Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“I’ll see you this weekend,” I tell him. “We’re still doing dinner, right?”
“Yes, of course. See you then, sweetheart.”
And then Dad stalks off and Mom is still fuming, and I feel like I just fought off a pack of rabid dogs. This is why confrontations should be avoided at all costs. They never lead to anything but misery.
CHAPTER 29
TATE
“That was so brutal today,” Cassie moans against my shoulder, her breath tickling my skin. We’re lying together on the dock. Sharing one lounge chair, which means we’re practically on top of each other. Not that I’m complaining. I welcome any opportunity to have her delectable body pressed up against me.
“You’re still thinking about it?” I say gently.
“How can I not? I don’t even want to know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been able to drag Mom away. They looked like they were going to murder each other.”
“That’s rough.”
“I mean, it’s par for the course with them.”
It’s difficult for me to relate to that. My parents rarely fight. They bicker, sure. They’ve gone through a rough patch or two, but I’ve never seen them treat each other with anything close to the level of vitriol that Cassie describes with her parents. Their confrontation really affected her today, and the lunch that followed wasn’t much of a palate cleanser. Tori was plainly in a bad mood, and I was glad when the check finally arrived.
I spent the rest of the day trying to distract Cassie from her parents’ argument. We passed the afternoon swimming, barbecuing, and hanging out on the dock. At sunset we took the Lightning out for a ride again, which in turn got me so hot I couldn’t even wait to find a bed when we returned to the house. We had sex on the dock, which, I won’t deny, is a bit risky. But Tori and Lydia had gone out for dinner, and we tried to be quiet, mindful of the other houses along the water. Not sure if we succeeded. I can be loud when I come.
Now, we’re still in our bathing suits, cozied up on the lounger, while the night breeze floats along the bay and I absentmindedly stroke her soft hair.
Cassie snuggles closer, and a sense of pure contentment washes over me. Even now, a solid hour postcoital, I’m still recovering from the sex. I swear it only gets better with this woman. I forget myself when I’m inside her. The entire world disappears and it’s just me and her. Her warmth. Her pussy. Her smile. It’s perfection. And the more I think about it, the more I don’t want this to end. I’m already thinking about the holidays, the possibility of flying to Boston to see her.
Or, even better, accepting Gil Jackson’s offer and asking Cassie to join me on the Surely Perfect. For a weekend. A week, a month. As long as she wanted. A horde of images suddenly swarms my mind. Cassie and I on the open water. Her hair blowing in the wind as she helps me sail. Having sex on the deck. Falling asleep in the cabin. Cooking together in the galley—
Jesus. What the hell is my brain doing right now?
None of that is ever going to happen, least of which because I already decided not to go. I promised Dad I wouldn’t.
“Are you going to talk to your dad about the argument?” I ask, my gaze focusing on the darkening sky.
“God no.”
“Why not?”
“Because clearly it’s a sore subject for him.”
“As it should be. She had a miscarriage. She fought for sole custody of you instead of agreeing to joint custody like he wanted.” I lightly stroke Cassie’s arm. “Don’t you want to know more about that? His perspective about the miscarriage and everything that followed it?” Now I find myself frowning. “Don’t you want to talk to him about real shit?”
“We do,” she protests. “Sometimes. Sporadically.” She sighs. “All right, fine. We don’t talk about anything deep. I hold a lot of it back, but—”
“But there’s a silver lining?” I guess with a dry chuckle. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I have him in my life,” she says simply.
I furrow my brow. “And he’d go away if you shared your feelings?”
“He might. I …” Her voice cracks. “I don’t want to be a burden on him. He already has his hands full, raising two little kids. He doesn’t need his grown-ass daughter whining about her feelings and demanding to know why he never fought for custody. Telling him how much it hurts that he gave her childhood bedroom away, how awful it is to feel like I’ve been replaced. How fucking jealous I am of his new family.”
I take a breath, tightening my arm around her. “Man. I didn’t realize you felt any of that.”
“Yeah. I do.” Her hand trembles against my abdomen. “Right after the twins were born, when Dad suddenly had even less time for me, I used to listen to this one song all the time. It was called ‘Jealous,’ and I’d lie in my bedroom in Boston and listen to it on repeat because it just encapsulated everything I felt. How jealous I was that Dad had this new life I was no longer a part of.”