19. Cassidy

This babymoon, getaway, girls trip, whatever you want to call it, could not have come soon enough. With the exception of two days over Christmas, Chase has slept at my house every night for weeks. Honestly, I think my vibrator's starting to feel a bit put out.

Having him around has been good… dangerously good. So good I'm struggling to remind myself that we're nothing more than friends. Because I know friends don't look at each other the way we do.

If he was just coming over for a booty call, there's a chance I could manage to keep my emotions tightly guarded. It's the rest of it. Cooking dinner together, cuddling on the couch to watch TV, talking until long after we should be asleep. It's feeling completely comfortable wearing baggy clothes and no makeup when he's around. Being with him is effortless in the same way breathing is. I don't have to think when he's there. We fit together—there's no denying that—but some part of me is terrified we're not like puzzle pieces. Maybe he and I are broken chunks of glass mod-podged together; we fit well enough for now, but are bound to fall apart eventually.

We really need these few days apart to reset, then we have to set boundaries. Because, as of right now, the only rule is no kissing. The dinners, cuddles, sex, sleepovers… I know it's a bad idea. That's not how I operate. I like rules. I like feeling in control. Having sex with somebody I'm not dating, playing fast and loose with my heart—two things that are so not me.

Blair buzzes me into the building, and I move as fast as my tired feet, sore back, and extra twenty pounds will allow me. She briefly stopped by The Horseshoe on her way into town for Christmas, mostly because my dad would never forgive her if she didn't at least say hi. But this is the first time we're having a proper reunion, and I throw myself into her as soon as she opens the apartment door.

"God, I missed you." I clutch her tight. "Please can we never go this long without being together again?"

"Never." She lets go of the hug to caress my stomach. "You've grown over half a human since the last time we hung out."

"Again—concerned that you work in medicine. She's a full human, just… small."

"You know what I meant." She rolls her eyes, caressing my stomach like a fortune teller with a crystal ball. "How's my future best friend? Come in and sit."

I follow her inside, tossing my duffle bag to the ground. Despite spending hours seated in the car, my spine's on fire, begging for a break from the weight of my stomach and boobs. So I sink into the plush, white couch next to her.

"She wants me to eat all the time and then gives me killer heartburn. Makes me constantly tired, but I can't sleep. Our relationship has a lot of ups and downs."

"Typical parent and child shit, then. Speaking of which, how are things with your dad? When I was there it seemed… tense." She plucks at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt.

"Still tense. Christmas was weird. We watched a lot of movies to avoid talking. And he insists that he's fine when I ask, but he's clearly super disappointed. It's like the time I got a C in grade ten math and he sighed every time he looked at me for two weeks."

I pull my legs onto the couch so I'm sitting criss-cross and slowly rub my sore knees. I've had chronic joint pain for as long as I can remember, but everything hurts even more these days.

"He wasn't this dramatic about you getting pregnant in the first place. Is it because of Red?"

I side-eye her. "Of course it's because of Chase. Dad tried talking me into setting these ridiculous rules with him—like enforcing supervised visits where he has to pass a breathalyzer first and getting child support payments in writing now. I told him neither of those would be happening over Christmas dinner, and now he's even more butthurt."

"Chase?" She prods a finger into my fleshy thigh, a deviant grin sweeping across her face. "You told me you guys were casually hooking up, not that you're falling in love."

"Because I'm not. We're friends, and he likes me calling him Chase. It's called being respectful to the father of your unborn child."

He told me he likes when I call him Chase, but I didn't need him to. The way his eyes glimmer is evidence enough. And, when I call him Chase during sex? It's like kicking him with spurs, encouraging him to push harder, give me just a bit more.

"I bet he does." Blair raises an eyebrow. "Because everyone knows calling a guy by his real name instead of his nickname means a girl's in love."

"Everyone does not know that. It's completely casual. There could be a thousand red flags, and I would look right past them because of how horny I've been lately. Not a good head space to be in if I wanted to start a relationship. He's scratching an itch because he got all possessive and said I couldn't sleep with anybody else while I'm pregnant. It's literally just sex… like, we don't even kiss."

"Ah, yes. How Vivian Ward of you. Super logical to be fine with his tongue everywhere except your mouth. That's a good place to draw a line in the sand, dummy."

"I know we need to stop sleeping together before it gets messy, but it's been so nice. Not just the sex. It's nice having somebody to eat dinner with, a warm body to sleep next to, y'know?"

"No. I don't know because I am very single. But thank you for rubbing in whatever weird not-dating thing you have going on." Her palms skirt along her thighs as she moves to stand. "Non-alcoholic sparkling juice?"

I nod and watch as she strides across the expansive eleventh floor apartment. In high school, we spent countless hours talking about sharing a place like this one, with exposed brick, impossibly high ceilings, and a small balcony so we could people-watch while drinking wine. I spent so much time daydreaming about it, I might've actually manifested this entire building.

But Blair had big goals, and I could never find a good enough reason to leave our hometown. I spent my twenties telling myself the time would come. I'd find my calling. Surely it couldn't be working at my dad's bar, one day taking over when he retires. Now I'm thirty-one, single, pregnant, and visiting my best friend in our dream apartment. Though I've been here plenty of times, it's hitting harder this trip. Because even if I found something that was worth leaving Wells Canyon for, I can't skip town now. Leaving on a whim is something my mother would do—did do.

Trying to clear the negativity like an Etch A Sketch, I turn and watch Blair pouring sparkling juice into two wine glasses. Even in matching purple loungewear, no makeup, and long brown hair up in a claw clip, she's elegant. Maybe it's due to the influencer-esque apartment with perfect natural lighting. "Enough about my weird life. What's going on with you? How was your Christmas?"

"Um…" Her face falls as she walks over and hands me a glass, her own clinking down on the glass coffee table. "So you know how I said my mom seemed off when I visited during the summer? Lots of inconsistencies in things she'd say, and she couldn't keep track of her schedule, money, car keys… I guess my parents were actually lying to me then. Back in the spring Dad got her to see a doctor, and she…" Tears pool and dampen her lashes. "Um, so turns out… she has early onset Alzheimer's."

"Fuck, Blair." I set down my glass and slide across the couch to wrap my arms around my best friend. "You sat here listening to my bullshit and waited to tell me this? Shit. How are you? How are your parents taking it?"

Jesus Christ. Blair's mom, Faye, isn't even old. I try to remember how long ago we had her fiftieth birthday party… maybe eight years ago? She's an elementary school teacher, and I know Blair's parents have been eagerly looking forward to enjoying their retirement as snowbirds in a few years.

"I don't know what to think." She exhales, relaxing into our embrace. "Neither of them seem too worked up about it. But they've also known for months, and I assume they had suspicions before then since they decided to see a doctor about it. My sister knew, too. They just didn't tell me because they ‘didn't want me to worry'."

"I'm so sorry, Blair. How… advanced is it?"

"It's already so much worse than it was last time I saw her. Back in June it was mostly little things—misplacing stuff, repeating questions, forgetting to pay bills, struggling to remember some people's names. When I was home for Christmas she asked me how university was going… Like she had completely forgotten that I've been out of school for literal years."

"Holy shit." I press a finger to my tear duct, simultaneously squeezing my best friend's shaky hand. "I'll have to go visit them. It's pretty terrible how little I see your parents considering we live in such a tiny town."

"You should." She smiles half-heartedly and picks up her glass, taking a slow sip. "I know she'll want to snuggle your belly."

"Blair, I appreciate your solidarity with the non-alcoholic juice. But please go pour some real fucking wine in that glass. You need it."

She sighs, her shoulders dropping. "Thank God. I wasn't going to drink anything while you're here, but this stuff doesn't even taste good."

She peels herself from the couch and heads back to the kitchen. Then dumps the juice down the drain and uncorks a bottle of white wine, swigging directly from the bottle as she curls up next to me.

The next day, I yawn into my coffee mug before taking a long sip, praying the caffeine will perform a miracle. As expected, I struggled to sleep without Chase… or maybe it was only because I didn't orgasm. Either way, I tossed and turned throughout the night. Half-asleep, I felt Blair leave the bed to go to the gym shortly after six o'clock this morning, and I slunk into the kitchen after the slam of her apartment door. It's quiet, calm, and too easy to pretend like this is my life. That this is my apartment—my white aesthetic couch, my elegant vintage decor, my view of… well, it's not a great view, admittedly. A grungy street peppered with miserable people travelling to work, and boring buildings taller than this one, which block the real view.

I wonder where Chase lived when he was here with his family.

I nearly blow coffee out of my nose at the image of him anywhere in this city. Cleaned up in his dark blue jeans and a plaid button-up, he could probably pass as a hipster. Nobody in Vancouver would bat an eye. But to me, he'd be hilariously out of place. I tuck my feet under me, pull a cozy blanket across my legs, and stare down at the street below.

Cass: Did you dress like a cowboy even when you lived in the city? Or did you try to fit in?

Red: I wasn't wearing chaps around town, if that's what you're asking

Red: I dressed like I do now… why?

Cass:I was trying to picture you here

Red: Just can't get me out of your mind, hey?

Cass: No, no.I was laughing at the image. Don't get it twisted.

A door creaks open long after I've finished my second cup of coffee, and Blair's roommate, Max, pads down the hallway wearing nothing but an oversized Van Halen T-shirt. Her crimson-red bob is messy from sleep and, even though it's not the right shade, I hate that seeing a red head instantly makes me think of Chase. It's nearly eight o'clock now, and there's enough daylight I'm sure he's already on horseback somewhere, in winter gear and a thick Carrhartt coat—maybe the one I used as a blanket in his truck.

"Oh my God. Good morning, baby mama!" Max shrieks, quickly veering from her path to the coffee machine to scoop me into a hug. "Look at you. Holy shit, this baby bump is so cute."

"Thank you. I finally look like I'm pregnant, instead of PCOS bloat." I say, hugging her back. "Where were you last night?"

With a coy smile, she tucks a lock of her messy hair behind her ear. "Oh, you know. Went for drinks with a pretty girl from Tinder, then went back to her place to hang out."

"Valid excuse to bail on me and Blair, then. Pregnancy has literally made me so horny, I'll skip the most important fucking plans if I think there's an orgasm in it for me."

"Too bad you won't listen to me and switch teams. We could've had a great time here last night. But I guess now you're a bit committed to straight men." She jokingly gags on the last words. "Tell me about him."

"We aren't together or anything. Just friends."

"Blair told me. She also told me he's a hot cowboy, there are benefits to your ‘just friends', and you had a raging crush on him when you were younger."

I sputter my coffee, and a few dribbles run down my chin. "Jesus Christ. Like I told her, I also had a crush on Max from A Goofy Movie back then. My taste wasn't exactly refined."

"Mmm, Roxanne, though?" She bites her bottom lip jokingly. "I'm happy for ya, babe. You're going to be a great mom and, even if he's not quite Goof material, I'm sure you picked a good one."

"He's actually turning out to be better than I anticipated."

He's so much better it scares me. Before the rodeo, before the positive pregnancy test, before the anatomy ultrasound, I thought I had him pegged. Red was a dirty, rough, arrogant cowboy with a drinking problem and too many notches on his bedpost. That was an easy box to shove him in—there are a lot of local guys in that box. The problem is, he's consistently doing things to make me question whether I've been viewing him wrong this entire time. And with him wandering untethered in my brain, popping up in my thoughts constantly, I'm in trouble.

Despite a two-hour nap, I'm exhausted by the time we get ready, have dinner, and make our way downtown. All I want to do is hop back on the train to Blair's apartment and go to bed, but I didn't visit my best friend to sleep the trip away. Especially knowing how much hard shit she's been dealing with on her own. She deserves a few hours of fun to take her mind off her mom, which is why I'm shivering in the line-up for a night club with back pain and a plastered smile.

I'm officially too old and pregnant and sober for this. At least I look cute, with full hair and makeup, and a red babydoll dress that's flowy enough to disguise the baby bump. The last thing I want is everybody staring and awkwardly whispering about the pregnant girl in the nightclub.

When we finally push through the front door, I'm blown back by the smell of alcohol, perfume, and body odour. Holding onto the contents of my stomach with the same death grip I have on Blair's arm, we weave through the bodies. I order cranberry juice—if there's an upside to being sober at a club, it's juice and pop being free—and we head deeper into the crowd.

The part I hate most about night clubs? The dicks. And I'm not talking about men with bad personalities. Evidently, the loose dress and club lighting have magically made my bump invisible. There are inescapable erections dragging across my ass when I'm simply trying to dance with Blair and Max. The last thing I want is a random man touching me in any way, and if they lay a finger on my stomach, I might have to deck them. Above all, the attention from other men is making me wish I was home with Chase more than I'd like to admit. I'd kill to feel his warm, rough hands right now.

Damnit. Quit thinking about him for one second.

"Hey, looks like your drink's almost empty. Let me help with that," a voice croons in my ear, tearing me away from thoughts of Chase. I swivel my head to see a tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven man. A hot man. A man I would normally love to accept a drink from. A smile lights his face when our eyes meet, and he cocks his head toward the bar. "What's your poison?"

"Plain cranberry juice for me tonight." I have to lean in close enough I can smell his spicy aftershave to be heard over the pounding bass.

"Being responsible tonight, eh? Hopefully not too responsible, though." He winks and places a hand on the small of my back, ushering me across the sticky club floor before I have the chance to turn him down.

Fresh drink in hand, I scrunch my nose and say something that's neither true nor necessary information to share right now. "I have a boyfriend."

"Okay?" He smirks, not giving a shit whether it's the truth or not.

"And I'm pregnant." I tap my fingernail on the side of my non-alcoholic drink, smoothing my free hand over my stomach to pull the dress taut.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Cool," he says in a tone that very much indicates it's not okay or cool. "Well, hey… have a great night and, uh, good luck."

Boyfriend. In the moment, I didn't stop to think about how it felt to say. It definitely didn't feel like I was lying… there was no anxious fidgeting, change in my voice, or racing heart.

I sidle back up between Blair and Max. "Pro tip, if you want guys to leave you alone, tell them you're pregnant."

"Or"—Max runs her fingertips down her torso—"dress like a masc lesbian."

"I like the engaged trick." Blair flashes her very large, very fake engagement ring. "Ten dollars at Claire's. My fiancé, Mark, is a wealthy plastic surgeon. He says I don't need any work done because I'm perfect."

"I like Mark." I laugh. "Does he have a brother?"

"Girl, you already have a real boyfriend who's hot and sweet. Leave the fictional ones for the rest of us."

"He's not my—"

Blair pinches my lips shut between her fingers. "Quit lying to yourself. You're hanging out all the time, you're having sex, he's spending the night. You're having a baby together. I bet he thinks of himself as your boyfriend.If you're serious about not wanting a relationship, you can't keep leading him on."

I down my entire glass of cranberry juice, dreaming of a double vodka cran. She's right, and I hate it. I can't keep doing this.

Given how fatigued I felt the entire night, it's rather rude of my body to be wide awake as I lie in bed next to Blair at quarter-to-four in the morning. When I get home, I'll tell him this needs to stop. It's already too convoluted and feelings are bound to get hurt if we continue. So we can't. But, right now, I'll ignore the tangled mess I'm in for the sake of hearing his voice.

"Hey, you." His sleepy voice answers on the second ring.

I slip out of the bedroom, carefully shutting the door so I don't wake Blair, and curl up on the couch. "Hey, I couldn't sleep."

"Oh yeah? I think we both know what you can do to fix that."

"I'm sharing a bed with Blair. And, anyway, I didn't pack a vibrator."

I naively assumed I'd be okay to go a couple days without anything in or around my vagina, given the amount of sex I've had in the last few weeks.

"Where are you right now?"

"Her couch." I pull the forest-green blanket up to my chin, peering at the dark street below.

"I'm guessing your fingers work fine since you called me. So why'd you call, Cass? Is it because you need me to help you fall asleep? You can't come without hearing my voice now?"

"Fuck off, that's not why I called you."

Why did I call him?

"It's okay to admit you're ruined for anybody else, sweetheart."

"You're an ass." I roll my eyes. The nerve of this guy to suggest he's so incredible in bed I'd never want to be with anybody else. Don't get me wrong, he's great. Best I've ever experienced, truthfully. But the last thing he needs right now is an ego stroking. "I'm not ruined, and definitely not by you, of all men."

"As much as I love how sexy you sound when you're cussing me out, I need to get ready for work. Unless… there's something you need."

"Well…"

"That's what I thought." His tone is arrogant, and I'm torn between being incredibly aroused and wanting to hang up. "All right, I'll help you."

"Tell me what you want me to do," I whisper.

"Fuck, Cass. You're incredible. Okay, uh… I want you to softly touch the skin right at the crease of your thigh, where your panties would sit. That's my favourite spot to kiss. I'd kill to be doing that right now."

I look around the room, confirming what I already know—I'm alone—then slide my free hand under the waistband of my pajama pants. A warmth washes over me from hearing him talk about his lips on my skin.

"Okay." I swallow hard, waiting with bated breath for his next instruction.

"Touch your clit. Just barely. One finger, baby. Tell me how sensitive it is." He sounds needy, and I can picture his cock strained against his boxers. I follow his direction, grazing my clit with my finger and letting out a soft whimper.

"Really fucking sensitive. How hard are you?"

"Mmm, rock fucking hard. I wish it was the tip of my cock teasing you instead of your finger. You'd be begging for me to fill you with it." I hear him shifting things around, most likely pulling out his cock and giving it a slow tug. My thighs clench together at the thought. "Tell me how good it feels to play with your clit, Cass."

"Pretty good."

"Pretty good? That's not enough, sweetheart. You deserve amazing. If I was there, I'd push your thighs apart, licking my way up each one. I'd check to see you're nice and wet for me. Knowing you, you'd be dripping after a few light flicks of my tongue."

My finger's working faster, and I shimmy my pajama pants down past my knees for easier access. I shut my eyes and sink deeper into the couch, pretending it's his work-worn hand between my legs.

"You'd be such a good little slut, eager to let me fuck you with my fingers where anybody could catch us. My fingers would be so deep inside you, thumb playing with your clit until you were squirming right off the edge of that couch—your tight pussy gripping me, wetness running down my fucking hand. I'd make sure we ruined your friend's nice couch." He moans into the phone, and I nearly fall apart. My finger becomes more frantic on my clit, until I'm so close to coming it's painful.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"

"So fucking much. I want that so bad." The truth spills out of me in a low moan. "Chase, I'm gonna come."

"Don't you fucking dare. Not until I tell you to."

Lost for words, I nod instinctively, knowing he can't see me.

"Slow down, baby. Breathe. I'm not done telling you what I'm picturing doing to you. All the ways I want to destroy that beautiful cunt of yours."

I pant. "Tell me."

"I'd bend you over the back of the couch, slip my cock between those sweet pussy lips. Slowly give you inch by inch until you're begging me to slam balls deep into you. I know you love having my thick cock filling you, pounding you so hard you feel me the next day. Right there in your best friend's living room, I'd make you wake her up with your screams. Show her what a fucking slut you secretly are. And, Cass? I would ruin you for any other guy. Just like you've ruined me."

"Fuck, Chase."

"Slide inside your pretty pussy and tell me how wet you are. Get those fingers drenched and play with your clit again."

"Soaked. I'm so wet thinking about your cock inside of me." I gulp. "I wish you were here."

Shit.I can't believe I just admitted that.

"Me too. You'll be coming on my cock again in a few days, sweetheart."

Good, he thinks I only meant it in a sexual way.

"I can't do this on the couch. Shit. I won't be able to clean it."

"Slide that sweet ass to the floor. I want you to make a fucking mess. Don't hold back." He's quiet as I do exactly what I'm told, sliding off the couch to the hardwood floor. Basking in the glow of city lights, I let my knees fall away from each other as my fingers continue exploring my pussy.

"Spread those legs wide. Now how does it feel?"

I moan hearing the wet friction over the phone as he jerks off. "So fucking good. Oh, my God."

"Taste yourself, Cass. Tell me what I'm missing out on right now."

"I… uh…" I hesitate, then slowly bring my hand to my lips and curl my tongue around my finger. The hold he has over me—making me do things I never would—is astounding. "Sweet… maybe a bit tangy?"

"You taste like you're mine, don't you?"

"Mmhm," I whimper.

"Good girl," he rasps. "Fuck your fingers until you come. And I want to hear you say my fucking name when you do."

My hand keeps moving over my clit, the pressure becoming firmer, tempo frenzied. Until I'm so fucking close the edges of my vision are going black and the arches of my feet cramp as I fight to keep from becoming jelly.

"Fuck," he says with every whimper and moan I let free. I'm trying—and failing splendidly—to stay quiet. If I wake Blair and Max up, so fucking be it.

"I wish I was there watching you come. I bet you look so goddamn sexy gushing all over your fingers."

"Chase." I barely get the word out before I come completely undone. My knees straighten with a convulsion that rocks me from head to toe. I squeeze my eyes tight, letting myself pretend his heavy breathing is right in my ear instead of over the phone.

"Fuck, Cass. I want to be coming inside of you. How big of a mess did you make, sweetheart?"

The skin from my neck up to my cheeks burns as I touch the wood floor beneath me. "Oh, God. Bad."

He lets out a huff. "If only I was there to clean you up and get you to bed."

"I wish you were." I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the couch and losing myself in a daydream of curling up against his naked body. It's quiet, save for the sounds of our slow panting and city traffic. I hold a hand to my chest, feeling the steady drum of my heart. If I try hard enough, I might be able to pretend it's his thunderous pulse against my palm. What I wouldn't give to be snuggled up next to him right now. The warmth of his flushed skin against mine, his calloused hand petting my hair, and the slowing breath as he drifts to sleep.

"How's your trip?" he asks after a few moments of silence.

"It's been fun. Clubbing is a lot less fun sober, but spending time with Blair and Max has been great. Blair and I are going baby shopping tomorrow, too."

"Max?" I swear I hear his spine stiffen through the phone.

"Short for Maxine. Calm down. You think I'd call you if I was hanging out with another guy?"

"No other guys—that's the deal, remember?"

If I rolled my eyes any harder, they'd come out of the sockets and bounce down the hallway. "No, the deal is no sex with anybody else. Quit the possessive shit. We're not a couple—I can hang out with guys."

Not the time or place to confess that I actually turned a guy down tonight by saying I had a boyfriend because I'm actually not interested in anybody else. The problem is, I don't know if I'm truly interested in Chase, either.

"We could be… a couple."

I sit straight up, a jumble of Blair's words about leading him on swimming through my orgasm-hazed brain. A couple? Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have ended this weeks ago instead of giving him the wrong idea. I knew a friends-with-benefits arrangement was stupid. Damn hormones got the better of me, and now I'm in over my head.

"Chase, I told you I didn't want to risk fucking things up between us. Honestly, things are probably too messy as it is, and I wasn't trying to make you think this could turn into something more. I'm sorry for making you think we could be… I'm not in the right headspace for a relationship with anybody. I need to focus on the fact that I'm having a baby in a few months. I know we keep saying it's the last time, but I'm serious now. I think it would be best for Little Spud if we just be friends… nothing more. No more benefits."

"Okay," he mumbles. He's lying. I know him well enough to know the tone in his voice means it's not okay, which absolutely guts me. "Just… if you ever decide you want to date somebody, consider giving me a chance? Get some sleep, Cass. Sweet dreams."

I'm crying before the line goes dead. I know we need to set boundaries to be effective co-parents. I refuse to trap him with a baby, force a relationship neither of us would've wanted if it weren't for Little Spud. Getting together only because I'm pregnant will lead to resentment, detachment, and a future broken home.

So, as painful as it is, pushing him away is better. We'll both suffer for a while, but one day we'll realize that sticking to being friends was worth it. It's what's best for Little Spud. I know I can't lead him on, and I know we can't be together. Those words play on repeat in my head, the silent mantra behind the tears.