Deliver Us (The Sinful Duet Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  Nick. This is his fault.

  His face zips to the forefront of my mind—his chocolate irises, strong jaw, and stupid straight nose. I can’t—for the life of me—figure out why she wants him.

  They don’t match. They. Don’t. Match. He’s a fucking brunette, for crying out loud!

  The beat of the music picks up, and my brain pulsates, swelling painfully against my skull. Outside conversation grows deafening. It’s no wonder she hates me.

  I hate me.

  Growling, I shoot off the bed, unlock my door, and yank it open. I lift myself onto the tips of my toes in search of Wade, my roommate, but it’s too crowded. I’d have better luck finding a needle in a haystack. Through the crowd, however, I do catch a brief glimpse of my large speakers as they blast the hell out of my favorite Spotify playlist. I whip my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and shut down the app, cutting the music off. The drunken crowd moans and complains, looking around for an explanation.

  “Party’s over,” I yell, and countless hooded eyes snap toward me. “Get the fuck out!”

  “Is he serious?” someone in the crowd murmurs, then a horde of insults are hurled in my direction, like I give a shit what they think of me.

  As they begin to move toward the front door and surge out into the hall, I see her. The girl from earlier, the one I’d mistaken for Cassia. Surprised to see Cassia in my apartment, I couldn’t help myself. Without a word, I brushed my nose along the nape of her neck to whisper in her ear. I should’ve known better. She had the same wavy blonde to cotton candy pink gradient hair, but she was wearing a strange rosemary perfume. That should’ve been my first tip that I had the wrong girl. Cassia’s allergic to rosemary. It makes her nose itch and her eyes water.

  Melanie gives me an awkward side-glance and a gentle smile as she passes by. My back straightens as a wicked plan formulates at the forefront of my semi-intoxicated mind. I point at Melanie, and she stops dead in her tracks, her chocolate eyes wide.

  “You,” I say, stepping out of my room. “You stay.”

  “Everyone out,” Wade booms as he guides the dawdling crowd out the door, his two tall, brunette girlfriends flanking each side.

  I grab Melanie, and she lets out a playful yelp as I lift her and put her over my shoulder.

  If this is what Cassia wants, fine.

  If this is what it’s going to take for me to get a rise out of my ex to prove that she still has feelings for me, then I’ll fucking do it.

  I hold Melanie’s thighs, my fingers brushing against her short black skirt, and she smooths her palms over my back. Without another glance over my shoulder, I stomp into my room and throw her onto my bed.

  Chapter Four

  C A L E B

  My hot coffee burns the tip of my tongue, but I don’t recoil. Instead, I open my mouth and let the scalding liquid singe my taste buds. I lean back against my chair in the corner of the dark café. Though this is my second coffee, my eyes are still as heavy as bricks.

  I swipe my hand over my face. I had a girl in my bed this morning. Melanie. I saw her naked and it was the furthest I’ve gone with a woman since Cassia—not that I got far.

  I tried. I tried so fucking hard to do it, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch my lips to Melanie’s tan skin or allow hers on mine. I made her turn her back to me, I could imagine her as Cassia then, but as I touched her body, it was painfully obvious it wasn’t Cassia bent over in front of me. Where Cassia curved out, this girl was straight and slim. Cassia had soft thighs and a perky, jiggly ass. The girl had great breasts, but they weren’t real. She was taller than Cassia too, her voice a pitch higher. Everything she did, everything she said, I compared to Cass, and she never measured up. Didn’t even come close. So, as the sun began to light the sky, I took her out for coffee and a donut. We chatted a little—small talk mostly. Then I booked and paid for her Uber and sent her on her way. Melanie was a sweet girl, but she wasn’t my sweet girl.

  I went home for a little while after that, but I couldn’t sleep, so I came back to the café. I’ve been sitting here since, waiting for nine a.m. to roll around so I can go to work at Bree’s studio and forget about everything—Cassia’s harsh words, my sexual failure with Melanie, and all the bullshit waiting for me in Paradise Valley.

  I lift my cardboard cup to my lips and take another mouthful when a flash of light catches my attention through the window. The bright morning sun bounces off her golden-pink hair, the wind catching in her long strands. I don’t need to see a face to know it’s Cassia. Hairs prickle along the back of my neck, my stomach rolls, and my pants grow tighter around the crotch. There’s only one woman in New York—hell, the whole world—who makes my body react.

  With black gloved hands, she tightens the belt on her ass-length, white trench coat and ducks her head as she enters the cafe. I straighten in my seat, dragging my gaze over her black stilettos and up her black leggings. I pause at her slender knees. Leggings. Exactly like the ones she wore the first time we fooled around together in the hall behind my father’s church. I swallow hard, squashing the memory as my pants begin to tent.

  Robert, the barista, greets her with genuine enthusiasm, wiping his hands on the yellow towel. She beams at him, and it’s warm enough to melt New York’s encroaching ice. Cassia puts her order in and hands over her card to pay for it, but Rob waves her off. After a tiring back and forth, Cassia reluctantly slides her card back into her purse, drops it into her bag, and steps off to the side, allowing him to serve the next lady—though he’s not half as excited about it—and he makes her pay. Go figure.

  Leaning against the far wall, Cassia covers a yawn and closes her eyes while she waits. Guilt twists my stomach. She’s tired because of me, and now she has to work a crazy-long shift. I’m an immature, inconsiderate asshole. If I knew she had to work, I wouldn’t have thrown the party. I did it on purpose. I knew Nick left, and I was trying to draw her out of her apartment and into mine. Sure, she came to my door, but it didn’t end the way I thought it would.

  I’m lost to my thoughts until her movement snatches my attention. She reaches across the counter for her coffee with one hand and lifts her phone out of her shimmery silver clutch with the other. Abandoning the remainder of my coffee, I lift myself out of my seat and head toward her as she answers her phone and exits the café.

  Pulling my thick black coat around me, I step out into the busy street and spot Cassia a few feet ahead, talking into her cell, walking in the same direction I need to go. So I stuff my bare, freezing hands into the pockets of my jeans and follow her.

  “You didn’t ask me to book you a room,” she snaps into her phone, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “No, you didn’t…how am I supposed to know if you don’t ask me? I can’t read your mind. Oh, so it’s my fault?” People glance at her as they stroll by, but she pays no attention to them. “You’re a grown man. I shouldn’t have to remind you. Because I’m not your mother.” I relish in the hostility pouring out of her and into her conversation with Nick, I assume. I had no idea they could be like this toward each other. They always seemed at ease whenever I’ve seen them together. “I’m well aware she doesn’t like me. Thanks for the reminder. Okay…see you tomorrow then. Bye.”

  Cassia lowers her phone to her side and clenches it tightly. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I mean, she’s making no effort to control the volume of her voice. While it disturbs other passersby, I can’t help but relish in the fact his mother doesn’t like her. No man in his right mind would marry a girl his mother didn’t like. Lucky for her, I don’t have a mother, but if I did, I know she’d love Cassia.

  She walks quickly, her heels tapping along the concrete, her hair waving behind her. I can see she’s changed her fashion sense since moving to New York. In Paradise Valley—while she dressed nice—it almost made her look young and innocent. Now, she looks her age. She looks like a confident woman with the world at her feet. I mean, tight skirts and dresses? Thigh-high boots and needle-thin heels? Ye
s-fucking-please. I always wondered what her wardrobe would look like if it weren’t controlled by her parents. Now I know, and it’s glorious. Every piece she’s bought shows off one of her bodily features, even the trench coat she’s wearing. It has a pleat in the back and the belt fastens beautifully around her waist, showing off how tiny it is.

  Glancing up at the gray sky, Cassia stops dead in her tracks. So do I. Her shoulders dip as she lets out a harsh exhale, then lifts her phone to her ear again. Pushing forward, she ducks her head and speaks into her cell. “Yeah? Yes, Nick. I washed them. No, I didn’t see your black hoodie. I don’t have an attitude. You’re in a really shitty mood for some reason, and I’ve had no sleep, so my tolerance level is just—what’d I do last night? You called me when I was getting into bed. I didn’t do anything after that.” We come to a side street, and she looks both ways before stepping out onto the asphalt. “I’m tired because our neighbor threw a party and it kept me up. No. I didn’t go. I’m telling the truth. I’m not hungover and there’s no one in my bed. I’m not even home…because I’m on my way to work. You’re being ridiculous. I’m not apologizing for anything.” She pulls the phone away from her ear with a frustrated huff and clenches it in her hand.

  Asshole.

  Walking behind her, I fight the urge to make myself known and ask her about her conversation. I want to. I want to plant more seeds of doubt in her brain, but she’s clearly not happy, so I remain unseen. Instead, I bite my tongue, turn off the main street, and head east, toward the studio. Lucky for me, Bree’s place is close to my apartment. It sure beats the forty-minute drive to the construction site for my last job.

  I take one glance over my shoulder at Cassia, who’s back on the phone again, this time stopped in the middle of the footpath as frustrated pedestrians, dressed in dark grays and blacks, stomp around her. The thought of not seeing her for the next twelve hours leaves a numbness in my chest.

  Melanie and I spent a good portion of this morning talking about Cassia, about my obsession with her. She suggested that maybe Cassia doesn’t like Nick, at least, not in the way she pretends to, and it made sense to me. I can tell she wants to like him, to be the girlfriend she thinks she’s supposed to be, but she doesn’t have romantic feelings for him, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise. I’ve spoken to Fiona, Cassia’s best friend, on and off for well over a year now too. She told me she thinks Cassia is with him out of obligation and guilt. She said Nick took them in when they came to New York and gave them a place to stay. I’ve drawn my own conclusion from what Fiona told me. Cassia is only with Nick because she was too uncomfortable to say no to him and now she’s stuck. I mean, the girl can’t even say no to those annoying sales people who call shoppers over from their stupid booths in the middle of the mall—a trait she gets from her spineless mother. She’s comfortable enough to tell me no, though, and it drives me up the wall, but I’m not leaving New York, not without her.

  I’ve made big promises.

  Promises I intend to keep.

  Paradise Valley

  Fourteen months ago

  I tap my fingers against the surface of the table, glancing toward the entrance. Nervousness eats at me. It always does when I do anything—or think of anything—that relates to her.

  Clearing my throat, I sit back in my chair and adjust my tie’s Windsor knot. The thought of seeing Marcus sets me on edge. He’s not exactly my biggest fan. He blames me for everything, corrupting his daughter, disgracing the church, and apparently, I’m the sole reason Cassia ran away. He showed up at my home a week ago, in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind, and told me himself. Naturally, he refused to listen when I said it wasn’t me she was running away from and that I was supposed to go with her. He didn’t believe me, but in his drunken state, it didn’t take long for him to break down on my doorstep and spiral into a state of regret and melancholy. I wanted his daughter to come home. I wanted her in Paradise Valley too, but what could I do? By that point, I’d tried calling her cell a million times and it never rang. Fiona ignored my calls too, contacting me on occasion to send me “fuck you” gifs, stickers, and emojis. A few weeks in, Cassia got Facebook, then blocked me when I sent her a friend request. I had no way to reach out to her, so I pooled all my time into Penelope and bonding with her. Then she went and got a boyfriend, so I stopped seeing her as much, and I began to shrink back into a shell I never wanted to return to.

  That night, all I could do was watch as Marcus sobbed at my feet. No emotion ran through me. I didn’t know how to comfort him—or if I should? My father came to the door not long after and drove him home. When he returned, he didn’t speak to me for five weeks, and whenever I approached him about it, he told me he wasn’t mad, that he forgave me for what happened between Cassia and me, and the party I threw that led to Fiona ending up in hospital, but he needed time to process that forgiveness—whatever the hell that meant.

  It didn’t take long for me to reach the end of my rope. The vibrations in my body left behind by Cass dried up, and I slipped into the fog, my old companion. I spent more time in my bathroom consumed by thoughts of hurting myself than I spent outside in the fresh air. I spent more time inebriated than I did sober. I got fired from my job and Penelope began to avoid me—not that she’d ever admit it—but I was a buzzkill. I was drowning again, and this time I didn’t care who saw it. To help me, Penelope made a desperate call to Fiona behind my back. I don’t know what she said, but Fiona gave her their address, Cassia’s number, and her current place of work. Penelope compiled everything I needed in a baby blue folder with a cutout of a yellow flower glued on the front, the title Caleb’s Pursuit of Happiness.

  So here I am, sitting in this restaurant, pursuing my happiness.

  Before I can cash the flight voucher Agnes annoyingly spent her hard-saved money on as a gift for me and fly from Phoenix to New York, I have to complete Penelope’s checklist which, annoyingly, includes mending the bridges I burned with her parents. Penelope says it’s important I make amends even if Cassia isn’t on good terms with them. It took me two weeks to finally get into contact with them. It wasn’t easy. I had to ambush Linda, Cassia’s mother, at the grocery store. I told her it was my father’s idea so she couldn’t say no. In turn, I knew lying about his attendance was enough to get Marcus to show too. Despite the fallout, he trusted my dad.

  As my train of thought ends, my gaze lands on a couple who enter the restaurant in single file, dressed like perfect, conservative churchgoers. Their attention flickers around the expensive restaurant, Marcus stuffing his chubby hands into the pockets of his olive slacks. Blowing air out of my cheeks, I push myself to my feet and wave my arm. I catch Linda’s attention first, and she forces a tight smile, then Marcus spots me and stiffens. I expect him to turn and leave since I’m not here with my dad, but to my surprise, they approach the table anyway.

  “Good evening, Caleb,” Linda greets me, her voice light and friendly.

  “Linda, good to see you.” I step around the square table and hold my hand out to her. She takes it with a kind but tight smile and allows me to gently lead her to her pulled-out chair. I slowly push it in as she lowers herself into it. “Thanks for coming.”

  “We almost didn’t,” Marcus states, his glare threatening to burn holes in my skin. “Where’s your father?”

  I lift my shoulders in a shrug and avoid his gaze as I slip back into my seat. “He couldn’t make it.”

  “He couldn’t make it, or he wasn’t aware of it in the first place?”

  Gritting my teeth, I grab my beer and swallow a mouthful. “What difference does it make? He’s not coming.” Marcus turns to storm away, and my heart kicks up my throat. I push out of my chair, my thighs hitting the table. “Mr. Claire, please. If you could just spare me an hour of your time.”

  He pauses in his exit, and a tiny flicker of hope ignites in my chest. Over their shoulders, familiar faces cast curious glances in our direction, but I ignore them. This isn�
��t anything new. I’ve been the talk of Paradise Valley—hell, the whole of Maricopa County—for months. Cassia too. There’s no hiding the party I threw, Cassia’s running away, or Fiona’s overdose, and I don’t know who started it, but once it left their lips, stories spread like wildfire. Then came the onslaught of girls who told anyone who’d listen about our meaningless flings—at the church, in the hall behind the church, at parties, and in my truck. They even went as far to claim our encounters went down in my Goddamn room—which never fucking happened. Cassia’s the only girl to set foot in my room. Ever. Some stories that’ve surfaced are true, but most are as fake as the tits on half of the girls I’ve been with.

  “Please, Marcus…” I say to his back, and surprisingly, he turns around.

  When he notices the lingering stares, he closes the distance and drops into his seat. I do the same.

  “Why should I listen to you after you destroyed my family?” he asks, his voice quiet but stern as he grabs the menu.

  I squeeze my teeth together, biting back the urge to smash my beer glass over his head. Cassia left Paradise Valley because of him, her father. Not me. “We—”