17. Cassidy

Cold, icy, muddy slush splashes up the sides of my boots when I jump out of Chase's truck, drenching my socks and cascading a string of expletives from my mouth. I kick myself for not listening to his suggestion to wait in the truck while he grabs a couple last minute items for dinner.

"You good?" Chase calls from the other side of the truck.

"Soaking fucking wet."

"Fuck, Cass. Okay. Should we skip grocery shopping or…" He appears at the back of his truck with a shit-eating grin. "You know those are my three favourite words, right?"

"Not like that, asshole. You parked right in a giant puddle and my boots are full of water." I trudge toward him, feeling the sloshing and the squelch of wet socks under my feet with each step.

"Well, that's less fun than what I was picturing. Still, though. We can get back in the truck and strip ya down?" He gestures toward the pickup with his head, the stupid smirk never leaving his lips.

With a laugh, I smack his arm. "Nice try, but only my socks are wet. That's the most I'm taking off."

"Worth a shot. This entire parking lot is like a giant root beer slushy. Where did you expect me to park?" He starts across the crowded parking lot toward the store. "Come on, soggy socks. We should probably get you a snack in here, eh? Don't think you'll make it home without eating something."

We trudge through the root beer slush—which is a pretty accurate description for the grimy parking lot. It dumped snow the whole drive to Sheridan for my doctor's appointment and plow trucks littered the roadways with sand to provide traction. Then the temperature promptly rose just enough to transform the foot of powder into a soupy, muddy mess.

"No snacks, unless it's carrot sticks or some shit. I'm tired of Dr. Dickhead's judgmental sigh. And I'm really sick of his comments on my weight every time." I grab hold of Chase's arm to hop over a flowing stream in the centre of the road. The grocery store door opens with a blast of warm, dry air, and Chase's hand falls to my lower back to guide me in ahead of him. Even though Sheridan isn't far from Wells Canyon, and there's always a good chance of running into people we know, it's nice to pretend we're different people here. To interact the way we typically do in the privacy of my house. It's blurring the lines between us, but I can't bring myself to stop it.

"You need to stop listening to that fuckwad," Chase says. "Or let me smack him, like I keep offering. You're pregnant and you need to eat. He doesn't know what the hell he's talking about."

I cock an eyebrow. "Oh, you went to medical school?"

"You get miserable when you're hungry, and stress isn't healthy for Little Spud. I know that much." He grabs my hand and squeezes. "So go to the damn snack aisle and pick something you actually want—not carrots. I'll grab the dinner stuff."

Twist my rubber arm. "Fine, fine. You're taking the blame next time he says something, though."

Moments later, I'm alone under the buzzing fluorescent ceiling lights and deeply lost in an excruciating internal debate about chip flavours. It's easy to pick which one sounds more appealing at the moment, but who's to say that's what I'll still want an hour from now. And, if I make the wrong choice, future me will be pissed. Only possessing ketchup chips while craving Flaming Hot Cheetos is a good way to ruin my entire night.

I could get both, right?

Chase would never comment on it. If anything, he'd cheer me on for ignoring the doctor's very practical medical advice about watching what I eat.

"Hard chip decisions?" A voice startles me, and the bag of Cheetos falls to the floor with a crunch.

I bend over to pick it up, trying to shove down the stirring in my gut and the rapid thumping in my chest. And suddenly he's there. Derek's hand bumps mine, and I snatch the chips, aggressively shoving them back onto the shelf as I stand.

"Derek." I gulp.

"Cass. How are you doing? I haven't seen you in…" His eyes scan my body the way they always do, picking me apart piece by piece. Plucking at every insecurity I made the mistake of telling him about. Making me feel the need to cover up. As much as I appreciate that my body is carrying this baby without issue, I can't help but feel self-conscious about the constant changes. The insecurities Chase washes away with a single gaze are quickly rising to the surface under Derek's smug stare.

Thank God I'm wrapped in Chase's hoodie. It's not massive on me, but it does a good job of hiding my growing stomach. And it smells like his soap, which eases the curdling in my stomach.

"I'm honestly great." I smile to myself when I realize I'm telling the truth—I am great.

"Oh, good. Y'know, I've been meaning to text you. Alyssa and I broke up."

"My condolences," I snark, rolling my eyes. "Thanks for letting me know, I guess. Now there's zero need for you to text me."

"Cass, I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you." He takes a step toward me, and I promptly step back. If he were to touch me, I can't say for sure that my reflex wouldn't be to punch him in the nose.

I scoff. "Apology not accepted. Please leave me to my grocery shopping." Fuck it, I'll get both kinds of chips—no shot I'm standing here debating my choices while he stares me down.

Do you really need that? All that's for you? Oh, somebody's hungry.

The minuscule comments, which added up to so much more over the year we dated, swirl in my head, making my throat tighten and my nostrils burn. I grab both chip bags, and he clears his throat—the sound I know means the same thing as the comments. It's what he'd do in public anytime I filled my plate at the buffet, got a second helping, or ordered an appetizer with my dinner.

Before he has the chance to say something, I snarl, "I'm pregnant, you piece of shit. I can eat what I want."

"You're… what?" His face blanches. "Is it…"

"No. She's not yours. None of this"—I cradle my free hand under my bump, pulling the hoodie tight enough to reveal my protruding stomach—"has anything to do with you."

Appearing out of nowhere—and with impeccable timing—Chase sidles up next to me. Without thinking, I slip my hand into his back pocket to make it seem like we're a couple. Derek catches the movement, and his nose crinkles. The relaxed weight of Chase's thick arm falls around my waist, tugging me closer to his side. Releasing the vise grip from my lungs with a heavy exhale. I know we fit together wonderfully when we're horizontal. But vertically, it feels like this spot was made for my body, and I sink into it. Certainly doesn't seem like we're faking being together.

"Problem?" Chase's gruff voice makes the hair on my arms jump to attention.

Derek's nostrils flare, face twisted. "Really, Cass? You're with Red? Jesus."

"Devin, right?" Chase asks, knowing damn well that's not his name.

"Derek." Derek's eyes bounce between us. Funny how he doesn't have more to say when there's a man standing at my side.

"Right. Well, look, Cass and I have a long drive home." He tilts his head to look at me. "You got everything you need, sweetheart?"

I swear to God, I could kiss him. "Yup."

"Let's go, then. See you around, Dexter."

I can barely contain my laughter long enough to turn the corner into the next aisle. "Did you see his face? Fuck me."

"Later, you horn dog." He winks, and my fingertips playfully smack his bicep. I hook a finger through his belt loop and follow him to the front of the store. A surge of emotion inflates my chest as he quietly snags my favourite chocolate bar from the display next to the cash register.

In the nearly empty parking lot, cast in orange hues from the setting sun, there's no avoiding Derek's tall, skinny frame on our way to the truck. And there's no avoiding him seeing us.

Derek slams his car's trunk and stalks toward us. "Cassidy, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Chase leans over, lips brushing the shell of my ear, and whispers, "Look at the fucking scratch on his hood. Wonder what kind of wild shit happened to put such a big gash in the paint."

I downplay my laugh by turning it into a fake cough, quickly hiding my mouth behind a closed fist. Without Chase, seeing Derek would've had me wanting to curl up in a ball and die. But when his hand presses to the small of my back, stoking the fire deep in my core, I feel like I can conquer the world. Facing a shitty ex-boyfriend is small potatoes.

Dropping my hand from my lips, I focus my attention on Derek. "I'm really not interested in whatever it is you have to say. You already apologized—let's just move on."

"It'll only take a minute."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Fine. I'll give you a minute."

Derek's eyes narrow in on Chase. "Without him."

"Not a chance. Hurry up, your time's quickly running out. Tick tock."

"Cass. Come on. This is awkward."

"So keep whatever awkward bullshit you have to say to yourself, then."

Keeping his mouth zipped—or his pants, evidently—has never been his strong suit. "It's just… him? You honestly want to be with Red? The number of times I had to listen to you bitch about him and the other local guys in the bar. What the hell, Cass."

Chase shifts his weight from one foot to the other, noticeably tensing in my periphery. Sure, I complained about having to kick him out of the bar a time or two. Yes, that was technically not very long ago. But it feels like years have passed since Derek and I broke up. Without needing to look, my hand locates Chase's forearm like we're magnetized, and my thumb immediately begins drawing slow circles. A silent apology.

"I know I messed up… but if you need somebody to take care of you—"

"She has me," Chase cuts him off.

"A dirty, alcoholic cowboy?" The words come out slow and punctuated, with a questioning undertone, like it's the first time he's ever said any of them out loud and he's not quite sure of the pronunciation. "Wow. Yeah, no. I can see why she'd pick you over me. Quite the catch."

Chase steps toward him, trying to shake my grasp, but I hold on tighter. My fingernails whitening as they press deep into his flesh. Maybe if I break the skin, it'll disrupt him for long enough to stop him from committing murder.

"Hit me. I dare ya." Derek leers. "Don't worry. I'll look after Cassidy and the baby while you're in prison for assault."

"Chase." I tug on the rolled-up sleeve of his flannel. "Fuck him. He's not worth it. Please take me home." With a second firmer tug, he breaks his focus on Derek's smug face and turns to me. The harsh lines of his face soften when our eyes meet, and he gives me a nod.

"Let's go home, sweetheart." He firmly interlaces our fingers and holds our joined hands up like a trophy. "Fuck you, Dyson."

"Don't talk to me again," I yell over my shoulder as I walk alongside Chase, letting my hip bump into his at random.

"Dyson?" I ask under my breath as Chase swings open the passenger door and I hop into the seat with a shiver. All the heat that had built up in the truck cab dissipated during our ten-minute grocery shop. "That's a vacuum brand."

"I couldn't think of any other D names on the spot," he whispers back, softly closing the door.

The moment he joins me inside the quiet truck cab, I say, "I've got a D word you'll like—dick. You're getting yours sucked tonight, Chase Thompson."

"Oh, yeah?" The corner of his mouth lifts, and he glances at me as the engine rumbles to life.

"You made him so uncomfortable, and I loved every second of it." I swipe my hands across the tops of my thighs. "Also, um, I've never thanked you before, but dealing with him in the grocery store reminded me. Thank you for not being an asshole about"—I gesture to my body—"this. Me. My body. I know it's not exactly the same as it was…"

Thankfully, he holds his hand up to stop me from turning into a blubbering mess. "Let's get one thing straight—there's nothing to be an asshole about because your body is fucking flawless. I'm gonna tell you exactly how perfect it is the entire time those gorgeous, pink lips are wrapped around my cock tonight, until you stop questioning whether I find you sexy. And, if you still insist on talking shit about yourself, I'll tangle my hands in that blonde hair of yours and shove my cock so far down your pretty little throat, you won't be able to say anything at all."

"I wish you would," I tease, though my voice is still thick with unsettled emotion.

"Jesus. You're… something else." He bites his lip, sending a rush up my spine. I love making him flustered, possibly even more than I love when he's telling me exactly what to do in his commanding, sexy tone.

His forearm rests on the leather centre console as we pull onto the main road, so I drag my nails lightly across his tattooed skin. "Thank you for not hitting him."

"A gentleman doesn't throw punches when a lady's right there." He turns the heat dial in response to my incessant, though barely noticeable, shivering.

"You're going to call yourself a gentleman immediately after making that comment about your cock down my throat? Really?"

"Yeah, I am. A gentleman knows what his lady wants, and I know for a fact you want me to treat you like a pretty little slut. Don't you, sweetheart?"

He's got me there.