The smile she’d been wearing slid away and she bit her lip. “I get off at ten, actually.”
Earlier than usual. His dick stirred. The ghosts of Christmas present were smiling on old Scrooge, it seemed.
She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned toward him, looking very serious. “I was thinking, though.”
“Yeah?” He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next.
“I think I should just go home to my place.”
“Your bed is too damn small.” He didn’t give a crap about the bed, but he really, really didn’t want her to run into her mother again. She’d told him a little more about her childhood last night, and it was clear that her mother was nothing but a drain on Cassie—not just on her money, but, more threateningly, on her vitality.
“I think I should go home to my place alone.”
“Oh.” He reared back a little as if she had slapped him. He hadn’t seen that coming. Nice. He was getting dumped from their non-relationship entanglement or whatever the hell it was.
“It’s just that I have to pack, and then I think I should be getting back into homework mode, go over the numbers again. This Wexler thing is a big deal for you.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.” But she did. She had to remind him.
“I also just think…” She twisted her bar towel like she was wringing out a wet cloth.
“What?” His voice sounded clipped, sharp. Scroogey?
“If tomorrow is good-bye—well, not good-bye, but you know, if it’s the end of…” She waved her hand back and forth between them and scrunched up her nose as she searched for words.
“It’s better to pull the Band-Aid off now,” he supplied, striving for an even tone. There was no reason to be angry, after all. She was right. What had he thought? That they could fuck all night and then just roll into the car tomorrow and switch on their corporate identities?
Just that he hadn’t expected this. Not yet.
There hadn’t been a chance to say…thanks. He rolled his eyes, disgusted at himself. Thanks. As in “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”
Jesus, this was the problem with relationships. You knew exactly the route to orgasm, yes, but you also ended up getting blindsided.
Or you would, if this had been a real relationship.
“You’re right,” he said, belatedly realizing the conversational ball was in his court. “I should go over some stuff, too.” He drained his scotch and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow morning, okay?”
She nodded, waving off his attempt to leave cash on the bar. He threw down a fifty anyway.
“Good-bye,” she said.
That was it—good-bye. He hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye.
…
When Cassie arrived back at her place, there were a couple of people she would not have been surprised to see sitting outside her building. Her mother topped the list. Danny, maybe, since she’d texted him on her way home and reminded him she was leaving in the morning. Jack even. Not that she wanted that. Well, technically, of course she wanted that. Every cell in her body wanted that. The idea of spending the night without him made her jittery, in fact. But her higher self knew that finding Jack outside her place was not a smart thing to want. Still, when she rounded the corner of her block and saw a figure hunched over, sitting on her snowy stoop, Cassie was prepared for Jack.
She was not prepared for Carl.
“Cassie.” He stood up as she approached. “I’m sorry to ambush you like this at home.”
“How did you even—”
“But I had to talk to you without Jack around. I spoke to him earlier and when he mentioned you weren’t with him tonight, I had to come find you.”
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Carl was a crook, yes, but she didn’t think he was an ax murderer. Still, she was not about to invite him upstairs. “What is it?”
He’d been looking at her, but then his face started to crumple and he covered it with both palms.
“What is it?” she said again, her voice softer this time. “There’s a coffee shop on the corner.”
The idea of a destination seemed to cheer him. He nodded and they set out. “I have to tell Jack something. Something awful. But I thought if I started with you maybe you could…smooth the way.”
Was he going to confess? Cassie stayed silent, having learned in her years as a bartender that when people wanted to get something off their chests, it was usually best to get out of their way. Cassie watched Carl while the barista made their drinks. She assumed since he and Jack had gone to university together, they were roughly the same age. But Carl looked a decade older. Deep creases ran along the sides of his mouth, and his complexion was ashen. He drummed his fingers on the bar. Once seated at a small table in the back, he fidgeted and avoided looking her in the eye. Still, it wasn’t her job to make life easier for him. Things might be weird with her and Jack, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t firmly on Jack’s side.