by Jiffy Kate
Which makes me feel like I might mean something.
“I love it,” I tell her, reaching out for the hem of her t-shirt and pulling her to me. As my lips hover above hers, close enough to touch, but not quite, I take some calming breaths, willing myself to slow down and not show all my cards…not yet.
CeCe’s eyes flick from my lips up to meet mine and then her tongue darts out to swipe across the plump, pink skin. So kissable. So fuckable. “Was this…a booty call?” I ask, wanting to ease the tension that’s settled.
She smirks and I lean the rest of the way in, capturing her mouth with mine. Tonight, there’s a faint taste of wine mixed with the sweet taste of CeCe and it’s intoxicating. What I intended to be a sweet, soft kiss of appreciation for her inviting me over, turns into a demanding, needy plea for something more…more of her.
When she moans and slips her hands up my shoulders and into my hair, I push her back against the wall, using my body to show her how much I missed her today. Holding her face in my hands, I devour her—delving my tongue into her mouth.
Her soft skin beneath my palms, mixed with her delectable taste and seductive sounds, I’m engulfed by CeCe and I want to drown in her…never coming up for breath.
Reluctantly, I pull away, nipping at her bottom lip for one last taste.
“Hungry?” she asks, her voice sounding somewhere between drunk and sleepy.
I love both versions of CeCe.
I love all versions of CeCe.
Leaning back on my heels, I look down at her, still holding that sweet face in my hands and I’m overcome with the feelings and truths overtaking my thoughts. In this moment, they hit me so hard I want to shout them from the rooftops of New Orleans, but I refrain because that feels like too much too fast. “Famished.”
We both know we’re not completely talking about dinner, but we pretend anyway. For now.
“Follow me,” she says, slipping around me and making her way to the small kitchen. There’s a table by the window that looks out on Jackson Square. It’s set for two, and once again, I’m hit with the overwhelming sensation there’s no place else in the world I’d rather be than right here, with her.
She instructs me to sit as she walks to the stove and makes two plates of spaghetti, placing one in front of me. “Cheese?”
“Of course,” I reply, leaning back to take her in.
My chest is doing this weird thing…tightening and warming all at the same time. I rub at the area over my heart and try to shake it. But I can’t. It’s her. It’s every fucking time I’ve been in her presence lately, especially since we came back from Dallas.
“Is that good?” she asks. When I look down at my plate, there’s a healthy amount of shaved parmesan on my pasta. Probably a little more than I’d typically prefer, but I got preoccupied, which is becoming a real problem when I’m with her.
“Looks great.”
She pours two glasses from an opened bottle of wine and sits down across from me. The soft smile on her face makes me smile in return.
“Thanks for coming over,” she says, placing a napkin on her lap before digging in.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
When my stomach growls, I glance over at her and she laughs. “So, you really are hungry?”
“Starving,” I say with a chuckle. “Actually, I can’t remember what I ate today.”
She takes a bite and then frowns. “Not good,” she mumbles, covering her mouth while she chews.
On my first bite, I close my eyes and let the flavors assault my tongue. This is the best fucking spaghetti I’ve ever had. “Fuck,” I moan when my mouth is finally clear. “This is good.”
She shrugs noncommittally. “I’m pretty good at a few things, spaghetti happens to be one of them.” Taking a drink of her wine, she smiles around the glass and arches an eyebrow.
Oh, she’s good alright…
“How was your day?” I ask, before taking another bite.
“Fine, I guess,” she says, then corrects herself, “Well, business was good, but I’m still having trouble finding all of the documentation Jules asked me to locate.”
“Can I help?” I ask, wondering if I should tell her I’m thinking about contacting Theodore Duval myself and see exactly what he’s after, but when she gives me an abrupt no, I decide against it.
“I’ll find everything,” she sighs. “It’s just going to take a little longer than I thought.”
We both eat in companionable silence for a moment and I glance out the window.
“Nice view,” I comment.
“Best view in the city,” she says, following my gaze. “I love sitting here at night with all the lights off, just watching the square and the people.”
“Kind of stalkery of you,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes and laughs, bringing her wine glass up for another drink. “Well, when you live alone, you get inventive.”
“You don’t have to live alone,” I tell her, without thinking.
When she quirks an eyebrow, I laugh. “I’m just saying. But I won’t push. If you want late-night booty calls, then late-night booty calls are what you’ll get.”
She laughs again and I join her, loving the sound and the feel of this moment. If I could fold it up neatly and stick it in my pocket, I would. I’d keep it forever.
After we clear our plates, I wash while CeCe dries…and relentlessly teases me about how she assumed I didn’t know how to scrub a dish. Isn’t that what maids are for? She’s such a little shit, and I tell her so. Washing dishes turns into me chasing her around the small kitchen with the dish towel I stole from her and her squealing.
Good thing she doesn’t have any downstairs neighbors because they might think she has an intruder.
And when we start making out like horny teenagers on her couch and then end up fucking in her oversized chair, they really would be concerned…probably even call the cops…because I have her screaming my name while she comes on my dick.
Yeah, I could get used to this. All of it. The dinner, the banter, the teasing, the fucking …and especially this. Right now, CeCe is curled into my side, sound asleep, and it’s the most peaceful I’ve felt in my entire life.
Later, when I wake up, after the best sleep I’ve ever had, I immediately realize something is missing.
CeCe is no longer pressed against my body, but a warm blanket is thrown over me, maybe even tucked in around my chin.
Did she tuck me in?
Has anyone ever tucked me in?
Tossing it off, I sit on the edge of the bed and rub my eyes. Her bedroom is also small, but it’s tidy, everything in its place, just like the rest of her apartment. She’s definitely a woman who doesn’t need a lot of things. It’s obvious she’s perfectly happy in this tiny apartment and it suits her.
There’s coffee wafting in the air. Standing, I pull on the button-down shirt and jeans I wore over here last night and then slip into my shoes. As I walk out of the bedroom, I can see that CeCe is nowhere to be found. Glancing down at my watch, I see it’s only five forty. In the fucking morning. I mean, I’m an early riser, usually up no later than six thirty, and I can rise and shine with the best of them, but CeCe’s definitely got me beat.
As I take one last look around the apartment, I secretly hope I get to spend a lot more time here, and then I open the door and walk down the stairs.
When I make the turn at the bottom of the staircase, into the coffee shop, there’s a vision in front of me. CeCe has a fresh bun on top of her head, exposing the creamy skin of her neck, and she’s wearing the cutest fucking apron as she hums to herself—prepping coffee and filling the case with baked goods.
Good fucking morning to me.
“Hey,” she says, popping up and swiping a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. “Didn’t hear you come down the stairs.”
I smirk, uncross my arms and stalk toward her. “I’m kind of a ninja. It’s a secret I don’t really tell many people…you always get those nosey ass questions,
like what turtle are you—”
She throws her head back and laughs, a full-belly laugh, and I can’t help leaning forward and capitalizing on the opportunity to get my lips on that gorgeous neck.
“Hey,” she scolds, glancing toward the door and back at me. “I’m expecting my first customer any time, so there’s no time for…that.” She points her finger around my face, but her eyes stay locked on mine. There’s a war going on here between what she wants and what she knows she doesn’t have time for, so I save her by pressing a chaste kiss to her lips and stepping back.
“I’ve gotta run anyway,” I tell her, walking around to the other side of the counter. “I’m meeting Mav at a new property this morning.”
“Oh?” she asks, turning her back to me to finish what she was working on before I interrupted.
“Yeah, new place over on St. Ann. Really cool, old building, but it needs a lot of work. We’re meeting with the current owner to see if it’s something we can turn a profit on or not. Mav is chomping at the bit to get his hands on it, but I want to see the bottom line first.”
Turning around, she sets a hot cup of coffee down in front of me and places a lid on top. “Y’all make a really good team,” she says, pulling out a piece of wax paper and holding it up. “Croissant?”
“Danish?” I counter and she smiles, reaching into the case to get my breakfast of choice. What I’d really like is her, but I know she’s busy and there’s just something about thinking about her all damn day that makes finally having her that much more rewarding. So, I can wait.
Until tonight.
“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” I tell her.
“I don’t close shop until eight,” she says. “That’s kind of late for going out.”
I shrug, not caring if it was midnight. I’d still want to see her. “I’ll call Micah and see about a late reservation at Lagniappe.”
The slow, easy smile she gives is enough to drive me crazy. “Is that a yes?” I ask, easing my craving with a bite of danish, instead of a bite of her.
“Okay.”
“Good,” I say around the flaky pastry. “It’s a date.”
Her smile drops a little, but she recovers quickly and replies. “It’s a date.”
The morning goes by quickly.
Maverick and I meet up and walk through the building, which I’m happy to report is very structurally sound. However, the deciding factor in any business decision is: return on investment. Can we make money?
Fortunately, this particular seller has had the building on the market for quite a while and is ready to sell…cheap.
So, we’ll be signing the deal on Thursday.
Now, we’re headed to a tux shop a few streets over to have our tuxes altered for the wedding and I decide to take this opportunity to talk to him about CeCe and the intense feelings I’ve been having.
I know he’s not the biggest fan of our marriage, but I don’t know who else to talk to. He has always been my go-to for anything and everything, so I take the chance.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” I tell him, squinting into the sun as we cross the street.
“What about?” Maverick asks as we both jog the rest of the way to the curb. These narrow streets can get a little sketchy. Plus, you just never know who’s been drinking in this city, regardless of the time of day.
“CeCe.”
Maverick stops in the middle of the sidewalk and a few people shoulder their way past us, but he doesn’t seem to care he’s taking up real estate. “What about her?” His hackles are already up and normally that’d piss me off, but something changes as we’re standing there. No longer am I pissed at him for thinking the worst of me. Instead, I’m happy he cares so much about my girl to have her back, even with his best friend.
I think my respect for him just went up and I didn’t even know that was possible.
“How did you know?” I ask, unable to say the word, because it still feels so foreign on my tongue—love—such a simple word, but when you go your entire life without saying it or having it said to you, you don’t really know what to do with it.
His brows pull together and he cocks his head. “Know what?”
“About Carys…how did you know?” I raise my brows in hopes that he’ll get it.
A sly smile takes over his perplexed expression and he lets out a heavy breath. “Fuck, man.” He shakes his head, like he’s in disbelief. “You’re really falling for her, aren’t you? This isn’t a game or a business agreement.”
That last part isn’t a question, it’s a statement and I’m relieved that he finally gets it…and that he believes me. “No, not in the slightest.”
Slapping my shoulder, he levels me with his stare. “The fact you’re asking me how tells me you’ve already figured it out…you just need to give your head time to catch up with your heart.”
Leave it to Maverick to go and get all poetic and shit. That’s probably one of those lines his grandfather wrote in the journal he left him. He’s always pulling deep, meaningful shit out of it and spouting it off at random times.
But I’ve got to be honest, I wish I had something like that—anything to help me know what the fuck I’m doing—because I’m in uncharted territory and it’s scary as shit.
Walking into the tux shop, although I’ve never been here before, it feels like home. Two things Maverick and I are well-versed in—suits and tuxedos. We’ve spent the majority of our lives dressed like CEOs. Our fathers are cut from the same cloth and believed in grooming us to take over one day.
Funny thing though, the longer I’m in New Orleans, the more I find myself enjoying the casual side of life. Sure, I’ll always love a great suit. I love the confidence and power I feel when I wear one, but it’s not necessary any longer. The power struggle I’ve been in my entire life is over.
I’m only worried about myself, my business, and my wife.
“How does this feel, sir?” the older gentleman asks as he sticks a pin at my shoulder, making a small adjustment along the seam.
Stretching my shoulders, I pull my arms forward to test it out. “Feels great.”
As I watch him finish—meticulous in every detail and exhibiting care for the expensive fabric—Maverick calls out from behind the curtain where he’s changing. “Forgot to tell you I got some info on Duval.”
My ears perk up.
“Name and location,” he continues. “He’s in Houston. Seems as though he dabbles in real estate, mostly housing. One of my old contacts from Kensington Properties is a mutual friend, says the guy is a little underhanded.” Maverick’s tone turns serious. “I don’t like the sound of it.”
Me either. As a matter of fact, I fucking hate the sound of it. Sounds like Theo is a money-hungry dick who’s found out he might have a stake in CeCe’s business and isn’t above fighting the system to stake a claim.
Over my dead body.
Reaching over for my phone, I pull up CeCe’s name and hit the call button. It rings a few times before she picks up. “Hello?”
“CeCe?” Her connection sounds weak, so I press the phone closer to my ear and repeat her name again, “CeCe?”
“I’m here,” she finally says. “Sorry, I’ve got a shitty reception.”
“Where are you?”
There’s a pause and I pull my phone back to make sure the call didn’t drop, when I see it’s still connected. “Hello?”
She’s a little out of breath when she speaks up again, a little clearer this time. “Hey, sorry…I came outside, sometimes it’s a little better out here. Can you hear me now?”
“Yeah, where are you?”
“Home. I came to find my missing pieces.”
I pause for a second, not recognizing the feeling that hits me in my gut. She just left the city and didn’t feel the need to tell me? I’m not going to lie, that doesn’t sit well with me. “You drove to your mom’s house?”
“Yeah, Paige is watching the shop this afternoon, but don’t worry, I’ll be
back by eight. We’re still on for dinner.”
Well, that’s good, but I’m still not happy she left without telling me. I know she still thinks this marriage is an arrangement and not a real marriage, but that’s not the case anymore, at least not for me.
“Shep?”
“I’m here.”
“Everything okay?”
I swallow down my initial reply—no, everything’s not fucking okay—and settle on my second. “You should’ve told me you needed to go home. I would’ve taken you.”
Chapter 20
CeCe
“Who was that?” my mama asks, walking outside where I’m standing on the front porch staring at my phone.
“Uh, a…” Every lie dies on my tongue. There’s no way I can call Shep a friend, he’s feeling like more than that every day. But I wasn’t planning on telling her about the arrangement…marriage…whatever. Actually, I planned on her being at work while I slid in, found what I came for, and left.
Sounds shitty of me, but it was the easiest thing I could think of.
However, she came home early due to her hours being cut, so that spoiled my plan.
“A what?” she asks, suspicion creasing her forehead. “Friend? I could’ve sworn I heard you mention dinner. Are you dating someone?”
Now, there’s a layer of hope tossed in for good measure and I inwardly cringe, not wanting to talk about this. Not with her. Not today.
As I turn around, I shield my eyes and my mama frowns, taking a step closer and reaching out to grab my hand. My left hand. The one with a gold band on a very important finger.
“What’s this?”
Shit.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she asks, her eyes snapping from my hand to my eyes.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell her, immediately feeling guilty, but not for the obvious reason. I should feel guilty about getting married without telling my mother, but instead, I feel guilty for downplaying my relationship with Shep, especially after the call I got from him and how disappointed he sounded that I came home and didn’t invite him.