I want to tell her that Cage is that perfect person, but I don’t even know if he’s looking for something that permanent. For all I know, I could just be a casual fuck. He doesn’t seem like the type of person who sleeps around, but do I even know him that well?
Earlier today, when I got to the studio, I walked in on the tail end of a conversation he was having with one of his brothers. I heard him say he’d be home soon.
Stupid me for letting myself fall for someone who has no plans of sticking around.
Stupid me for making something more out of this than it is.
Stupid me for opening my heart up to someone who was just going to walk out… again.
Later, that night, when I’m back in my apartment and lying in bed, trying to sleep, my mind is a black hole I can’t escape. Thoughts of my time with Cage mix and mingle with Anna’s words and my own fears and uncertainty. It’s a horrible combination and keeps me awake most of the night.
When I can’t take it any longer, I grab my phone and think about calling Cage, but that’s when I realize, I don’t even have his phone number.
I had sex with him… three orgasms… and he had his head between my legs, but I don’t even have his telephone number.
Then my thoughts turn to where he is and what he’s doing and the gross, unwelcome feeling creeps over me.
Can I trust him?
Is he screwing other people?
Have I ever even asked him about his past relationships?
What are his plans?
My heart begins to beat rapidly and I have to sit up in bed and take deep breaths. When that doesn’t work to calm my nerves or my mind, I climb out of bed and start going through some Tai Chi movements Cage has taught me. Starting simple, I roll my head to the side and then around in one slow motion before stretching my back as I bend down and touch my toes.
Moving my arms and legs in the fluid motions eventually brings me some peace.
What I’ve loved about this martial art since Cage first started teaching me is that it has purpose and flow. Moving into the single whip, I bring my arms up and out at shoulder height, one hand curved into a beak hand. From there, I move into a white crane, balancing my weight on one leg and then kicking with the other.
Better.
Deep breaths.
Even if Cage is a rebound.
Even if he goes back to Dallas and forgets all about me.
I’ll be okay.
Maybe what Anna was saying is true. Maybe I’m feeling so invested in him and our relationship because I’m craving the closeness. Maybe my feelings for Cage have nothing to do with him and everything to do with me.
There’s a small voice in my head—and a feeling in my heart—telling me I’m wrong and it’s bigger than that. I feel like he came into my life at the right time and that we were meant to meet, and I think we’re good together.
But there was a time when I thought Asher and I were good together.
And I see how that turned out.
When I realize there’s no chance I’m going to get any sleep, I shower again, make a cup of coffee and drink it while I go ahead and dress. I might as well get a head start on the muffins for the day.
**Sm*
It’s almost four when I walk out of my apartment and start walking down the street. Not for the first time since I moved into the apartment and started walking to work, I find myself checking my back, but there’s not a soul out at this time of the morning.
All the lights are out down the block. Cage’s entire building is dark.
Is he losing sleep?
Is he laying there thinking about me?
Do his sheets smell like me… us?
I almost skip the bakery and walk to Cage’s instead, but stop myself. I really do need to get some muffins going and I also need time to think and sort through my feelings. And hopefully, not be weird the next time I see Cage.
Unlocking the bakery door, I walk to the back and flip on some lights. Breathing deeply, I love the sweet smell that always lingers here. This is definitely my happy place and I throw myself into baking and creating, coming up with a perfect Muffin of the Day.
Crazy—loaded with nuts (all puns intended) and chunks of dark chocolate.
After a couple hours of baking like crazy, the open sign of the bakery gets turned on and my mind is feeling better, less frazzled and more focused.
It’s a busy morning from the get-go, a couple customers were actually waiting for the door to be unlocked and it hasn’t slowed down since. So, when the door chimes and I’m unloading another tray of muffins into the display, I call out, “Good morning! Welcome to Donner Bakery!”
“Good morning.” Cage’s deep, smooth voice makes me snap my head up in his direction, my heart practically jumping out of my throat.
“Hey,” I manage to say without sounding too off. Hopefully.
He smiles, scratching at the back of his head. “Hey…”
“Can I get you something?”
Checking the case, he peruses the options. “What’s the Muffin of the Day?”
Clearing my throat, I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Crazy… loaded with nuts and chunks of dark chocolate.”
The look he gives me over the top of the display case is downright sinful. He should be arrested for giving a look like that. Earlier, during my baking session, I’d convinced myself that I needed to try to get back to just being Cage’s friend. That’s a safer zone for me to be in and there’s a lot less risk of getting my heart broken if and when he leaves. But now, I’m not so sure.
Maybe there is no going back.
“Crazy, huh?” he asks, a lazy smirk on his face. “Are you feeling crazy, Tempest?” His voice is a low whisper, meant only for me, but I can’t help looking around to see if anyone else overheard. It’s not the question he asked so much as the tone he used—seductive, like liquid sex.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, probably a little too loud, now that I think about it. Laughing nervously, I brush some hair behind my ear. “It’s got that perfect… crunch and hint of salt from the, uh, nuts… mixed with the bite from the dark chocolate… ninety percent cacao… full of antioxidants. I mean, it’s basically a health food… Crazy, huh?”
“So crazy,” he says, but I feel like his words hold a double entendre. “Can we talk?”
I nod, but my feet stay frozen in place behind the counter… my safety zone.
“Maybe outside… or over at that table,” he suggests, pointing to an empty table in the corner by the window.
“Okay,” I agree, making eye contact with Mikey and motioning over my shoulder. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Cage and I sit and he reaches across the table and takes my hand. I have to force myself to not close my eyes from the sensation of his skin on mine, which is crazy. You’d think after yesterday, I’d be used to it… maybe would’ve built up some sort of immunity, but no. I crave it more. Now that I’ve had the full dose, a measly little hand hold won’t do.
“Hey,” Cage says, getting my attention. “You okay?”
Yes.
No.
“Sure,” I say, giving him a small smile. “Why?”
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me speculatively. “You didn’t say much yesterday when I dropped you off. I thought about you all night… even drove by your apartment when I got off work, but I couldn’t tell if you had any lights on or not, so I circled the block and went home.” Breathing in deeply, he puffs his chest up and then exhales. “I just don’t want you to think anything has to change between us, because it hasn’t. Don’t freak out or stress, okay?”
I swallow down the small lump in my throat.
Why does he have to be so damn intuitive and in my fucking head?
“The ball is in your court,” he adds, squeezing my hand to bring my eyes back to his. “Your pace… okay?”
“Okay,” I finally say, feeling a little of the tension I’ve been carrying around since yesterday dissipate.
&nbs
p; “The reunion is this Friday, right?” he asks. “We’re still on for that?”
I smile, grateful for the shift in conversation and for him just being… Cage. He’s wonderful and I’m reminded of how grateful I am that above all else, he’s my friend.
“We’re still on,” I confirm.
“Anything I need to know?” he asks.
I shrug, trying to think of anything I should tell him. “I was going to have to walk onto the field with Asher,” I tell him. I’d kind of forgot about it, but a few days ago, I got an email from the planning committee that plans had changed. “It’s tradition that the king and queen from the ten-year reunion class presents the crowns to the current king and queen.”
“So what happened?”
“I guess Mindy decided she didn’t want me that close to her husband.”
Cage’s look of disgust makes me laugh. “This whole situation is so fucking twisted,” he mutters. “On one hand, I want to beat the shit out of him for what he’s done to you, and on the other, I want to buy him a fucking beer.”
“Well, he’s not worth either… the ass-whipping or the beer, so don’t waste your time.”
“Would you have done it, if they hadn’t changed their minds?” he asks, curiosity thick in his tone.
Thinking for a second, I reply honestly. “I was married to him for eight years. What’s five minutes?”
“So you’re going to be okay seeing him and Mindy together at the reunion?”
Smiling, I quirk an eyebrow. “Are you worried I’m going to embarrass you?”
“No,” he says adamantly. “I just need to know if I should bring bail money.”
Chapter 24
Cage
I haven’t been to a Friday night football game in several years.
Ozzi and Gunnar both played when they were in high school, but none of the rest of us ever played. Even though football is life in Texas, I was so dedicated to kickboxing and martial arts I never had the time. I spent nearly every single evening in the dojo or gym. Viggo and Vali were also gym rats, following in our father’s footsteps and putting on the gloves at an early age.
But I’ve been to my fair share of football games, so this should feel familiar.
However, tonight, I’m feeling anxious. Not so much for me, but for Tempest. I get why she wants to go—needs to go—but it doesn’t mean I like it. There’s a protectiveness inside me when it comes to her that knows no bounds. After the amazing sex we had the other day, those feelings have only grown stronger. I wish I could shield her from all the bad shit in the world—past, present, and future—but I know I can’t.
I can only be there for her, be her friend, which is what I’m going to do.
Pulling up in front of her building, I turn the truck off and hop out. I haven’t been inside Tempest’s apartment yet. When I drove her home the other day, she insisted I just drop her off, and since I needed to get to work, I did as she asked.
But tonight, I feel the need to walk up to her door like a proper gentleman.
When I knock on her door, Tempest opens almost immediately.
Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, making her look so much younger than her twenty-eight years. The freckles on her nose and those fucking green eyes on full display, my cock stands at attention. “Ready?” she asks, a plaid blanket draped over her arm.
Fuck yeah, I’m ready.
Ready to take her back to my bed.
Ready to fuck her senseless right here on these stairs.
Ready to push her up against the wall and claim those sweet lips.
But I remind myself, and my dick, that I’m here tonight as her friend. “Yeah,” I say, stepping aside to let her by. She pauses long enough to shut her door, sticking a key into the deadbolt and locking it. “My dad insists I use the deadbolt,” she says with an annoyed expression and a shake of her head. “I think he forgets I’m an adult sometimes.”
“Well, I’m fully aware you’re an adult and I’m with your dad,” I tell her, following her down the stairs and appreciating the view from behind. “Lock the deadbolt.”
Once we pull up to the field, I drive around until I find a place to park.
Putting the truck in park, I turn it off, but Tempest doesn’t reach for the door, so I sit and wait, letting her take the lead. “You good?” I ask, reaching over to take her hand.
She allows me to thread our fingers together and I’m grateful for the small contact. All I’ve been able to think about is her—her body, her sounds, her taste. I want to tell her how much I want her and need her… how much I crave her, but I don’t want to scare her off, so I’m going to let her come to me.
“Yeah,” she eventually says, her eyes glued to our hands.
“Do I have any rules… anything I should or shouldn’t do?” I ask, wanting to know my boundaries. Because if she doesn’t want me to touch her or show her affection, I’m going to need to know that now.
“No,” she says quietly. “I don’t think so.”
“So, it’s okay if I want to hold your hand?”
She gives me a small smile, nodding her head. “Yeah… I guess that’d be okay.”
“What about kissing you?”
Her blush tells me she’s probably not much into PDA, so I don’t push it.
“Okay, hand holding,” I tell her. “And maybe I can slip an arm around your shoulder and cop a feel?”
Covering her face with her free hand, she tilts her head back and laughs.
“Hand holding… like we’re back in third grade,” I mutter. “Got it.”
“You held hands with girls in third grade?” she asks, turning to face me.
It’s my turn to smirk—a cocky, self-assured, you-don’t-even-want-to-know smirk.
“I didn’t even kiss a boy until I was in the tenth grade,” she admits.
Inwardly, I cringe. “Let me guess, Asher?”
She nods, biting down on her lip and averting her gaze to the floor.
“Hey,” I say, reaching over and tilting her chin up so she’s looking at me. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed or ashamed of, okay? Everybody is different and I like who you are, regardless of your past. If anyone has anything to be ashamed of, it’s Mindy and Asher, got it?”
“Got it.”
“Alright,” I say, opening my door. “Let’s go watch some football and give these people something to talk about.” She laughs, and instead of exiting out the passenger door, she slides over and follows me out of the truck, our hands immediately joining back together.
I feel her squeeze my hand a little tighter as we approach the gate, and I get the feeling she’s holding my hand for moral support more than anything else, and I’m reminded once again of my role.
Friend.
Part of me wants to ask her if she feels like having sex with me was a mistake, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. The way she freaked out wasn’t unexpected. I should’ve seen it coming. She’s guarded her heart so closely since the day we met. It shouldn’t surprise me that us giving into our desires would cause her some distress.
The mind can be a scary place.
All I want is for her to not try to put what we have in a box. We don’t have to just be friends. We can be friends and more. But if she’s not ready, I understand… and I’ll wait.
Following her lead, she guides us to the bleachers and I see her take a deep breath before she releases my hand and makes her way to a sectioned off portion of the stadium.
Welcome Class of 2009
“Tempest,” a woman with platinum blonde hair says, as we take a few steps into the reserved section. “I was wondering if you’d show.” Her blue eyes bounce between us scrupulously. “Who’s your... friend?”
I feel Tempest tense, her spine going rigid. Placing my hand gently at the small of her back, I non-verbally tell her everything she needs to know.
I’m here.
I’ve got your back.
“This is Cage… Erickson,” Tempest say
s, glancing briefly over her shoulder and giving me a tentative, but grateful smile.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Blondie says, reaching around Tempest to shake my hand. “I’m Stella Wilson, Class of 2009 class secretary and captain of the cheer squad. Go Pirates!”
Choking back my laugh, I cover it with a cough and then finally shake her hand so I don’t make this any weirder than it already is. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, Tempest tells me you’re from out of town,” she continues, her eyes all over me. “What brings you to Green Valley?”
“I work at the Pink Pony,” I tell her, hoping that will effectively shut her up so we can move to our seats and away from her. She’s poison. My bullshit detector is usually spot on, and without Tempest even telling me anything about Stella, I could probably describe her perfectly.
If I had to guess, she’s probably always walked around with her nose in the air, thinking her shit doesn’t stink. When in reality, she’s insecure, so she has to make other people feel weak in order for her to feel strong. She preys on those she views as less than her. And unlike ninety percent of society, who move on from high school and realize none of that shit mattered, she’s stuck there.
Those were her glory days and she’s taking up permanent residency.
Stella’s expression changes and a look of complete and utter disgust paints her fake-ass features. Pulling her hand back, she not so discreetly wipes it down the leg of her over-priced jeans. Batting her obviously glued on lashes, she says, “There are a few seats up there.” Pointing to the top of the bleachers. “Enjoy the game.”
Giving her a smirk I hope conveys what I can’t say, like suck a dick, I nudge Tempest. “Let’s go… I need a better view.”
When we finally settle into a seat, sitting on the blanket Tempest brought, I ask, “So where is he?”
“Who?” Her eyes are on the field, watching the game, or at least pretending to.
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