This feels too perfect. The wheels are bound to fall off.
I know this, but I still keep driving.
“Do you like music?” he asks, walking toward me, resting a hand on my waist.
“Sure,” I say.
“Alexa, play my relaxing playlist on shuffle.”
A slow, seductive jazz starts, throwing a gauzy haze over this night.
“Jazz, huh? Trying to get in my pants?” I look down. “I’m not wearing pants.”
“Maybe,” he says. Smith sets his wine down on his coffee table, next to a large book about boats. I watch him as he takes my wine glass out of my hand and sets it down.
He leans in, and we start kissing feverishly. My mind races as his hands are everywhere, cupping my ass, palming a breast, threading through my hair. Moans echo between our mouths. I deliberately rifle his hair, and he pulls away, panting.
“Should I get a condom?”
I nod like a bobblehead. He jogs away, and I bite my lip as I watch his ass go.
After I unzip the back, awkwardly, I pull my dress off of my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet. A bra doesn’t work with this dress so I stand there in my panties and heels. Usually, I would be self-conscious being topless in front of such a huge window, but we’re so far up that it’s sexy, not scary.
When he comes back, a condom packet pinched between his fingers, he stops in his path.
“My God,” he says. He bounds across the space between us, and then I’m in his arms again.
The kisses are hard and frenzied, our breath heavy and labored. I rip the buttons off his shirt to reveal strong abs and I run my fingers down his stomach to cup him.
“Get on my level,” I whisper in his ear.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, pulling off his shirt. My mouth waters at his arms, at the Adonis V pointing to his cock. He drops his pants and his boxer briefs, and I cannot tear my eyes away.
Holy shit, his cock is more impressive than I thought.
He spins me around so I’m facing the city, my hands pressed against the glass.
His fingers cup my breast, kneading my nipple as his other hand travels down to between my legs and inside my panties. I gasp as he curves his hand there, the tip of his finger flirting with my opening. I’m still wet from our time in the bathroom, and I ache for him even more.
When his finger dips inside of me, his palm against my clit, I cry out and lean against the window so I don’t fall.
“Be as loud as you want to, Cassie,” he growls. “No one will hear you scream.”
“In another context, that would be creepy.”
He laughs the way only powerful men do, his breath tickling my ear. Smith’s finger dips lower, finding the soft part within me and presses. I see stars and it mingles with the light of the city. My mouth lets out a deep groan.
“How about now?” he asks.
“Perfect,” I say. His hand still in my panties, his other arm wrapped around me, I ride his hand to another orgasm. It breaks me open and I let out a moan as my body settles, slowing his pace.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Smith says in my ear.
“No,” I say, hooking my underwear and pushing them down to the ground. “Take me here.”
“Alright,” he says. I hear rustling as I bend over, planting my hands firmly on the glass. One hand splays on my lower back as he guides his cock with his other.
It feels like paradise. We sigh together and I feel the weight of his chest on my back. As he eases into me, stretching me, he turns my head and kisses me.
“You are spectacular,” he whispers in my ear.
Overwhelmed by him inside of me, stretching me, filling me, I say nothing, I just moan. The sensations are too much for me to handle, too much for me to process. I cry out again when he wraps his hand around to touch my clit, his other hand gripping my hip.
Smith thrusts into me, thrumming my walls and making my body pulse with his power.
Smith and I together like this, our connection so hot and all-consuming, is one of the biggest surprises of my life.
It turns from romantic to filthy when our primal instincts take over. His hand goes to my neck and the pleasure overtakes me as I break apart for him and he loses himself too, his breath labored and heavy.
After we settle, he anchors the condom and sits down, butt naked to his couch, the condom still on, his cock still partially erect.
He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. He grabs a tissue from his other side table and hands it to me.
I look around, and he senses what I need. He points down the hallway, and I kick off my shoes and run barefoot down his hall. Once I’ve peed and washed my hands, I look around. Everything is clean and organized, beautifully decorated. I wonder if this was Daniela’s doing or he is capable of this himself.
I walk out, and I feel a robe being draped around me.
“That was fun,” Smith says, his big hands rubbing up and down the robe sleeves.
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Do you want to stay the night?”
My heart constricts. Staying the night seems serious. Yes, he just took me from behind against a huge picture window, and he did go down on me in a bathroom on a boat, but sleeping next to someone, seeing their pillow, how they look while they dream, just feels ten times more intimate to me.
Still I say yes.
He gives me a gray Stanford Law T-shirt that looks like a dress on me. He has a spare, new toothbrush, and when I leave the bathroom to look at his bed, he’s placed a glass of water by my side.
“Just in case you get thirsty in the middle of the night,” he says.
I climb into bed and into his arms.
In a surprise to no one, we have sex again, this time me on top. At one point, he interlaces his fingers with mine, our hands by his head as I moan. I thought one time would be satisfying, but this time builds on the time before and is even better.
I look down, and his eyes on me, our hands together, just raw and real, is more than anything I ever expected.
He sits up and kisses me, kisses my breasts and my neck, and I continue to ride his lap, rolling against him, saying his name as I come.
Afterward, I lie there and stare at the ceiling as Smith lightly snores.
* * *
Hands down, the best sex of my life.
Hands down, the most scared I’ve ever been in my life.
I think Smith is asleep until he says, “I feel like it’s okay to say this now, but your ‘Girlfriend Puts You to Sleep’ is my favorite video, and I watch it every night to fall asleep.”
I turn over and I put my hand to his face.
“I’m here so I can give you the real thing,” I whisper as my fingernails rake his stubble.
Let’s not dwell on the fact that I called myself his girlfriend. Or that this feels natural, like we’ve been dating for months and this is a typical weekend night. I do not remember that video’s script by heart, but I do my best. I whisper, “Baby, I know you’ve had a long day. Let me pamper you so you fall asleep and get the rest you need.”
He kisses me, and damn, is it romantic.
It’s also freaking me out.
“This is so nice. Having someone here,” he says before he drifts off to sleep.
His eyelashes fluttering with light snores through his nose.
Hours pass, and I get no sleep. My mind will not shut up.
Smith’s lonely, like me; he’s broken. He just got divorced from a woman who cheated on him, and he is not whole. I’m just some rebound, some crush requited, some ass he finally got after he’d thought about it for too long. It doesn’t matter it’s me.
All of this will end, no matter if I stay or not. The last three years of finding myself will be for nothing. This shows I’ve made zero progress, because I feel myself falling for a man who is raw and vulnerable and will destroy my heart if I let him.
I was weak and needy and powerless when I dated. That same feeling creeps over me like bug
s in the springtime as I lie here, with a sexy arm over my stomach.
Around two in the morning, my eyes tugging with exhaustion, I know I need to leave.
I look at Smith, content and asleep. I kiss him on the cheek, and he stirs, but clings to his pillow harder.
After I dress, I avoid the elevator and take the stairs, and my feet are killing me before I reach the lobby. After ordering an Uber, I wait, looking back every so often. I’m not sure why. He wasn’t awake when I left and wouldn’t know I was gone.
When the Uber pings me to tell me that it’s close, I walk outside. The wind whips against my cheeks, and it hits something wet, cooling my skin. My fingers wipe it away, and I stare in disbelief.
Tears.
I breathe in and my nose rattles from the emotion, but I shake it off.
It’s better this way.
I get into the car, and the Uber driver confirms my destination. I watch the building drift away, and it tugs at my heart.
The tears really fall as we drive through the city, and I crumple in a ball in my apartment, alarmed that I somehow care so much.
It’ll pass. It has to pass.
Smith is not my future.
At all.
8
“You did what?” Vincent asks, stirring another stevia packet into his latte.
“I ran out while he was sleeping.” I cradle my chai in my hands, unable to look my best friend in the face.
It’s a week later, and I’ve been in a funk since I snuck out of Smith’s apartment. I didn’t know what I expected. Smith chasing me down after chasing me down once? I made it clear there was no future for us.
It’s like it never happened.
It’s better this way. I have my friends. I have my YouTube channel.
Still, I’m sad, sitting in this hipster coffee shop with Vincent, one of the loves of my life. Even when we talked about the wedding, how he and his husband had the best time, I cannot force a smile. I feel even more like shit when Vincent looks at me with a knowing look.
He knows as well as I do that I fucked up.
“You are cold,” Vincent says. “Was the sex bad? I mean, he’s too good-looking. There has to be something wrong with him.”
I shake my head. I’ve never used the term “making love” because ew, gross—but my night with Smith felt like that. And saying he made love to me doesn’t make me want to heave.
I’m even thinking about our chat in the elevator and how everything was so easy once my dumb ass realized he wasn’t a jerk.
When he admitted to being attracted to me. How it made me feel the most excited I’ve felt in a while.
I take a sip of my drink. “It’s better this way.”
Vincent shakes his head. “That’s quitter talk,” Vincent says, taking a sip of his latte, then making a face. “This fake sugar is slowly crumbling my spirit.”
“You look great, though.”
Vincent kisses my hand. “We have our honeymoon booked for two months out. Q has an eight-pack, and I do not want anyone looking at me like he settled,” Vincent says. He takes another sip and winces.
“I just don’t know. I’m not looking to date anyone, and while the sex was amazing…”
“Marry him,” Vincent says.
“I can’t. First off, he needs to ask.”
“Technicality.”
“Second, I’m not the type of woman people marry,” I say. “I’m destined to be single the rest of my life.”
“Honey, your worldview is so warped.” Vincent settles his hands on the table. “Q and I went to couples’ therapy so I feel like I’m qualified to deconstruct this.”
“Okay.” I squirm in my seat.
“Who hurt you?”
I glare at him and tilt my head. “Really? You know about all of it.”
“Still,” he says with a bob of the head. “Talking it out will help.”
I shrug one shoulder. “I moved here with Wade and then he cheated on me. I chased my college boyfriend Nate relentlessly and he called me crazy in front of everyone. I’ve had so many men really excited about me after dates just to ghost me or get back with their ex. Or, claim to not be ready. I’ve dated carbon copies of Smith and it’s never gone well.”
I breathe in and out. “Dating and relationships made me miserable and turned me into someone I didn’t want to be.”
“It’s been three years,” Vincent says, covering my hand with his. “I think you’re cured. You got dicked down better than you have ever been and left in the middle of the night like a boss. You’re my hero.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t know. I thought I was happy being single. But…”
Smith. He ruined it for me.
“You know, I’m not supposed to say anything but Smith asked me about you. Again.”
My heart flutters at his name, his interest in me. “He did?”
“You’re welcome, by the way. Do you know how hard it was to sleuth out that booze cruise you were on? I had to DM Raegan on Instagram. She’s lovely, good job for finding her.”
“She is,” I say, but all I can think about is Smith. “What did he say?”
“He texted me yesterday. Wondered if I had heard from you.”
A slight smile creeps on my face, and Vincent points and says, “A-ha! I knew you weren’t an unfeeling bitch.”
Vincent is literally the only man who I would ever let call me a bitch.
He takes a sip of his coffee and winces. “I know men suck sometimes. When Q and I first started to date, I had been burned so many times that I pushed him away. After our fifth, magical date, he had roses delivered. I finally looked myself in the mirror and said, ‘Vincent, let that man love you.’ And then I did. I’ve never been happier. I mean, look at this rock.”
He flashes his wedding ring, an audacious thick band with diamonds all around. I’m surprised he can hold his hand up.
I pause and look off to the corner of the coffee shop. There was something there with Smith. It was more than amazing sex and I know it, but I’m so scared of what it means.
There might be too much risk for me to stomach.
“What about Daniela?” I bring up. “He was with her for years. and she cheated on him. I’m not sure if he’s ready for a relationship.”
“Cassie, dear,” Vincent says, waving off. “You wonder where we got the couples’ therapist referral from? That marriage was long over before she fell on a dick.”
“How long?”
“Years,” Vincent says. “They had nothing in common. Daniela liked to be out and around people and Smith is more introverted. If you haven’t noticed, the son of a bitch doesn’t talk much.”
He talks with me.
It makes sense, the difference between Smith and Daniela. I do remember her talking to everyone when she came in, Smith silent with his hand on her back. I can talk to anyone, but I would much rather snuggle on a couch binging something on Netflix than go out any day of the week.
I wonder what Smith is bingeing right now.
“Are you starting to realize you’re self-sabotaging?” Vincent asks, spiral-pointing to my forehead.
“I am not.” I take a sip of my chai.
I’m lying. I’m terrified. How maybe I’ve been lying to myself about men and relationships because it was safer than putting myself out there. How my whole life might turn out differently than I thought with Smith in the picture. But what if it turns out like I thought, but I’ll have a huge broken heart to go with it if Smith doesn’t stay in the picture?
“Cassie, I love you, but you are lying through those beautiful teeth of yours.”
“My girlfriends think I should give him a chance,” I say.
“Do it,” Vincent says. “It’s better to give it a shot than spend your entire life wondering.”
“I knew you would have the right thing to say.”
“I wouldn’t suggest you go after him unless he was worthy of you. And Cassie, you are a goddess.”
“Thanks Vin
cent,” I say.
“I got to go, but give me a hug,” he says, standing up. He takes me in a bear hug and as he rubs my back, he whispers, “Call him.”
“I’ll think about it.”
As I leave with my purse on my shoulder, he says, “You know, the Octavo is close to here.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is this why you suggested this place?”
“Maybe,” he says, leaving the coffee shop and disappearing into a sea of people.
I weave in and out of tourists on the Embarcadero, as I end up in front of where it all began.
The Octavo.
It looks different in the daytime, but a warmth goes through me, although the wind chills my skin. People walk right past me, pretending like I’m not there.
I remember the laughs, the kiss in the elevator. How I was so wrong about him. How he made me feel like he was worth trusting. How he felt different than the other men I’ve dated.
My hands shake as I unlock my phone, thinking about my two potential futures and what they would look like. There’s a good chance that Smith and I might not work out if we tried, but the what-if would kill me. I would spend the rest of my life wondering.
I dial his office number by heart. When I worked for him, Smith’s calls were routed to a voicemail box he checked frequently, even on weekends.
I’m shocked when he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, um, it’s Cassie,” I say.
“Where are you?” Smith asks.
“Funny enough, I’m in front of the Octavo actually.”
“Don’t move, I’ll be right there,” he says.
“Okay,” I say as the line goes dead.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s here and in front of me.
Smith is sweaty, wearing a button-down shirt, stained with perspiration. His hair is damp, and he’s breathing heavy. Reminds me of our time in his apartment.
“I didn’t think you would be working today.”
He coughs against his fist. “Well, I’ve been monitoring my office line, just in case. Since I don’t have your new number.”
In Case of Emergency Page 6