Chapter 3

It's been a few days since Cassie left my place, and I haven't been able to get her out of my head since. In my mind's eye, I can still see the way her wet hair framed her round face, the way her emerald-colored eyes sparkled, and the way her clothes, drenched from the rain, clung to her body, revealing her womanly curves. And of course, I can still smell the faint, sweet musk of her panties.

Just thinking about it now makes me rock hard, and I would give anything for a chance to be deep inside of her. To feel her soft, supple body wrapped around mine. To hear her moans and gasps in my ear. To feel her nails scratching their way down my back and feel the way she shudders and writhes as she comes. I would give anything to look into her wide doe-eyes as I explode and fill her up with my seed.

Given that she hasn't called or come by since she left that morning, I figure the chances of that happening are about as good as me walking on the surface of the moon, so I have to contend myself with my memories and fantasies of that sweet little thing. Unfortunately for me, that means a lot of jerking off in the shower. I sigh and shake my head as I hook the new keg to the taps. I close the door to the cabinet under the bar, wipe my hands on a rag, and use it to polish the taps as the front door opens.

"Not open yet," I call without looking up.

"You can make an exception for me."

I raise my eyes and smile when I see Zane walk in. He drops the gym bag in his hand beside him as he takes a seat on one of the stools across the bar from me and gives me a grin. He holds his hand out and we give each other one of those complicated bro-shakes.

"What's up, old man?" he asks.

"Just trying to make a living, kid. You should try it."

He looks around the bar and nods. "I like being in school. Helps me put off the cold, cruel reality of the world."

"Yeah? And how's that going?"

He shrugs. "It's school. What can I really say about it?"

"You can tell me how you're doing in your classes."

"I could," he replies. "But wouldn't you rather be surprised?"

"I've never been one for surprises."

"That's sad."

I chuckle as I run the taps, getting the air out of the lines. Zane is my son… a son I didn't know I had until about two years ago. I joined the Army right out of high school and the girl I was with at the time, Sarah Folsom, parted ways. It was amicable. We just saw our lives heading in different directions, so we thought it best to say goodbye. For whatever reason, though, Sarah never told me she was pregnant. She carried on alone, becoming a single mother, and since then, became an attorney and built a nice little life for herself.

Zane, understandably curious about his parentage, came looking for me and eventually tracked me down. That first meeting was awkward. Zane wanted to know why I wasn't part of his life and the only thing I could tell him was the truth… that I didn't know a thing about him. To this day, I don't know why Sarah kept it from me. I'm not sure she even understands it himself. The only explanation she offered up was that she feared having to tell her son that his dad was killed overseas if I didn't come home.

How that's better than telling a young kid that his dad is just not present, I'm not sure. But there's nothing we can do about it now. I've got a good relationship with Sarah and all that matters to me now is building a relationship with my son. He's still guarded with me. He keeps me at an arm's distance with most things. Our relationship is more or less still kept on the surface, and we avoid delving into personal matters too deeply. It's as if he's afraid that I'm going to vanish from his life again and is trying to protect himself from being hurt.

Truthfully, I don't know what I'm doing with Zane. Fatherhood isn't really in my wheelhouse. Maybe it would have been different if I'd been in his life from the start, but I find myself treating him like one of my old war buddies more than my son. We laugh and joke with each other, but he doesn't come to me for fatherly advice. Truth be told, even if he did, I don't know that I'm equipped to really give it. So, we're just doing what we do.

But even two years in, it still seems like we're circling each other out the way boxers test their opponent in the early rounds, dancing around the ring, feinting and throwing a few jabs. It's like we're still taking each other's measures and trying to figure out what we can expect from one another. It's not just him. It's me too. In terms of building a family, father-son dynamic, I'm as handicapped as Zane is. Maybe even more handicapped. I want him to open up to me just as I want to be more open with him. But I don't know how to get there.

"So, what brings you by today?" I ask.

"Didn't have anything going on, so I thought I'd stop by to say hi."

"Can I make you something to eat? All I've got is bar food, but the wings are pretty good."

"Nah. I'm good," he replies. "Thanks, though."

"Sure."

He sits on the stool, drumming his fingers on the bar, and although I can't claim to truly know my son, I'm adept enough at reading people that I can tell when something's bothering them. And judging by his furrowed brow and clenched jaw, I'd say something's really bugging Zane.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter," I tell him. "Something's bothering you. I can see it all over your face, kid. So? What is it?"

"My girl and I are having a fight."

"That's rough. Been there," I say. "What's the problem?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

His relationships are one of those areas Zane makes a pointed effort to keep me out of. Asking him about his girlfriend is a bridge too far. I know nothing about his girlfriend other than she's cute, smart, talented, and twenty years old. That's it. That's all Zane will tell me about her. I want to know what's going on in my kid's life, but I'm walking a fine line because I don't want to push him too hard. I don't want him to shut down on me completely. So, we keep doing this dance with the hope that one day, he'll let me in.

"Okay," I tell him. "Just know that I'm here to talk if you want to. Whenever you want to."

"Thanks," he says. "What about you? Why don't you have a woman in your life?"

"I've got my bar."

"You need a woman."

"My bar is less complicated. I always know what I'm getting and what to expect from it. There are no surprises," I reply with a grin.

And up until the other day, that statement was true. But having a beautiful little redhead show up on my doorstep certainly complicated things for me. For a few days anyway.

"That's kind of sad, old man," he says.

"It suits me just fine," I reply with a shrug. "Anyway, what's in the bag?"

"I thought I'd take you up on that offer to work out with you. If it still stands, anyway?"

I made the offer to work him out months ago, and every time I asked, he begged off. This is the first time he's ever expressed an interest in it. It's progress. It's a step forward for us and one that seems like a big positive.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah. I think a workout would do me some good right about now."

"All right then," I say. "Let me lock the door and we'll get out there."

"Go easy on me."

I scoff. "I don't go easy on anybody."