“Who did what?” Lucas walks into the kitchen, his hair rumpled and his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. When he sees Patrick at the table, he stops in his tracks. “Whoa,” he says. “You’re awake.”
“And he made coffee,” I add. Gretchen, my father’s occupational therapist has been trying to get him to do more household chores. Yes, it’s hard to do things with one hand, Patrick, I’ve heard her say, her voice patiently implacable. That’s no reason why you shouldn’t try.
“Don’t look so surprised,” my father grumbles. “That damn woman will be here on Monday, and she’ll nag if I haven’t done my homework. Tyrant.”
“That damn woman being Gretchen, I take it?” Lucas grins. “She’s a fucking miracle worker.”
“Dad’s going to spend the weekend with a friend,” I tell Lucas, whose eyebrows rise at the news. “Are you sure you can handle an overnight trip?” I ask my father.
“Yes, yes.” He waves away my concern.
I decide not to push it. “Let me know when you want to leave,” I tell him instead, “and I’ll give you a ride.”
“There’s no need.” Driving is always a sore subject for my father. As a result of the stroke, he’s lost his license. We live pretty close to downtown, and my dad can walk to most places, but understandably, he still chafes at the limitations. “Tom’s daughter Annabelle is coming to pick me up.”
Wow. He actually sounds cheerful today. I don’t know if his good mood is because he’s going to see his longtime friend, or if it’s because he met Bollington earlier this week, but whatever it is, it’s great. My dad is awake; he’s dressed, and he’s smiling.
Annabelle Jobin is in her early thirties. She greets my dad with a hug and turns to us. “Don’t worry,” she says to me after introductions have been made. “I’ll take good care of him.”
“He hasn’t been out much since he got sick,” I say in a low voice.
She nods understandingly. “My dad was the same way after his stroke,” she replies, then she notices my expression. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “No. When did it happen?”
“Two years ago.” She gives me a reassuring look. “It’ll get better,” she says. “When you’re buried in the weeds, trying to figure out how you’re going to get everything done, I know it can feel overwhelming, but I assure you, it gets better. If you see my dad, you’ll never guess he had a stroke.”
She helps my dad into her van with a minimum of fuss, then she waves goodbye and takes off with a roar.
The two of us watch them leave in silence. “I can’t believe it,” Lucas says at last, with a shake of his head. “Patrick actually looked cheerful.”
We head back inside the house. I pour myself another cup of coffee, then take a deep breath and open the first envelope.
My good mood evaporates as I read the contents. It’s from my father’s insurance company. According to them, my dad should have only spent four days in the hospital after his stroke. He spent seven. ‘As a result, we will reimburse the hospital per our usual guidelines,’ the letter says.
And I’m on the hook for the rest.
Lucas takes in my expression. “How bad?” he asks.
Wordlessly, I had him the letter. He scans it quickly, then swears loudly. “We owe them thirty-five thousand dollars?”
“We don’t owe them thirty-five thousand dollars,” I reply immediately. “I do. Lucas, this isn’t your problem.”
He ignores me. “And it’s due in a month.” He swears again, then looks at me. “I guess there’s only one thing to do.”
“We could quit the show and accept Sammie’s offer,” I point out.
Lucas shakes his head. “I don’t want to leave New Summit.”
Me neither. My fondness for this small town has a lot to do with a certain coffee shop owner with caramel hair, smoky gray eyes, and full, lush lips. Even though last night ended in disaster, I still want Cassie.
“So we make a deal with the devil?”
“Yes.” Lucas sounds as dubious as I feel. “We accept Spencer Calkins’ offer.”
And give up editorial control of Dirty Talk. I don’t have a good feeling about this decision at all.
8
Cassie:
I spend most of Saturday in a fog. Finally, at five in the evening, I knock at Nina’s door. Mia’s away for the weekend, and I desperately need to talk to someone about James and Lucas. I’m so confused after last night. I know I overreacted about their office, and I don’t know how to apologize. If I tell them how terrified I am because their jobs require them to be in front of a camera all the time, I’m going to sound like an idiot.
“Hey, Cassie.” Nina is obviously surprised to see me. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I say apologetically. I think nothing of dropping into Mia’s house unannounced, but I don’t know Nina quite as well.
“No, no,” she protests, smiling brightly at me. “You didn’t. I was just catching up on the last season of Doctor Who. Come on in.”
I do as she bids. Nina lives in a small house about a five-minute walk from her bar, just a couple of streets down from Ben, Landon, and Mia’s new place. I’ve been to her eclectically furnished home a few times in the last year, and every time I visit, Nina’s living room is painted a different color. Right now, it’s a deep blood red. “Nice,” I say, looking around. “It looks very rich.”
“I like it,” she says with a grin. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No thanks.”
She settles down on the couch, and I take the leather armchair across from her. “I went in for coffee this morning and didn’t see you,” she remarks. “You found someone to run the place on weekends then?”
“Yeah, Becky Suarez. She took over Mia’s lease when Mia moved in with Landon and Ben. She’s a musician who needs some extra cash. It’s only been a few weeks, but she seems great so far.”
“That’s good,” she says. “I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown before I hired James and Lucas. Thank heavens for those two.” She chuckles. “Plus, their groupies are great for my bottom line.”
Yes, yes, everybody loves James and Lucas. I’m the only idiot who chases them away.
Nina gives me a curious look. “What’s going on, Cass?” she asks bluntly. “You’re not here for a social visit.”
“I need advice,” I confess. “Mia’s not in town, and I was hoping I could pick your brain.” I blush as I realize how that sentence sounds. “That didn’t come out right. I’ve just known Mia for a really long time.”
She laughs. “No need to explain, I’m not offended. What’s the matter?”
I tell Nina everything. My stupid fear of cameras, my attraction to James and Lucas, my disaster of a date with Stuart Sutherland last night. When I’m done, I lean forward. “What should I do, Nina?”
“Okay, Mia might be super-nice and tactful, but I’m not,” she warns. “Are you sure you want to hear what I think?”
“Yes.” I nod firmly. “I’m desperate here.”
“Fine, but remember, you asked. First, ditch Stuart Sutherland. The guy’s no good.”
“You don’t even know him,” I protest, though I know Nina’s right.
“I know enough,” she says darkly. “His mother was in the Merry Cockatoo this morning, threatening to sue us for not cutting off her son. Apparently, we were responsible for her precious darling driving under the influence.”
“What? Stuart got into the accident after he left Gayla’s place, not the Merry Cockatoo.”
“Which is the only thing that saved me from all kinds of legal trouble. There are photos on his phone showing him drinking at that girl’s party, so we’re in the clear. But that didn’t stop Mrs. Sutherland from demanding that I fire James and Lucas.”
My heart almost stops. “You can’t do that,” I blurt out. “It’s not their fault that he decided to drive home.”
“Calm down, Cassie. Of course, I’m not going to fire Lu
cas and James. I’m just saying, a real man would take responsibility for his actions, and Stuart Sutherland isn’t doing that. In fact, he’s getting off scot-free.”
I gape at her. “But the cops were there. Joe Laramie had Stuart in the back of his squad car.”
Nina looks disgusted. “The Sutherlands are rich,” she says. “They’re lawyering up. People like that, they’ll throw money at the problem, and it’ll go away.”
I think about Stuart, then I think about James and Lucas. The two men used to make a good living with their show. They don’t talk about it, but I’ve pieced their story together. Both of them went into debt to pay for James’ father’s medical bills. They’re working at Nina’s bar for extra cash so that Patrick will have access to the best rehab services.
I don’t care about the cameras. I don’t care about Dirty Talk. All I can see is the look of hurt in their eyes when I’d run away last night.
Abruptly, I rise to my feet. “Nina, are James and Lucas working today?”
“Nope. They were planning to fix the house all weekend. Lucas said something about drywall and paint.”
“Great. I need to talk to them.”
She grins widely. “Glad I could help,” she says with a wink. Then she turns serious. “They’re great guys, Cassie, and they really like you. If you aren’t sure you want them, don’t toy with them, okay? Just because women throw themselves at James and Lucas all the time doesn’t mean that their hearts can’t be broken.”
Nina’s getting ahead of herself. After the way I left yesterday, I’ll count it as a win if the two men don’t slam the door in my face.
9
Lucas:
We call Spencer Calkins and tell him we’re in. “Excellent,” he says, satisfaction oozing out of every syllable. “Okay, here’s what I think we should do. Let’s announce our partnership in a live show. How about two weeks from now?”
“Shouldn’t we hammer out the details of what editorial decisions you’d be involved with?” James asks, sounding dubious. He makes a face at me. “Maybe get a contract signed before making an announcement?”
“Formalities,” Calkins dismisses airily. “If I have to wait for my lawyers to stamp approval every single time I make a deal, I’d never get anything done. Okay, I’ll have Stacy be in touch. Our technical team has been experimenting with live broadcasts, and we have the technology figured out. All you guys need to do is let your viewers know you’re going to be making a big announcement, and we’ll handle the rest, okay?”
Not okay. The more Calkins talks, the more uneasy I get. Dirty Talk is our show, our viewers. Now Calkins is throwing his weight around, and it’s not sitting well with me.
James’ face is grim. “Sure,” he says flatly, and then hangs up.
The last twenty-four hours have been a total disaster, and we’re both in a thoroughly bad mood. There’s only one thing to do—work on the kitchen.
For four hours, we hang drywall. Metallica blares through the house as we screw the sheets in place. Once the walls are up, we break for lunch, then we start taping. It’s messy and dusty, and by the time we’re done with the first coat of drywall compound, we’re hot and sweaty, and the sun is starting to set.
“What time is it?” I ask James, stretching. My muscles creak and groan, but the pain’s worth it. We spend a lot of time in this kitchen, and it’s nice to see the room take shape.
At that moment, the doorbell rings. Giving James a questioning look, I make my way to the front and see Cassie standing outside, looking tentative. “Hi,” she says nervously. “Do you know you’ve got a streak of paint on your face?”
A grin breaks out over my face. “James and I are working on the kitchen. Want to come in and see it?”
“I’d love that,” she replies. I step aside, and she enters, looking around at the space curiously. “I wasn’t paying a lot of attention yesterday.” Her cheeks go pink. “Obviously.”
I’m just glad she’s here. After the way things ended last night, I wasn’t sure if we’d get another chance with Cassie. Every time I think about the way she felt in my arms, my dick hardens, but it’s more than just sexual attraction. I really like Cassie.
We enter the kitchen. James is tiling the back splash. He looks up when we enter, and his eyes go wide with surprise when he takes in Cassie’s presence. He turns off the music. “Hey Cassie,” he says cautiously. “What’s up?”
She swallows. “I came to apologize for the way I ran away,” she blurts out. “Can I explain?”
“You don’t owe us an explanation, Cassie.” James and I talked about what happened, and we think we know why she was so freaked out. After the way she grew up, always on display, I don’t blame her for being a little leery about dating us.
“I think I do,” she replies, a resolute expression on her face. “When I saw that I was in your office, I panicked.” She bites her lower lip and continues in a low voice. “I’ve mostly dealt with the effects of my childhood. I’ve got past the eating disorders. I can get dressed up without feeling like I’m about to throw up, and when people find videos of me online and giggle about them behind my back, I’ve learned to ignore them. But,” she stares at her hands, “I’m extremely camera-phobic. When I think about having my picture taken, my throat closes up, and I can’t breathe.”
“We figured it was something like that,” James says, regret in his voice. “I’m sorry, Cassie. Had we known, we’d have never taken you to the office.” His lips lift up in a small smile. “The rest of the house is camera-free.”
She’s still looking down. “I’m a mess,” she whispers. “I totally understand if you don’t want anything to do with me.”
She’s standing there, looking sad and lost, and I can’t take it. I envelop her in a hug and breathe in the scent of her hair. “Cassie,” I tell her, a promise in my voice, “we’re not that easy to get rid of.”
She pulls free and looks at the two of us. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
James chuckles. He wraps a hand around her waist and tilts her face up. Lowering his head, he kisses her on her pretty, pouty lips. “Cassie,” he says with a smile, “we asked you out after Sophia’s party, and you said no. We asked you to have dinner with us at the start of this week, and you turned us down again. We spend every morning in your coffee shop, even though we have a perfectly good coffee maker in this kitchen.” He looks around the chaos and shakes his head. “Well, there was a perfectly good coffee maker in this kitchen two days ago,” he corrects. “And once we finish painting, there’ll be one again.”
“What we’re saying, Cassie,” I say, lacing my fingers in hers. “Is that we like you. We enjoy your company.” I quirk my eyebrows in her direction. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
She looks around. “Here?”
“You mean you don’t enjoy a side of drywall and dust with your food?” James laughs. “There’s a grill in the back.”
She grins widely. “In that case, yes please.”
Cassie:
James and Lucas leave me with a glass of white wine in the backyard while they shower and clean up. I sip it, lost in my thoughts. I want to pick up where we left off last night, but I’m suddenly very nervous. An entire garden’s worth of butterflies has set up shop in my stomach.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Lucas slides open the porch door. He’s holding a platter with three steaks on it in his hand. “You eat red meat, right?”
“Yes,” I choke out. I’m too busy staring at him. His hair is damp from the shower. His t-shirt clings to his muscles. He looks strong and solid and very, very male. Let’s skip dinner, I want to shout out. Let’s go straight to dessert.
He gives me a strange look. “You okay, Cass?”
Define okay, Lucas. If okay means I want them so badly that my insides seem to have liquefied, then yes, I’m more than fine.
James joins us, carrying a couple of bottles of beer in his hand. “If we need to give you a ride,” he says, hi
s eyes intent, “then we won’t drink tonight.”
I swallow. This is it. “It’s a lovely night for a beer,” I whisper. “You should have one.”
Heat flares in their eyes. I feel the same heat shimmer through my body.
After dinner, the three of us linger in the back. James tops off my wine glass.
My entire body is alight with anticipation. I can’t believe that I’m here, sitting with Lucas and James, knowing that in a few minutes, we’ll move to the bedroom. I’ve fantasized about them for so long that I can’t believe that this moment is real. That something’s actually going to happen.
Unlike Mia, I’ve never been the good girl. My sex life has been satisfactory, if not great. So it isn’t the prospect of having a ménage that fills me with nervous excitement. It’s who I’m having it with. Lucas and James. I’ve lusted after them ever since they moved to town.
This is the moment of truth.
“I saw your show about ménage,” I admit, taking a sip of my wine for courage. I can feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Was it true what you said?”
“What did we say?” James asks, a small smile playing about his lips. Lucas leans back, his eyes on me. I can hear his voice in my head. I like to watch, he said on his show.
Courage, Cass. You can do this.
“That it’s a turn-on.” My voice is low, a mere whisper.
“Forget us for a minute,” Lucas says. “What do you want, Cassie?” He leans forward and looks into my eyes, his expression intent and focused. “Do you want this? Do you want to see my cock slide into your tight pussy while you take James in your mouth? Because I want that. I want to hear you moan as I slam into you. I want to see you wrap your pretty little lips around my dick and taste yourself on me.”
Dirty Talk (A MFM Ménage Romance) (The Dirty Series Book 2) Page 4