'm here, okay? Just breathe, it's no big deal. He's human like the rest of us, remember? And Chelsea says he's been talking to her, don't forget. Just breathe."
I follow his commands, taking a breath in, squeezing it out and taking another. The sense of panic dissipates, and I'm myself again by the time Rick notices us and walks toward our table.
"Hey, Cass," he says, walking up, careful to walk around the side of the table so that he isn't talking over Drew's shoulder. Drew sits back, looking up to take in Rick's stance, assessing his mood.
"Rick," I answer cautiously, hoping he doesn't say anything humiliating, hoping he doesn't try to provoke Drew.
"Um, can we talk?" he asks, passing a nervous glance toward Drew, who looks immediately to me.
I nod, and he clears his throat, taking his drink in hand. "I need a refill," he says. "And there was another store I wanted to check out, so I'll just be back in a bit."
Rick looks to him gratefully, stepping back as Drew stands, carefully coming to his full height. Sitting there, I see it for what it is, a silent conversation between the two of them, as Rick starts out stiff and somewhat defensive, Drew standing tall, quietly unintimidated.
Turning to me, he nods. "I'll meet you back here?" he asks.
"Perfect," I say, hoping my voice doesn't tremble with my nerves. I watch him walk away, and then I look to Rick, waving to the seat Drew has vacated. Pushing a taco across the table to him, I raise my eyebrow.
"Hungry?" I ask, watching indecision flicker in his face. Finally, he nods, taking the taco and unwrapping it, gathering his thoughts while he arranges the tortilla and takes a bite.
"I've been thinking," he says, swallowing nervously.
Chapter Forty-Two
"Okay," I answer, warily. "Want to share with me?"
Rick smirks, and I wonder if this is going to go downhill. "Well, I suppose since I sought you out, the least I could do is tell you why."
"Okay," I say again, taking a cautious bite of my taco, mainly just to have something to do.
"Did Chelsea tell you that I went to her house?" He puts the taco on the table in front of him, leaning forward and bracing his elbows against the edge of the table. I freeze, unsure of what to say.
"I went there to talk to her about everything," Rick says, saving me from having to answer. "About you."
"And how was that?" I ask, unwilling to give away my thoughts. I won't provoke him right now, just in case he's come to me in an effort to improve things, but I'm not going to pretend we're suddenly bosom buddies again either, because we're not. Until he opens up and tells me what he wants, I'm giving him nothing.
"It was good," he answers, looking at his hands, linking and re-linking his fingers together. "She helped me clear my head some."
"She's good at that," I admit, leaning back and crossing my arms. My senses are in overdrive; the smell of the food court is an intense mix of different foods; there is an intensity of colors and noises. In the midst of this public place, as Rick and I prepare to attempt a normal conversation about such sensitive personal issues, I feel terribly exposed.
"Yeah, she is. I'd forgotten that, I guess. I really was bitter, wasn't I?"
"Maybe a little," I mutter, avoiding his gaze. He doesn't answer, and finally, I'm forced to look up at him. Shocked, I find him grinning.
"After all these years, and you're still careful with me," he says, and for just that moment, the old Rick is back, the big brother that I once felt so close to.
"Well, we've established that your pride requires careful handling," I retort, and he laughs.
"Alright, fine then," he laughs, reaching for my soda. He raises his eyebrow, and at my nod, he takes a long drink.
"So, you talked with Chelsea?" I prompt, watching him. Much as I admire his courage in coming over to talk to me like this, I wish he'd get to the point. I want this over with.
"I did. I asked her what she thinks of the whole thing. Why you set me up like that, at Janet's house."
"What did she tell you?" I ask, curious.
He lifts his taco and takes another bite, and I wonder if he's keeping me waiting like this on purpose. "She told me to talk to you," he says.
"And so here we are," I challenge, balling up the empty wrappers strewn across the table and stuffing them back into the taco box.
"Why did you set me up, in front of the whole family?" he asks, and the hurt in his tone surprises me.
"Would it have made any difference without them? Every single time I've seen you over the years, I've been kind to you until you weren't to me. And several times in the early years, I did attempt to confront you, which only made things worse. I needed to change things, I was tired of being set apart, I was tired of being attacked, and frankly, my therapist recommended that I confront you."
"Therapist? What therapist?" he asks, tilting his head and bringing his eyebrows together.
"I've been seeing a therapist for several months now," I tell him, sorry that I mentioned it.
"Is she any good?" he asks.
"It's a guy, and yeah, I like him fine. He's helped me a lot with stuff. Leftover grief, foster kid issues, work stuff." I refuse to give him any credit for making me suicidal enough to go to a therapist. "He's good," I say.
"T
hat's good," Ricks answers, picking nervously at a fingernail. "I've been thinking of going to someone myself. You know, leftover issues."
I raise my hand to my chest, letting my mouth fall open as if in shock. "You? Leftover issues? No, surely, not you!"
He laughs, throwing back his head, and I find myself watching him, grinning as the old Rick comes out of hiding. "Oh yeah," he roars. "It may shock you to hear this, my girl, but I am a damaged man."
"Oh, you poor darling!" I squeal, laughing, and he throws a stray bit of lettuce at me.
"Seriously, though," he says, sobering. "I know I was a jerk, Cass. And I'm sorry for any part I've had in making life difficult for you. I don't even know what the hell my problem is."
"I think we among the human race call it pride," I say, trying to maintain a serious expression.
"Ahhh, pride," he says, nodding. "I may have an overabundance of that."
"You may have had an under-abundance," I say, leaning forward. "Rick, I wasn't meaning to be a tease, all those years ago. You have to know that."
"I do, I'm just stupid," he says, looking into his lap. "I just got caught up, I guess, in having someone in my life who actually wanted me around, you know? You were my first experience with that, and I was young and stupid, and greedy maybe. Confused."
"That's fair. Maybe I was too, I don't know. But I did see you as a brother, Rick, and that would have been too much, to change it into anything else."
"I know," he says. The bitterness has left his voice, and now he sits before me as a man; his shame is visible to me, because I know him, because I know what it has cost him to sit here and say these things to me.
"So, what now?" I ask, watching Drew walk around the corner. He stops several tables away, watching for me to give him some clue of what I want from him. I shake my head, just the barest movement, but he sees, and instead he heads back to the taco joint.
"I don't know," Rick answers, and over his shoulder, Drew is giving his cup to the cashier, making small talk and laughing, watching me closely.
"What do you want from this?" I ask Rick, leaning forward.
"I don't know that either," he says. "Do you think the past can be undone?"
"My therapist says so," I laugh, nodding slightly to Drew, who has been watching. He steps away from the wall, making his way over toward where Rick and I are sitting.
"You know, maybe I need that guy's phone number," Rick says, laughing as I reach for my purse. Taking one of Dr. Caswell's cards from a zippered side pocket, I slide it across the table to Rick, smiling up as Drew approaches the table.
"Should I leave again?" he asks, looking between Rick and me, trying to judge how things stand between us.
"Nah, man, we're okay," Rick says to him. "I'm Rick, Cass's brother."
Looking over at me for guidance, Drew follows my nod and extends his hand to Rick. "Andrew Kingsley," he says.
They chat for a few minutes, leaving me to my thoughts as I clear the rest of lunch from our table and carry it the few feet to a garbage can.
"You sure you're okay?" Drew asks me, as Rick walks away from our table.
"Yeah." I nod, smiling as Drew laces his fingers with mine. "Yeah, I'm okay."
Chapter Forty-Three
"So, now you've met the twins," I say, looking up at Drew from where my head is resting in his lap. He's hovering above me, watching the news, just like he does every night after dinner.
"Yep, energetic, those two," he answers, distracted. The news anchors are babbling on about something called extreme parenting.
"Yes, they are. And you've met Rick," I continue, turning slightly to curl around him more comfortably. He reaches out, dropping his arm lightly down my side, curling his hand around my hip and giving me a light squeeze.
"Sure did." Behind me, the low baritone of the male anchor is now going over stock market information, and Drew has lost interest. He looks down at me finally, raising his eyebrow. "Are we getting somewhere?"
"I met all your family too, at the hospital." Moving my face forward slightly, I press a light kiss to his bare stomach, above the soft cotton of his pajama pants. His breath catches, and I smile to myself as his fingers tighten momentarily on my hip.
"They like you," he says, his voice taking on a cautious note.
"I met your parents," I murmur, drawing tiny little circles with my fingertips, moving slowly up and down his side.
"Did you, then?" he asks, smiling as he flinches slightly, when I find a ticklish spot.
"I did."
"They like you, too," he breathes, trying to focus as I allow my fingers to slide down his arm, turning onto my back to massage the hand he'd been resting on my hip.
"Mmhmm, I like them too," I say, digging the tips of my fingers gently into his palm and working my way back up to his forearm, enjoying the way his breath quickens when my hands are on him.
"That's good," he says, the fingers of his other hand finding their way into my hair.
"So it's your turn now," I tell him, bringing his hand up to kiss the pads of his fingers.
"My turn? Well, then, get up and let's go to bed," he laughs.
"No, I mean it's your turn to meet the parents." Looking up at him, I gently settle his hand on my stomach, waiting to see what he will say.
"Okay, good," he laughs, slipping his hand back up my waist to cup my breast.
"Really?"
"Oh, absolutely," he murmurs, working his palm over the fabric of my shirt, causing my nipple to rise up and harden under his hand.
"Oh," I murmur, realizing now that the conversation I'd wanted to have is now cancelled. There's no way I can get him to focus now, and I curse my restless habit of petting him, because it always ends up the same way, gasping and panting instead of talking.
I have to give him credit though. We do talk afterwards, usually.
"I've been waiting for you to suggest it," he murmurs, watching my face as he slips his hand under my shirt to stroke lazy patterns on my skin. I catch him smiling victoriously, just before my eyes flutter closed.
"Oh," I murmur again, trying to stay focused. "So you'll do it then?"
"Yeah," he laughs, rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers. "Of course I will. We'll take her for fondue, where we went before."
"Uh huh," I groan as his hand makes its way lower. "She'll like that."
"Good, then, this is settled?" He asks, waiting for me to nod helplessly before reaching toward the hem of my skirt and drawing up my thighs.
"I have a surprise for you," I gasp, pressing my hands to his, stopping him. "Hold on." Jumping up, I rush into the bedroom, smiling over at the rumpled bed, still mussed from his greeting when I got home from work earlier. The jeans he'd been wearing are still puddled beside the bed, with a glimpse of the turquoise panties I hadn't bothered to put back on peeking out from beneath.
He groans in frustration as I close the bedroom door, and I laugh, shouting for him to wait. He groans again, just to be dramatic, and this one I ignore. Stalking over to my dresser, I yank my shirt over my head, stopping to shove my skirt down over my hips, facing myself in the mirror on the wall.
I'm still as round as always, but somehow, I see things differently now. I don't see overlarge, pendulous breasts. I see my roundness as sensual now, and I do feel incredibly sexy. Running has helped some, and I can see places where my body is beginning to firm up a little; I have also lost a few pounds, though not many. Running my hands over myself, I can smile appreciatively at my form in a way that I never could before. Thick thighs, but they are powerful on a run. Heavy arms, but they don't complain in the downward dog anymore at yoga class. Round, soft hips, but they cushion the power of Drew's passion, when he loses himself in the sounds of my pleasure and forgets to be gentle.
"Oh no!" Drew shouts from the living room, and I freeze, listening. "My woman has vanished!"
Laughing, I shout back, "Be patient; you're like a toddler!"
"Well get your ass back out here, then," he laughs
. "I need something warm and soft to play with!"
"I think there's a teddy bear in the closet!" I yell through the wall.
"Woman, I will come through that door!" he roars, and I shriek, laughing as I lunge for a drawer handle. "Wait, wait!"
"Aarrrrggh," He groans, a strangled sound. It is the only sound he makes, though, and I am reassured that he will remain on the couch.
Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I dig to the back of the drawer and pull out the red silk lingerie, still sporting the tags from Chubby Central. Clipping them with a fingernail clipper lying on the dresser, I stuff them back into the drawer and hold up the lace straps of the gown.
Fat Chance Page 22
