Deliver Us (The Sinful Duet Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  He lifts his perfect, broad shoulders and breaks eye contact to glance around the restaurant. “I was walking by, looking for a place to eat, and I saw you through the glass. I figure you probably don’t do burgers or pizza, but please tell me there’s steak on the menu?”

  I frown, and for some reason, words fail me. All I can do is watch him—cautiously—and try to pinpoint his ulterior motive. He always has an ulterior motive.

  He tilts his head on a subtle angle, his green eyes cloudy and unclear. “Are you going to seat me or am I not welcome here?”

  Or maybe, for once, he’s being genuine and having dinner is all that’s on his mind. Either way, I don’t want to fight him. I’ve been fighting Nick all day—his jealousy, his mistrust. I’ve had to deal with his childlike tantrums over items of clothing he forgot to pack, but I’m apparently responsible for, and his insistence that I said I would book the hotel room on his behalf. I don’t recall the discussion…I could’ve told him I’d book the room for him. I’ve been under a little stress lately. I could’ve forgotten. Nick says I’m forgetful because I’m not as invested in the relationship as he is. Maybe he’s right.

  I shake my head, closing the dinner book in front of me. Caleb’s expression darkens in defiance and disdain. A look that makes my heart race. Reaching under the podium’s counter, I grab my cellphone and slip it into my dress pocket, out of view of the cameras. “You don’t want to eat here.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I sweep my hair off the back of my neck and step out from behind my stand, my heels clicking on the tiles, drawing his attention. “There’s tons of great places to eat. If you wait for me, I can show you.”

  “Uh, yeah—” He clears his throat in surprise, his eyebrows lifting. “Yeah. Yes. I’ll wait.”

  I walk away from the entrance with one minute on my shift left to spare. I don’t often work crazy-long shifts, but the other hostess, Abbi, called in sick two days ago, and I’ve been covering her shifts as well as mine.

  I saunter through the restaurant and past the kitchen to the staff room where I clock out and grab my coat, bag, and gloves out of my locker. When I turn around, I take in my tight, long-sleeved black dress and fleece-lined leggings in the floor-length mirror. These leggings are the best things I’ve ever bought with my money—a must have to survive a freezing New York winter, especially if you have a strict work dress code. They cling nicely to my legs and go all the way into my heels, covering my feet like socks.

  As I turn, the staffroom door opens and Marissa, my blonde, six-foot-one boss sticks her head in. Her black, volcanic stare meets mine. “Goodnight, Cassia. Please remember to take the pink out of your hair by your next shift, thanks.”

  She shuts the door, and I roll my eyes. I missed the part in my contract that said all employees must wear natural colors in their hair. I’ve always wanted a vibrant color in my hair, but my parents never allowed it. I’ve got two tattoos and three piercings. I guess I can compromise and let go of the pink hair…I need my job more than I need to feel validated by experimenting with self-expression.

  I carry my things back through the restaurant to the hostess podium where Caleb waits, flicking his thumb over his phone screen, scrolling aimlessly. Clenching my gloves, I slip into my coat and button it up as I come to a halt a foot from Caleb. He slips his phone into his pocket and pushes off the wall, his handsome mouth curling slightly. Nervousness eats at me, and I lower my stare, glancing at his crisp white sneakers in contrast to my black stilettos.

  “I hope there’s no ice outside,” I say, fidgeting to get a glove on my left hand, the nervousness churning in my veins making it difficult. “These shoes weren’t made for winter.”

  I get the left glove on, then try with the right. In the fumble, I drop my right glove and curse, and Caleb bends down to pick it up. Straightening his posture, he pulls the fabric apart with his thick fingers and holds it open for me. I swallow hard and reach out, sliding my hand inside. Caleb pushes my glove on with care. As subtly as I can, I peer at his face, and his brows are furrowed, like he’s concentrating. Tugging it gently, my fingertips press against the end of the glove. To make sure it’s secure, he presses his fingers to the skin under my sleeve, giving it one last tug. I gasp as his ice-cold fingers touch my wrist, and our eyes lock. In an instant, his cold touch turns burning hot, sending a shock down my spine, and we become frozen in time.

  Caleb swallows hard, and my attention falls to his throat. I hold my breath until my lungs begin to burn. I’ve tasted the skin there, felt his smooth flesh under my lips, tasted it on my tongue. I’ve felt his perfect throat vibrate with a moan against my mouth as I trailed loving and unrelenting kisses upon it. We were good together, and the chemistry between us crackled. It never stopped. He’s always awoken tiny dancers on my skin, creating goosebumps with every twirl, and butterflies in my stomach, their wings a tickling feather that linger long after he’s gone. I have no doubt I still love the man in front of me with every fiber in my being and, not for the first time, I resent Nick for being in my life. I resent not having the stomach to decline his advances, his begging for a relationship. Most of all, I hate I can’t break up with him because the thought of hurting his feelings cracks open a vicious anxiety in my chest. It took me moving to New York to realize that, through my parent’s suppression, my backbone was destroyed, not nurtured, and it scares me how long I’m willing to be with Nick to avoid the confrontation that comes with a break up.

  Parting my lips, I let out a subtle exhale and force my attention to his face. I never forgot Caleb’s perfect features. They never blurred in my mind. His smooth skin, pink, kissable lips, and dark, beautiful, green eyes are as clear now as they were the first time we spoke, and like that first time, his hair, blond and unkempt, brushes over his forehead and my fingers twitch with the urge to flick it away.

  “Cassia?” a feminine voice calls from over my shoulder, and my heart stutters.

  I yank my arm back, pressing my palm to my stomach to keep the sudden sharp stab of guilt from making me puke. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat, I turn around. My cheeks are red. I know they are; I can feel them burning. My whole body burns with embarrassment, guilt, and something sinister. Something I haven’t felt in a long time and am too afraid to identify. Sarah, one of the restaurant’s waitresses, tosses a black towel over her tiny arm and saunters toward us, her honey-gold eyes on Caleb, not me.

  “Are you heading off now?” she asks, toying with the back of her burgundy, pixie haircut.

  Sarah and I have spoken briefly on occasion, and it’s small talk mostly. I tend to avoid her since she’s usually the main instigator of heated arguments and gossip between the workers here, but we’ve ended up in the staffroom on break together a few times. If I don’t play this carefully, I can see her stirring up all kinds of twisted stories.

  I nod, swallowing. “Yeah. I’m finished.”

  Stopping by the podium, she eyes Caleb up and down. It’s a little suspicious, a little interested too, and it annoys me. “Who’s this?”

  More heat flares in my cheeks. More unwarranted guilt slams into my stomach as well. Caleb isn’t mine. Nick is mine…and he’s not here. God. He’s not going to like that Caleb showed up at my work. I wonder if she’d tell him. If she did, I’d never hear the end of it. Does she ever mind her own business? I look at Caleb, and he’s watching Sarah, his expression dark and annoyed, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. I step out of the way, moving to stand beside him, and muster the kindest smile I can.

  “This is my friend, Caleb. Caleb, this is Sarah.”

  Despite his unenthused facial expression, Caleb holds out his hand, and they shake, quick and brief. Dragging her honey-gold stare from him to me, Sarah tips her head on an angle. I’ve drawn many conclusions about Sarah since I started working here. I don’t think she’s intentionally bad-hearted. I think she’s afraid no one will find her interesting if she didn’t have gossip to spread. I’m sad such
a pretty girl is afraid to talk about herself and chooses to talk about others instead.

  “Where’s Nick?” she asks, and the air changes, as if the question itself pushes New York City a few weeks further into winter.

  “He’s in Washington visiting his mom,” I tell her. “Caleb’s semi-new to New York, so I thought I’d show him where all the good food places are.”

  Sarah pulls her towel of her arm and reaches around her back to the tie for her black apron. “I’m clocking out in ten if you want—”

  “Gotta go,” Caleb cuts in, snagging my elbow. He tugs me toward the door before she can finish slipping herself into our dinner plans. “Bye, Sasha.”

  “Sarah!” she calls out, correcting him.

  He grins at her, and it’s devious and taunting. “That’s what I said.”

  Caleb yanks the brass door handle and pulls me through it. It closes quickly behind us, almost hitting the back of my heel. We bound down the steps, his large hand still wrapped around my elbow. Looking at him, I smile. “You did that on purpose.”

  He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but I don’t need it. The wayward quirk to his lips is all the evidence I need. “What?”

  I give him a pointed look. “Called her Sasha.”

  Caleb releases my arm and slows his pace to fall into step beside me. His quirked lips turn into another smile, this one wide and wicked, but he doesn’t verbally admit to anything. A gust of chilly, night air hits me then, and I lift my shoulders higher, sinking my dress-covered neck deeper into my toasty coat. We’re not far into winter, but the temperature seems to plummet every day, and snow seems to fall as frequently as the sun rises. I miss Arizona. The colder months are more bearable there.

  As we walk, I gaze into shop windows and at the sporadic passersby, but Caleb pays them no mind, keeping his attention on the ground before us. We walk the street without saying anything else, and I don’t mind it. We have too much to say to each other and none of it fit for a fun and casual dinner.

  “How was your morning?” I ask eventually, stepping off the curb and into the unusually quiet street.

  He looks in both directions, then follows me, his expression indifferent. “Fine.”

  I peer sideways at him. Despite our very short relationship and broad time apart, I know Caleb. I know that when he says “fine,” it means the opposite, but I swallow the urge to question him further, knowing very well all roads lead back to me.

  When we reach the other side of the street, I slow to a stop. What Caleb wants to eat will decide which route we go. I glance over my shoulder at him, and he’s already watching me. His expression is full of warmth and happiness, but his eyes hold a sad gleam that pierce my soul. Does he cut himself again? Or is his promise to stop because I told him it hurts me too enough to keep him from taking a razor to his flesh?

  Swallowing my concerns, I ask him, “Burgers or pizza?”

  And I’m met with a lift of his broad shoulders and a small smile. “You choose.”

  I look up and down the street, trying to think which places he would like more. I can’t possibly choose without proper direction. “Well, what’re you in the mood for?”

  “Nothing I can have.”

  I tilt my head and give him my best “not now” face. I don’t want to spend our evening fighting him off. I want us to have a nice time. I want to make up for what was said in the early hours of this morning. I’ve been driving myself mad all day, wondering if I was too harsh or cruel. I hold up my forearm and zip open my handbag. As I blindly search for one of the many coins I have at the bottom, I smile at him. “Want to flip a coin?”

  “Haven’t done that since I was ten,” he teases, sauntering a step closer. “I’ll take head.”

  “Heads,” I correct him, biting back a smile as I pinch a coin in the corner of my bag and set it on the nail of my thumb heads down. “It’s plural.”

  The green in his eyes brighten, flashing like a bolt of lightning at the peak of a summer storm. “Even better.”

  I flick the coin into the air and catch it between my gloved palms, then place it on the back of my left hand, shielding the result. Looking at him, I raise my eyebrows, trying to build anticipation, and Caleb rolls his eyes.

  “The suspense is killing me,” he deadpans, and I lift my hand, revealing heads.

  He smiles, then quirks an eyebrow. “Was heads pizza or burgers?”

  “It’s…” I frown, then laugh. I didn’t assign the foods to each side of the coin. “We’ll do it again. Tails for burgers. Heads for pizza, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I settle the coin on my thumb and flick it. It flips in the air, and I catch it, placing it on the back of my hand. I lift my hand and tails is the winner.

  “Burgers it is.”

  “Burgers it is,” I repeat, flicking him the coin. He catches it in his right hand and splays it on his palm to look at it. “I’ll take you to Benny’s.”

  I step past him, snagging the elbow of his coat in my hand, and I tug him left, toward my favorite burger place.

  The bubbly, perky waitress with long, blonde hair and irises bright enough to rival the Caribbean seats Caleb and me in a corner booth in full view of the bowling alley. The bowling alley is packed tonight—even at nine p.m.—and, thankfully, the clear glass wall that separates the entertainment areas from the restaurant section blocks all the noise. Exhaling, I open my coat and shrug out of it. Caleb does the same. It’s toasty in here. As warm as an average summer’s day.

  “Your menus,” the waitress cheers with a spin in her roller-skates. Her sugary voice makes me feel elated and excited. I love this place. It has everything you need for a good night out. Blinding eighties and nineties era paraphernalia, an arcade, a bowling alley, pool tables, a bar, a killer menu, and cute roller-skating waitresses dressed in small, stripey, white and red dresses.

  She slaps two menus down on the bleached stone table in front of us and bends at the waist, giving us an unescapable view of the tops of her overflowing breasts. As she informs us of the Chef’s specials, not taking her eyes off my menu as she quickly flicks through it, I look at Caleb, and he glances at her voluptuous mounds, then quickly averts his gaze to me. Amazed, he silently mouths “Jesus,” and I catch my lower lip between my teeth, biting back a giggle.

  “So,” the girl says on exhale, untucking a small notepad from the thin red belt around her waist. “Do you want any of the specials tonight?”

  “Um.” I grab the menu and flick through it myself. I’m not looking for anything in particular. I know what I want. My favorite thing to order here is the Australian burger, and I don’t think she included that in the specials. “What do you want, Caleb?”

  “Order me whatever your favorite is.”

  I lift my attention from the burger section of the menu to him, arching a brow. “Really?”

  He nods. I wonder how he feels about combining pineapple, egg, and beets in the same bun. I look at the waitress. “Can we please get two of the combo sevens, please?”

  “Fries?”

  They have eight different types of fries, but only one of them is reigns supreme. “Curly.”

  “What drinks?”

  “A Coke for me,” I answer, looking to Caleb, and he gives me the go-ahead. “Two Cokes.”

  She grips her black ballpoint pen and jots the order into her notebook, then she turns her back to us with an elegant twirl. I watch her skate toward the kitchen, gracefully breezing past co-workers and consumers without hiccup. Her job looks like it’s more fun than mine. I wonder how well it pays…though I can’t roller-skate to save my life. Do they give their employees lessons?

  “Sorry I kept you up last night,” Caleb confesses, drawing my attention. He taps a folded cardboard coaster against the table and swallows hard, his handsome face pinching, as if admitting he’s wrong causes him pain. “And for everything that came after. I was drunk. Bitter. I had no right to force myself into your space and make things harder for you.”


  I feel my eyebrows lift and my eyes widen a little. I wait for the sarcasm or some snarky remark, but it doesn’t come. I watch his sincere expression closely, waiting for it to morph into a cheeky smirk. It doesn’t. I shift uncomfortably on my side of the booth, my fleece-lined leggings suddenly feeling too tight, too hot.

  “I was dead at work today. No amount of coffee helped,” he adds. “I can’t imagine how tired you must be.”

  It’s true. Being as tired as I am, today felt like it dragged on for an entire week.

  “You work?” I ask, trying to recall seeing Caleb in a uniform or office attire.

  I can’t mentally place him in such a structured environment. To me, he’s always been an outcast, unable to fit the mold. He’s a rebel at heart, a wayward son, and a wild lover. It’s part of his charm. It’s what draws me to him.

  “Chasing you is only a part-time job,” he teases, tilting his head on the side with a gentle smirk. “Can’t settle the bills with the sharp shards of rejection and jealousy you pay me in.”

  I cut my eyes at him and shake my head, choosing to ignore it. “What do you do?”

  His cockiness falls away, and he adjusts his position. Dare I say, he almost looks nervous. Embarrassed, even. Caleb glances toward the bar. “I paint, actually.”

  “Like, houses and apartments and stuff?”

  He shakes his head. “Like actual paintings. On canvases, mostly.”

  I observe him for a little while, unsure if I should believe him. Is he setting me up for a joke?

  “Okay…” I drag out. “Color me intrigued. How’d you go from construction to painting?”

  “By accident. You remember Agnes? From church?”

  I nod, picturing the cute elderly lady in my mind. She adores Caleb. They’re the strangest little duo, but she was there for him through his suffering. They love each other deeply.

  “Well, I started painting with her to kill some time. Her niece, Bree, would come visit sometimes and bring products. She liked my style, so she trialed some of my practice paintings on her Etsy site and they sold quickly.” He shrugs his shoulders like it isn’t a big deal, but I’m certain my eyes are sparkling with awe. “Bree runs a successful studio here in New York. It made sense to do some work for her to pay the bills while I’m here. I can work whatever hours I want, really.”