by Kyle Autumn
Chapter 6
Cadence
The second time I open my eyes in his bed is much easier. Sunshine pours in through the window, but this time, the light doesn’t hurt my head as much. Instead, it helps me feel more awake, more alive. And his arms around me help too. Those certainly make me feel.
Protected. Safe. Warm. Comfortable.
All the things I’ve avoided since my divorce so I don’t get hurt again. So I don’t derail my life and not achieve my own goals. I have dreams and desires that are important, and pesky things like relationships and lust can’t get in the way.
But we both agreed. This is one night. He’ll go to the wedding with me, and then we’ll be done. No harm, no foul. Then I can go back to marathon training and being a badass realtor, both of which will be hard these next two weeks with the wedding coming up anyway. So maybe one more night wouldn’t be a terrible thing…
No. I have to shut that down. One more night would lead to another. And another. And, soon, I’d be barefoot and pregnant, a stay-at-home mom with no future besides the one I’d help build for my child. And that sounds dreadful. Absolutely dismal. So…yeah. One more night would be a terrible thing.
At least, that’s what I think until he tightens his arm around my middle and whispers in my ear.
“Good morning.” His warm breath tickles the skin on my ear—but in a comforting way.
All thoughts of how terrible a second night would be fly right out the sunshine-filled window and I wonder if the morning still counts as part of our “one night.” Why not, right? I’m already here. Already naked. And I owe him from last night, don’t I?
Screw it. Screw him. Literally.
I roll over to face him, and he keeps his arms around me. As he pulls me closer, his hands clasped at the small of my back, I hitch a leg around his waist. His erection presses against my stomach, hard and sure. And something about seeing him in this light, being with him in this position, with stubble on his cheeks and a sleepy morning smile just for me on his lips, has my heart beating a little faster. Maybe barefoot and pregnant with his child wouldn’t be so abysmal.
Good lord. Could my mental whiplash get any worse? None of that matters right now. All we have is this moment. This last morning. So we should make the most of it.
“Hi,” I breathe out, hoping my morning breath doesn’t knock him dead.
“Hi,” he says back, his voice a raspy, sleep-filled whisper that fills my belly with butterflies.
A smile creeps across my lips, and he brushes my bangs off my forehead.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells me before a flash of surprise crosses his features. Like he can’t believe he allowed himself to say those words. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long.”
I draw my eyebrows down and scrunch my nose. “Why didn’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, staring over my shoulder. “It didn’t seem…”
“Professional?” I finish for him, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on my mouth. “Or appropriate for a woman you’re spending only one night with?”
“Exactly.” A slow grin spreads on his mouth now.
“And you can be unprofessional with me here?” I goad, snaking my hand and my arm around his neck. Then I touch his nose with mine. “In your room on our one night together?”
“Very unprofessional,” he breathes against my shoulder, his lips brushing my skin as his inches his way up my neck. “So unprofessional.” He nips my earlobe with his teeth.
“Well”—I peek over his shoulder and see the clock on the bedside table behind him—“considering that it’s already eight thirty in the morning, we should probably—”
Suddenly, he pulls away and looks at the clock too. “Holy shit. It’s really eight thirty.”
I sit partway up, covering myself with the sheet as he gets off the bed and rushes to his closet. “It really is,” I mumble, wondering what the hell is going on. Why is the time so important on a Sunday morning? On our one night together?
He grabs clothes and then nearly stumbles in his haste to get to the bathroom. When he emerges two minutes later, his hair is neater and he’s wearing a plain, black T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Whereas I’m still naked on his bed, hiding behind the sheet, and unable to understand his sense of urgency.
I may have wanted only one night, but we barely got started, thanks to my spectacular decision-making skills in the alcohol department. I got one orgasm out of the deal—and he didn’t even get one at all! We should definitely take advantage of the morning hours before we part ways for the week. What the hell could be so important?
“Uh, I’m sorry. I have to, uh, go now.” He puts a hand on the back of his neck as he speaks to me. “But, uh, if I leave some money for a cab, you can let yourself out, right? Stay as long as you want or whatever. I’ll, uh.” He points his thumbs in the direction of the bedroom door. “I’ll see you later, I guess. Let me know about the wedding, what I should wear…” After a tight, thin-lipped smile, he bolts out the door.
Then keys jingle and the front door opens and closes. And I’m left blinking rapidly in his wake.
With nothing else to do, I get dressed—sans my panties because I can’t seem to find them—and head down the stairs. I find my shoes and my purse where I dropped it last night, but when I pick it up, I come face-to-face with more teal and amber glass on the tall table in his foyer. I didn’t notice it when we got here—too much to drink will do that to a person. But I see them now, and I run a careful, steady finger over the first one in the row.
Some pieces are large, while some are small. Some are wide, but some don’t take up much space at all. They’re all smooth and sleek, some stretching higher into the air than others. Though they’re all different, every single one of them is beautiful in its own way. And I can see why these would be special to him, even if they hadn’t come from his grandfather. They’re absolutely stunning.
I dig into my purse for my cell phone. When I’ve retrieved it, I pull up the camera and snap a photo of the glass pieces. Maybe that’s wrong, but the man did leave me alone in his house. And, because I’m starving, I head to the kitchen to rustle up some of his food as I book a rideshare through the app on my phone.
I have fifteen minutes before my ride will be here to take me home. That gives me plenty of time to make some toast, so I stick a few pieces of bread into his toaster and search for some jelly. When I open the fridge, I find strawberry jam instead of the grape jelly I like. Which is another reason why we’d never work. I’ll add that to my list of excuses for not even trying.
Plain toast, it is. Plain life, it is. Plain, plain, plain.
This kitchen isn’t plain. The V formation of the sink, the stove, and the fridge are a chef’s dream come true. The cabinets look brand new, the art above the table is modern, and either he keeps his counters spectacularly clean or he doesn’t use his kitchen much. He does, however, have more amber and teal glass on them, which might mean he cleans his counters regularly.
The toast pops from the toaster, starling me away from staring. I eat it in the comfortable silence of this beautiful space. When my phone alerts me that my ride is here, I put my crumb-covered plate in his sink. The least he can do, seeing as he left me high and dry at his house, is wash the dish for me, right? Then I walk past the beautiful glass works of art one more time on my way out the door.
As I twist the knob to make sure it’s locked, I realize I still owe him a quid pro quo of sorts. I can’t receive incredible oral sex and make him go as my date to a wedding. That’s just not fair.
So one more night has to be in order.
As soon as I find out his real name.
∞∞∞
Matt
Is it wrong to meet with my ex-girlfriend while I have the taste of Cadence still on my tongue? If it is, I don’t ever want to be right.
Well, that’s not true. I’d also take never meeting up with my ex again. She’s not someone I care to see. At all. Not afte
r everything we’ve been through. Everything she’s done. But I agreed to see her, and I’ll keep my promise. That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it or like it.
Though, with thoughts of a naked, sated Cadence in my bed, I could do just about anything with a smile on my face. Which is exactly how I enter The Steam Room, even though my last memories of this place usually leave me a bit frayed around the edges. Okay, more than a bit. But I’m feeling better today than I have since Joyce left. And I have Cadence to thank for it.
The door closes behind me, the bell jingling overhead. I’m hoping that Cadence isn’t upset with how left—though she’d have every right to be—when I spot Joyce in the back corner. Her hair is a lot longer, though it’s the same color. And she looks like she’s put on some weight—healthy weight. Her new curves suit her frame as she waits at…
Our table.
Fuck. The wind in my sails vanishes as a sharp punch to the gut levels me. But I take a deep breath and approach her, keeping the image of last night—or, rather, the middle of it—at the forefront of my brain.
Joyce waves me over even though I’m already within five feet of the table, and once I arrive, she stands to greet me. I don’t care to be greeted though. Not from her. Not after what she did. I may feel better this morning than I have in a long time, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten or want to pretend like it never happened. Seeing her has my stomach in a few knots, as I can’t imagine what she needs to say to me now. So, when she tries to hug me, I stand stock-still and wait for her to finish.
She sits again after a moment of awkward silence. “Thanks for coming to see me, Matty.” Her lips curve into a smile I barely recognize. “It’s so good to see you.”
Mine dip down on their own volition. She called me that when we were on the phone and I let it slide. But we’re not close enough for her to call me that anymore. I don’t want to make a scene though, so I nod once just before the waitress brings me a fresh mug of black coffee. I thank her, and once she’s left, I snag a couple of sugar packets and dump their contents into my mug.
As I stir my coffee, I say, “So, what do you need, Joyce?”
Her smile falters the smallest amount, but she trains is back to full wattage. “Well.” She circles her fingers around her own coffee mug and speaks into it. “I’ve been in therapy for quite some time now. The rehabilitating kind.” She chances a peek up at me, but I don’t give her any emotion. “And my therapist says I should follow the twelve-step program to work through a lot of my issues.”
That does pique my interest, so I raise my eyebrows and ask, “And what step are you on that requires you to see me?”
“Number nine,” she says before swallowing, her throat bobbing with her nervous action. “The one where we make amends.”
Ahh. Okay. Things are starting to make more sense now, and I’m hoping that this means she isn’t here to get me back or anything. Because that’s sure as fuck not happening. No one can do what she did to a person and expect them to ever trust them again. But, in the interest of moving this along so we can both get on with our lives—and I can hopefully go back to find Cadence in my bed—I decide that I don’t have to trust her to finally put it all behind us.
“Well, then I forgive you,” I tell her before taking a sip of my coffee.
She blinks a few times, as if she can’t believe I said that. Then she opens her mouth but closes it right away. Finally, she grins. “Really? Just like that?”
“Just like that, Joyce.” I lean back in the booth and sling my arm over the back. “Just like that. Anything else you want while I’m here?”
After a few moments of simply staring at me, she lightly shrugs, her forearms pressed to the table. “I don’t know. But you seem…different.”
I squint at her. “Different how?” I ask, part of me genuinely wanting to know.
She gently shakes her head and then taps a finger on her lip. “I can’t seem to place it. I think you just seem…happier in a way.”
My gut instinct is to tell her that of course I’m happier now that I’ve been without her. She nearly killed me with the way she left. Who wouldn’t be happier now that the crazy is out of their life?
But then I recall the mental photo of Cadence in my bed, her legs spread as she waited for me to feast. I remember the soft noises she made while I lapped at her and brought her to an intense orgasm. I think back to forty-five minutes ago, how incredible it felt to wake up with her in my arms, her small figure perfectly molded to my front.
“See?” Joy says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “That smile. That’s happiness, Matty. And I’m glad to see you’ve found it.”
The peaceful, calm feeling thinking about Cadence and our night-slash-morning together brings me is enough to make me nod in agreement.
“What’s her name?” she asks, picking her coffee up for a sip.
“Cade—” I clear my throat before I say her whole name without meaning to.
Thinking about her is inevitable. I’ve been doing it since I started delivering her packages. But, now that I’ve had a taste of her, I know I need something more. Even if it’s just an actual night with her, where she’s not drunk and I get to lose myself inside her. But thinking about her here is not a great idea. Joyce doesn’t need to know.
“Is there anything else you want, Joyce?” I ask instead. “If not, I should probably go.”
She imitates a fish again, opening and closing her mouth without saying anything. Then she finally says, “Nope, that was it,” as she shakes her head again. “It’s just really good to see you happy. I hope you get to keep it.”
Ugh. She’s nice now. Sweet, even. Which makes it harder to remember how awful she was when we were together. How much she wrecked me when she left. And with how much lighter I’m feeling this morning, I don’t want the negativity to seep in and destroy what could be a positive experience.
So I give her a small, tight smile, dip my head, and say, “Thanks. You seem different too.”
Her whole face lights up as she straightens her spine in her seat. She sits straight up and beams at me, her teeth showing. “Thanks! I’ve been through a lot of therapy now, so I feel a whole lot different.”
“And you’ve been fine since…” I move my hand to indicate that she knows what I’m not saying. The word miscarriage never sat well on my tongue, and I don’t care to try it on again now.
At that, her whole glowing demeanor shuts down. She nods, but it’s a solemn movement.
Okay, so it seems neither of us wants to talk about that. Fine with me. I dig into a pocket of my cargo shorts to find my wallet so I can pay for my coffee and go, but I left in such a hurry that I come up empty. Which makes me realize I never left Cadence any money for a cab ride home. God. I’m such a shithead.
I release a pained sigh and tilt my head back, but I don’t have to say anything. Joyce knows exactly what’s going on.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I think I can handle a few bucks for coffee.”
We make eye contact again, and something squeezes my heart at the sight of the old Joyce there. For a moment, she looks just like she used to. Like the young woman she was all those years ago, back when we had no business making the decisions we made. Back when she originally took that piece of my heart.
I take a deep breath to clear my head. “Thanks. I’ll get yours next time,” I say automatically.
As I’m getting out of the booth, she says, “Next time?”
“Hmm?” I stand next to the table and wait for her to answer.
“You said you’ll get mine next time.” She tucks some of her dark hair behind her ear. “There will be a next time?”
Well, shit. I can’t seem to think. Or do anything right this morning. But I can’t very well let her pay for my coffee and never see her again. That’s just rude as hell.
So I tell her, “Sure. I owe you for this one. How long are you in town?” as I rub my forehead, not particularly looking forward to this.
“For
the next two weeks,” she says. “So let me know when you’re free.” Then she gives me a weak but hopeful smile.
I nod and then have to walk away. This interaction has been enough for one day. As I go, I hear her sigh, and when I look over my shoulder, she appears worried. Biting on her lip, staring at the table like it might hurt her, her forehead wrinkled. The old me would have run back to her, done anything to make her feel better. But the man I am today has a shield around his heart. Even so, that doesn’t mean I can ignore a woman when she’s down. So I head back to the table and put a hand on her back.
She startles when I touch her. “Oh, I’m okay,” she says, waving me away. “It’s just a shock, seeing you.”
I give her shoulder a squeeze. “I know what you mean.”
After she lets out a small laugh, she looks up at me. “See you later, Matty.”
There’s that name again. But the shine in her eyes leaves me without the ability to stop her from calling me that. Even though I’ve seen glimpses of the old Joyce, a new Joyce has emerged. One I can respect even if I never want to be with her again. Even if she destroyed me when she walked away with our baby and left me with no way to contact her.
We can’t be held to our pasts forever, and she apologized today, which is more than she’s done in years. So I don’t have to forget—and I never fucking will. But I don’t have the fight in me to still be mad at her. I just don’t today.
So I tell her that I’ll see her later too and then head toward the door, passing the pretty blonde behind the counter who reminds me of the woman I left in my bed.
Cadence. The woman whose taste is still on my tongue, despite the coffee. The woman who might never leave any of my senses. The woman I might have blown a shot at a real night with. The only woman I actually want to see again. And I’m guaranteed to see her again at least once more.