by Johnson, Cat
I launched into the ladies’ restroom, knowing he couldn’t follow me in here.
Or so I thought.
The door slammed against the wall, almost coming off its hinges as Booker strode inside. Two girls applying lipstick in the mirror glared at him.
“You can’t be in here,” one of them said.
In response, Booker jerked his chin and held the door open. “Out.”
His voice, steeped in command, saw the two women stuffing their makeup into their purses and scuttling off. Booker stood behind the door, meaning if anyone else tried to enter, his tall, broad frame would block their way.
“Cass, please say something.”
I clutched the edge of the vanity unit and stared into the mirror. Trembles seized my body, every part shaking in shock and dismay. I spun around, still holding on to the counter for balance.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You should have told me.”
He hung his head. “I didn’t want you to suffer along with me.”
I fisted my hair and tugged. “Jesus Christ, Booker. I was your girlfriend, and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you were sick.” I jabbed my finger at him. “You seriously need to get out of my face right now.”
“No.”
“I mean it. Go. Leave me alone.” I snorted bitterly. “You’ve had enough practice.”
“No,” he repeated. “I want to talk.”
“Oh, so now you want to talk. It’s too late, Booker. The time for talking has passed.”
His lips flattened, and he flexed his jaw. “You’re right. The time for talking has passed.”
He moved so fast, a blur, and then he was kissing me, his tongue forcing my lips apart, his hands everywhere, roving over my back, my ass, tugging me against his growing erection, so familiar, even now. My body reacted on instinct, so starved for his touch that my arms curved around his neck, and my fingers snaked into his soft hair. I groaned, returning his kiss with a ferocious hunger that threatened to consume me.
Reality landed with the force of a nuclear bomb, and I shoved at his chest, stumbling backward. My breath came in gasping sips, a mirror image of his own.
He reached for me once more, and I recoiled. And then I was running, running through the bar, whirling past half-drunk customers and knocking glasses from tables in my haste. Cries of “What the fuck,” and “Hey, lady”, followed me, but all I could see was the exit and freedom from facing up to what Booker had shared.
Why hadn’t he trusted me enough? We were a partnership, and yet when times grew tough, he didn’t want me by his side, helping him through. That was what hurt most of all.
I heard him shout for me to stop, but my legs kept powering on. He caught up with me at the end of my street, but as he extended an arm, I twisted out of his grasp.
“Unless you want a knee to the balls, don’t touch me.”
His stricken expression tugged on my heart, but rage had taken over rational thought. He held his hands out to the side, palms up in a plea for clemency. The problem was I had none to give. Not right now, anyway. Maybe never.
“I’m going home, Booker. I need time to think.”
He nodded in understanding. “Let me just say one more thing, Cass. I did this because I loved you so damn much. I couldn’t bear to ruin your life as you sat beside me for hospital visit after hospital visit. Hours and days watching as IV lines pumped poison into my veins. Standing outside the bathroom as I puked my guts up and plucked hair out of the bathtub. If I died, I wanted you to remember me as I was, not what I became. Was that so wrong of me?”
“Yes,” I snapped. And then I rubbed my palms over my face. “No. Oh, I don’t know, Booker. I’m hurt and angry and disappointed that you chose to do this without me alongside you. All it says to me is that you thought our love wasn’t strong enough to withstand troubled times.”
“I never thought that,” he whispered. “I hated the idea of you seeing me weak and helpless. But it killed me to be apart from you, Cass. Please give me another chance. Give us a chance.”
I shook my head, not in denial but in confusion. “Give me some space, Booker.” I trudged up the sidewalk and down the path to my parents’ house. Booker didn’t follow me, and as I opened the door and turned around, he’d gone.
“Cass, is that you?” Mom called out from the living room.
“Yeah.” I walked inside and promptly burst into tears.
Mom leaped to her feet. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
She wrapped me in her arms while Dad shuffled into the kitchen, no doubt returning shortly with a cup of hot tea, his solution to any display of female emotion.
“It’s Booker,” I sobbed.
Mom stiffened. Like me, she’d never forgiven him for leaving me so ruthlessly. Except now I knew why. I didn’t agree with his decision, but, slowly, I’d started to understand it. The earlier anger I’d felt had begun to wither and die, and in its place was a deep sadness and sorrow that Booker had gone through such a terrible ordeal without me beside him, supporting him every step of the way.
“What about him?” Mom asked, encouraging me to sit before my legs gave way.
I told her everything, breaking off occasionally to wipe away my tears. She and Dad both listened, Dad occasionally pushing the cup of tea closer to me as if those leaves had the ability to solve all my problems. If only it were that simple.
All cried out, I looked first at Mom, then at Dad, and then back to Mom. “So, what should I do? I mean, I have the right to be angry and upset, don’t I?”
Mom patted my arm. “Of course you do, darling.”
“I see his point, though,” Dad interjected.
Mom shot Dad a glare, but I needed a male perspective on this. “Tell me more, Dad.”
“Well, men aren’t like women.”
Mom snorted her agreement to that statement, bringing a faint smile to my lips, but Dad acted as if she hadn’t made a sound. I guessed that was what three decades of marriage brought.
“Despite thousands of years of evolution, honey, and the feminist movement and women’s rights and all that, men are still prehistoric creatures at heart. Our job is to protect, to be strong, and to hide our feelings. Modern man might’ve come a long way, but we still have a stretch to go. In Booker’s head, all he did was protect you from going through a pretty horrendous time. Watching someone you love endure what he has wouldn’t be easy. He thought he was saving you from that. Whether he was right or wrong isn’t the question. It’s the love in his heart that you should focus on.”
I sat in silence, chewing over his words, and as they slowly seeped through the jagged wound in my heart, the shattered pieces began knitting together. Dad was right. Booker had only wanted to protect me. I didn’t agree with his methods—and I never would—but there wasn’t a person on earth who could doubt his good intentions.
“Have I told you how amazing you are, Dad?” I stood and kissed his soft, weathered cheek.
“Maybe tell your mother that,” Dad said with a grin.
“He has his moments,” Mom grumbled, but her eyes gave her away. She and Dad had the kind of enduring love I wanted for myself.
And I knew exactly where to get it, too.
4
Booker
I took the long way home, not yet ready to face my folks. Telling Cass had clearly been a mistake, and I cursed my stupid mouth. I should have kept it shut and maybe I could have persuaded her that my leaving was down to immaturity and now that I’d grown up a bit, I wanted her back. That would have been a far better strategy, and one more likely to succeed. The fuckup I’d made of this entire debacle left me exactly where I deserved to be.
Alone.
I touched a fingertip to my lips. Kissing Cass had felt like coming home after living in the trenches for years, and I guessed, in a way, that was exactly where I’d been. I’d fought a war, and won, and now desperation to return to the life I’d had before consumed me. Except, as those men who’d fought in actual wars knew all too we
ll, life moved on and the passage of time meant nothing was quite the same as before.
The sound from the TV seeped through the closed living room door, which allowed me to creep upstairs without having to talk to my parents. I didn’t want Mom to read the despair in my face and begin questioning me. Now that I’d told Cass, though, I’d have to sit them down and talk it through. The last thing I wanted was for news of my cancer to filter back to them somehow. No doubt Cass would tell her parents, and the more people knew, the greater the chance of gossip spreading. Miami was a huge city, but the district we lived in behaved much more like a small town.
Flopping on my bed, I flicked on the TV, more for background noise than any desire to watch. Too much silence meant space in my head that I couldn’t allow to fill with regrets. I was alive, healthy, owned a successful business, had many friends. There was a lot to be thankful for.
Except I didn’t have Cass, and without her, all that other stuff felt worthless.
Something that sounded like gravel hit my window. I rose from the bed and peeked through the drapes. Astonished, I stared down at Cass who, when she spotted me at the window, waved her arms madly. I opened it.
“What are you doing?”
She grinned. “Meet me out front.”
Something in her face triggered a dash of hope, and without further questioning, I nodded enthusiastically and sprinted downstairs. Idling at the curb was a cab with Cass standing beside the open rear door.
“Get in,” she said, doing just that.
She didn’t need to ask me twice. I dove in the back and slammed the door.
“Where are we going?”
She pinched her thumb and forefinger together and zipped across her mouth. “You’ll see.”
Figuring I wasn’t getting anything further from her, I let the silence build, but it felt more like an old friend visiting than approaching doom. I had no idea what’d happened between Cass running from that bar and now, but something had, and given the serene expression on her face, I guessed it might just work in my favor.
Or at least, I hoped.
When the cab finally drew to a stop and I glanced out the window, my jaw dropped. Cass had brought me to Paradise Lakes, the hotel we’d saved up for weeks to afford a single night in during our last year of high school. This was where we’d both lost our virginity.
“Come on, stud,” she said, those words a repeat of what she’d said to me on that occasion, too.
Somehow, I made it out of the car without falling over my feet and stumbled after Cass, who confidently strode ahead, hips swinging in a maddeningly sexual manner that had all kinds of filthy thoughts running through my mind.
I caught up to her in the elevator. She pressed the button for the fourth floor.
No.
No way.
She couldn’t have.
Before I had a chance to question her, the doors pinged, smoothly opened, and Cass marched down the hallway, stopping outside room four-oh-four. Same room.
“How?”
She unlocked it and beckoned to me. “I got lucky. As you’re about to.”
“Wait.” I entered the hotel room and closed the door behind me. “I don’t understand. What’s changed?”
She shrugged out of her shirt, revealing a lacey pink pushup bra, and her jeans followed in seconds. Standing there before me in orgasm-inducing lingerie, she grinned. “You want to talk, Booker? Or do you want to fuck?”
“Jesus,” I groaned, launching at her.
We fell onto the bed in a fit of giggles, but as I looked down at her, and she grew serious, the laughter stopped. As desperate as I was to get inside her—and believe me, my dick was totally on board with that plan, straining to escape the confines of my jeans—I wanted this night to last forever, in case this was some terrible trick and tomorrow, I’d wake to find it had all been a cruel dream.
I stroked her hair off her face and stared into her pale-blue eyes, the outer ring flecked with navy. “I love you, Cass. I’m so sor—”
She placed her finger over my lips, cutting off my apology. “Stop, Booker. Not now.”
I covered her mouth with mine, tasting her sweet lips, but soon that wasn’t enough. I caged her with my body and slowly made my way south, kissing and sucking and nipping at her skin. When I freed her breasts, I just stared at them. The pert fullness, the rosy nipples, the elongated peak that coaxed my tongue out to play. Cass arched her back and groaned, her hand pressing on the back of my head, urging me to suck harder.
“God, I love you. I’ve missed you so damn much, Booker.”
I smiled against her skin. I’d prayed to hear those words, but feared I never would again.
I made my way down her body, kissing every inch of her skin, savoring the silky softness, spending time worshiping the soft swell of her abdomen, the flare of her hips, the shape of her thighs.
The inviting prize nestled between them.
I slid her panties down her legs, then hooked her legs over my shoulder and swirled my tongue around her clit. Her back bowed off the bed.
“Fuck, yes, Booker. Right fucking there.”
I grinned. Cass always swore like a sailor whenever we fucked, and damn if it didn’t turn me on. Always had. Always would.
I slipped a finger inside her, then another. She writhed and wriggled, chasing more contact, more friction, just more. I sucked her clit, and I wasn’t gentle about it. Cass preferred it rough, and what my girl wanted, she got in spades.
“Harder,” she moaned. “More. God, I need…”
She trailed off as her climax hit. I felt her inner muscles clamping around my fingers, familiar and foreign at the same time. I kept up the pressure on her clit until she sagged against the mattress, spent.
“Come here,” she murmured, holding out her arms. And then she frowned. “You’re still dressed.”
I laughed, climbed off the bed, and removed my clothes. Her eyes slipped south, lingering on my scar, a three-inch vertical line just above my belly button. Her face crumpled.
“Don’t, Cass.” I covered her with my body and kissed her. She clung to me, but when I tasted the salt from her tears, I drew myself upright. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.”
She swiped her tears away before I could, and nodded. “I need you.”
I bent over her once more. “You have me.” And then I grimaced. “Fuck, no condoms.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t walk around with a strip in your pocket to cover you for all eventualities?”
The fact she managed a joke brought a ton of relief crashing down on me, and I laughed. “Funnily enough, no I don’t. If you’d given me some advance notice, I’d have prepared better.”
“And spoiled the spontaneity? Not a chance.” Her palms curved around my face and she pulled me down for a kiss. “Besides, the last man I slept with was you, and I figure you haven’t exactly been putting it around town given… everything.”
Her confession stole my breath. I’d been Cass’s first, and she’d been mine, and somehow, through our absence—enforced and ratified by me—we’d kept that special bond.
“You were my first, my only, and you’ll be my last, Cass,” I whispered.
I pushed inside her, and lost myself. Raw, urgent need invaded every cell of my body and I pistoned my hips, thrusting so hard, her head banged against the headboard. Even that didn’t stop me. I cushioned the back of her head with my hand and fucked her as if my life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
Pressure built and kept building. As much as I tried to hold on, to draw out the pleasure, my body had other ideas. Like an explosion after violently shaking a soda bottle, I came on a groan that lasted nowhere near as long as I needed. Before I’d finished, I knew with absolute clarity that neither Cass nor I were getting much sleep tonight. We had a lot of catching up to do, and I intended to make the most of every single second.
I rolled to the side and blindly reached for her hand. Her fingers clasped mine.
/> “Booker?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave me again, and I’ll cut your dick off.”
5
Cass
Blinding sunlight woke me, and for a few brief moments, I couldn’t remember where I was. Certainly, this was an unfamiliar room, but even as I had that thought, reality broke through the sleep-induced brain fog, coating me in a truth that triggered an enormous smile that almost split my face in half.
I rolled onto my side. Booker lay beside me, on his back, one arm flung behind his head. Dark eyelashes graced his cheeks, and day-old growth shadowed his strong jaw.
My fingers itched to touch him, but I suppressed the urge. I had lost count of the number of times we fucked last night, but it was a helluva lot, and even though Booker assured me he’d fully recovered from the cancer, such an aggressive illness took a toll on a body. He needed to rest.
When he woke, though, we were having The Talk. Although my anger had receded, the lingering tendrils of betrayal still hung in the air, and I needed Booker’s help to dispel them. Whatever his reasons, as Dad had explained, I needed his assurance that—God forbid—should his cancer ever return, he’d turn to me for support.
Unless he could reassure me of that, we didn’t have a future together.
He stirred, and his eyelids flickered open. He blinked two or three times and then his head turned my way. A soft smile lifted his lips at the corners.
“Morning, beautiful.”
I leaned in for a kiss, then snuggled into his side and lifted his arm around my shoulders. “How did you sleep?”
“Too good.” He buried his nose in my hair and sniffed. “You still use the same shampoo.”
I lifted my head. “Are you high?”
He laughed. “High on you.”
I raised up on one elbow. “We need to talk.”
His chest lifted with a heavy sigh. “I know. Shall I order room service? I need a strong cup of coffee for this conversation.”