by C. J. Lake
“Oh my gosh, the breakfast!” Cady yelped. “I forgot about the breakfast!” She flew up in bed, throwing back the sheet. Shaking her head, she exclaimed softly, “The breakfast, damn it—the breakfast!”
“Gee, are they serving breakfast?” Mick said dryly as he sat up.
Flipping her hair as she smirked in his direction, she shoved a pillow his way. “Okay, we don't have time for your sarcasm,” she informed him, to which he chuckled and rose from the bed.
He moved much less hurriedly than Cady, who was scampering around, picking up her bra and panties. Mick found himself watching her with more than a passing interest. Especially when she shimmied on her skimpy panties and then bent over to step into her dress.
“I can't believe we have to go sit through this breakfast with everyone,” she was mumbling, “I'm so freaking exhausted right now.”
“It was my pleasure,” he couldn't resist saying as he came closer.
She tossed him a fleeting, knowing smile and then started straightening her dress, which was still unzipped.
“Oh, no, Mick...what if they can tell?” she said, with her back to him again. “What if it's written all over our faces?”
“What?” Mick asked, sliding his arms around her waist as his chest blanketed her back. A sigh rumbled through his chest; it felt so good to have her in his arms again.
“You know...” she began, her voice cracking as he buried his face in her neck. “What if they can tell somehow...that we...”
“What?” he repeated, his voice thicker, inevitably betraying his hunger for her. He brought his mouth to her ear, letting his tongue flick on it before he whispered, “That we can't stop fucking?”
A tiny little moan slipped from Cady's throat and she let her head fall back against his chest, granting him deeper access to her neck. He pressed his cock against her ass. “Mick...how are you hard again?” she said, sounding both confused and possibly interested.
“I don't know,” he answered honestly and with a hoarse chuckle. “This is what you do to me.”
She whispered his name again. It was the beginning of a protest, something about how they had no time for this, before swiftly abandoning that theory, sighing breathlessly and saying, “Well, maybe if we hurry...”
~
The sun in the hotel restaurant blazed brightly through the tall windows that faced Cady. Also squinting through the meal was Rex, who sat beside her. Mick's seat was diagonally across from Cady and he managed to fluster her every time they made eye contact. Fortunately, the others at the table—which included Linda, Brandall, Preeti and her parents—didn't seem to notice anything.
“So, Mick, how did you sleep last night?” Linda asked cheerfully, as she drizzled syrup on her pancakes.
Cady felt her cheeks flush as she guiltily averted her eyes and stabbed at her waffle.
“I didn’t sleep much at all,” he replied. At that, Cady shot him a wary glance, only to find him looking at her again. Her blush deepened and she hoped no one happened to see her turning hot-pink.
Concerned, Linda frowned. “Oh no, how come? Wasn't the room comfortable?”
“Room was great,” Mick replied casually, stroking the handle of his white coffee mug with his thumb, then shrugged. “Just something keeping me up, I guess,” he explained offhandedly.
She dropped her eyes, but they crept back up to his again. Still blushing, she struggled not to smile at him. The way the corner of his mouth hitched up, she could tell that he was fighting the same urge.
“Aw, that's too bad,” Linda said sympathetically, then blinked at Cady. “What about you? How did you sleep, Cady?”
“Me? Um, it was wonderful,” she replied honestly. Let everyone assume that by “it” she meant the sleep.
Mick appeared surprised by her answer. So she made her meaning to him clearer, adding, “Yes, I'd definitely recommend this hotel to anyone looking for a completely amazing night.”
“Okaaay…” Rex said, furrowing his brows, confused, then turned to Brandall. “Hey, Dad, I read a really interesting article that I wanted to mention to you. I figured you might want to read it on the plane. It's about a patented new design for laboratory beakers.”
Soon Cady zoned out, despite Rex's assurance that the subject was “really interesting.”
“Linda, I am so impressed with how well everything went yesterday,” Preeti remarked at some point when there was a lull in the beakers conversation. “I still can't believe how quickly you organized the wedding and how perfectly it all was executed.”
Linda beamed at that and began nodding with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been thinking the exact same thing that someone else just said. “Yes—thank you! Actually, I felt so great about it that I was even telling Brandall—well, it's too soon to say, I haven't really thought it through.”
“What?” Mick asked curiously.
With a shrug, Linda said, “I was considering maybe having a career in something like that. Event planning, that sort of thing. I've always loved to throw parties and well, it's just a crazy thought I had.”
“Not crazy at all,” Brandall interjected supportively. “You can do anything you want.”
“I'm definitely thinking about it,” agreed Linda with a smile. Cady had the feeling that her new stepmother (God, it was still so hard to think of anyone that way) had possibly found her true calling. Or, at least being married to Brandall now, she felt she had more financial stability, which meant freedom to think about what her passion might be, rather than churning away at the receptionist job that she clearly detested.
“First things first, though,” Linda went on. “When we get back from the honeymoon, our focus is going to be selling my condo.”
It seemed Linda was already taking the reins in this marriage. Hortense always had, too, though undeniably, Linda's delivery was gentler, less dictatorial.
When Cady darted a glance to her father, she saw him looking slightly dazed. The best way to describe his current state might be “blissful stupor.” If she didn't know better, she'd think the waitress had slipped something in the coffee, but everyone else seemed fine.
The rest of the breakfast was spent mostly with Linda chattering excitedly about the upcoming honeymoon trip that she and Brandall were taking to Nantucket. They'd be gone for ten days, so would be missing Thanksgiving at Rex's house that coming Thursday.
Throughout the meal, Cady and Mick drew each other's gaze almost constantly; there seemed to be a tacit understanding, a sexy awareness, like an energy that only they could feel.
If she'd feared that he would blow her off after she slept with him, she was continually reassured by his attentive interest in her. That said, she knew she was way more excited about Mick than was wise to be...
Yet she couldn't help it. Couldn't bear to try to talk herself out of it.
For the next ten days, their parents would be away. There would be no overt reminders that, technically, they were “stepbrother” and “stepsister” now. They would simply be Mick and Cady—and for those ten days, she hoped nothing else would burst her bubble.
Chapter Thirty-five
After breakfast, Cady gave Mick a ride home from the hotel. She was being pretty quiet and seemed to be using the radio to fill the silence. Meanwhile, Mick was thinking about how to play this. Prior to last night, they had both said that, in general, they weren't looking for a relationship. Obviously last night changed things, and now he was trying to read her.
Now, as she pulled in front of his building, he said, “Thanks—want to come up?”
“No, I can't,” she said, her car in park but idling, “I want to go home and shower and stuff,” she explained vaguely.
“All right,” Mick agreed. “Want to hang out later?”
“I can't,” she said, sounding apologetic. “It's Sunday; I have so much homework.” Though he nodded casually, his gut tightened a little. He hoped she wasn't going to get all weird on him now.
“You can bring your homework
to my place,” Mick mentioned. “I won't distract you.”
“Sure you won't,” she said dryly. The playful grin she gave him reassured him that she was still in the zone with him—that this flirtation, this fling, this whatever was not over yet.
With his adrenaline pumping hard now, Mick grinned at her and pushed, “All right, smartie, so go do your homework tonight. But how about tomorrow?”
She barely paused. “Okay. Tomorrow night—oh, wait. I forgot, I have to watch a movie. I usually do that on Monday nights so it's fresh in my mind for Tuesday's class,” she explained.
He shrugged. “We can watch it together then, at my place.”
She chewed her lip for a second. “Well, it's old, like from the seventies. And it's French.”
“Okay,” Mick said, waiting for her larger point.
“It's foreign.”
“Yeah, I got that by the 'it's French' part.”
With a dry laugh, Cady said, “I just meant that it has subtitles.”
“Yes, Cady, I can read.” While his tone was flat, he had a grin playing at his lips.
Holding up her hands, she replied, “Some people don't like subtitles, that's all.”
Mick stayed silent, just looking at her, waiting for her to stop her halfhearted resistance. He wasn't sure why she was trying to talk him out of seeing her tomorrow night. Except maybe to put some distance from what had happened at the hotel? His gut twisted at the thought—but he waited to see if that was the deal, if she'd keep putting up roadblocks.
After a beat of quiet, she inhaled a soft breath and pinned her eyes right to his. The sun pouring in her windshield lit up the blue of her eyes, made them look electric, blazing. When she looked at him like that, she more than affected him. His chest tightened with an almost aggressive need to possess her. How had this girl gotten so deep in his head? All his theoretical statements about not being tied down in a relationship suddenly meant nothing.
“If you're sure you wouldn't be bored...” she said.
“Awesome,” Mick agreed, leaning over to kiss her goodbye, before getting out of the car. He kept the kiss brisk, and smiled to himself when he felt her arching forward for more. “See you tomorrow then,” he said, before shutting the door.
Automatically, she rolled down the passenger side window and warned him: “But, Mick, I really do have to pay attention to the film, okay?”
“Yep.”
“As in, watch it all the way through and take notes.”
“Okay, Jesus,” he said with a gruff laugh. “I promise not to make any moves on you till the movie's over, all right?” At that, her grin widened and an adorable blush came to her cheeks, which gave him a shot of primal male satisfaction. “It's a deal then,” he finished, shutting the door and feeling a rush of adrenaline that stayed with him the rest of the day.
~
The following night, Cady went to Mick's apartment, where they streamed The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie from the university's digital library. Besides a few sweet kisses before the movie started, Mick kept his word about letting her concentrate and not getting all up on her—much to Cady's secret disappointment.
Now they had been watching for about an hour, sitting on Mick's couch with his arm slung loosely over the back of Cady's cushion, when Mick suddenly picked up the remote and hit “pause.”
“I'm going to get a drink,” he mentioned. “Want one?”
“Sure, okay,” Cady replied, setting her notebook aside and rising from the couch to follow him to the kitchen. As they passed the pool table that filled Mick's dining room, Cady commented, “I like your apartment, by the way. How long have you guys lived here?”
“Just this year. We got a bigger place when Quinn transferred to BU. He's Walker's cousin.”
“Ah, I see. Where are all of them tonight?” she asked, since she couldn't help noticing that she and Mick were all alone, despite the fact he had three roommates.
He shrugged as he opened the fridge. “I'm sure Walker is with his girlfriend somewhere. Terrence mentioned something about a study group, I think. Quinn is most likely at the gym. By the way, are you hungry? We could order food or something,” Mick offered.
“No, I'm fine.” Despite the casual setting, Cady was still a bundle of nerves around Mick. She couldn't recall ever being this infatuated with someone. Was it like this with Wes at the beginning? Though she tried to picture it, it didn't seem possible.
Even though Mick definitely seemed to like her, too, Cady supposed she was worried that she'd make a detrimental mistake. That she'd do something to turn him off—or, more likely, that she would accidentally reveal how dull she was as a human being. Wasn't that what must have happened with Wes?
“What would you like to drink?” Mick asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Do you have any wine?”
“Yeah, we have that...” Mick pulled a tumbler glass down from the cabinet, then opened the door to the pantry closet, in which there were two or three bottles of red wine amid a messily stacked supply of beer. Once he pulled out one of the bottles, he yanked open a kitchen drawer and scrambled through it for a corkscrew. Conversationally, he asked, “So you said you've seen this movie before?”
Cady nodded. “A couple of years ago. I was randomly in Coolidge Corner one day and it was playing. You know the theater there that shows a lot of artsy films?”
He shook his head. “I haven't been to Coolidge Corner much.”
With a shrug, she continued, “Anyway, I was bored and decided to check it out. I remember finding it interesting, but, like I said, it was a couple of years ago and I wasn't taking notes or anything. So, when I saw the movie listed on the syllabus, I knew I would need to re-watch it.”
Nodding slowly as he poured her wine, Mick remarked, “So, basically you're saying that I'm not the first guy to sit through this film with you.”
She gave a laugh at that, especially when he eyed her mischievously. “Um, how was that what I was saying?” Taking her wine, she added, “But I was alone, for your information. My boyfriend at the time—oh, wait, you met him—”
“Wes, right?” His flat tone didn't indicate that he was too impressed.
She nodded then took a healthy sip of wine, before commenting breezily, “Yeah, Wes didn't really like anything artsy. Except himself, of course.”
Mick chuckled at that, stepping closer and slipped his arms around her waist. Finally, she thought with a little sigh of relief, feeling heat sizzle through her body just at the simple touch. Carefully she set her glass of wine down on the counter before resting her hands on Mick's biceps. Any clear thought was muddled for a moment at the feel of how hard and strong his muscles were. Truthfully, she had put her wine down not just to touch his arms, but in case Mick was about to kiss her and lift her up onto his counter and start making out with her.
Unfortunately, that wasn't what he did.
Instead he held her, affectionately, attempting to have a conversation with her—but how the hell was she supposed to stay focused when his lips were so close to hers? Her eyes kept flitting to his mouth, while her mind kept fixating on his hot, skillful tongue...
“So what have you been writing in that notebook anyway?” Mick asked now. His arms stayed around her waist, holding her in place, as if keeping her from slipping away.
“Um...what? Oh—my notes,” she replied feebly, trying to recall. Clearing her throat, Cady tried to comport herself like a rational, intelligent girl, instead of a muddle-puddle of lust. “Just some of the symbolic stuff,” she answered vaguely, not wanting to bore him.
“What's up with that road they're always walking on?” Mick said curiously. “Is that supposed to be one of their dreams?” Throughout the film, the vivid dreams of the main characters were intermingled with their realities.
“The road is a metaphor for life,” Cady presumed, elaborating, “See, they are all on it together, walking in the same direction, with no clear destination in sight. But they're not interacting with e
ach other. They're walking side-by-side, but not speaking to each other, or even really looking at one another.” She shrugged, arguing, “I take that as: basically, even though we're all together on this journey of life, really, in truth, everyone is utterly and completely alone.”
Mick pulled back a little, studying her. “Wow—that's bleak.”
Again she shrugged. “That's life.”
She slipped out of his embrace just to grab her wine. He stepped back, too, leaning against the kitchen counter. She could have offered further bleak commentary on the film—including what she perceived as emotional nihilism, as shown through the core group of main characters, and a rabid, self-deluding push against futility—but instead, buried such buzz-kill over-intellectualizing in a long sip of wine. She remembered how Wes's eyes used to glaze over whenever she'd go off on an analytical tangent.
Meanwhile, Mick ran his hand over his jaw sort of thoughtfully, and said, “See, now I was thinking about how the dreams were a metaphor for life.”
Did he actually want to discuss the film with her? she thought hopefully.
Casually, Mick continued, “Think about it—in all of the characters' dreams, there's never enough food, sex or time. That's life, right there.”
“True,” she agreed.
“Maybe something the film is saying is that whether you're awake or asleep, what's ultimately the difference? There's always this invisible line between the two experiences—real life and your dreams—a perception we all have that one matters and one doesn't, you know? But, you could argue that the two are sort of interchangeable. Right? In life and in a dream, you're always going to be chasing something—and when it's all over, probably none of it made a whole lot of sense.”
At first Cady just blinked at him. Then she said, “Mick—wow.”
“What?” he said, confused.
“That's deep.”
He barked a laugh at that. “You seem surprised.”
“N-no, I'm not,” she began.
“I'm not too dumb for you, you know.”
Even though he'd said it dryly, and with the corner of his mouth lifted sardonically, Cady felt compelled to say: “Of course not! I don't think that.” God, hopefully Mick didn't think she was some kind of intellectual snob just because Brandall was a scientist and Rex was a bug prodigy. What on earth would Mick think if he met Hortense, who tended to gallop into every room on her intellectual high horse?