13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I could have gone to Gas Lamp. I could have stared at the entrance of the establishment from my car, assessing its security from the outside. I could have gone inside and found her, either watching her from afar or alerting her to my presence, biting my tongue regarding any impending jealous thoughts at the sight of her in action. And I desperately wanted to make the last thought a reality. With the way that Cassie had willingly lowered her usual defensive walls, her forever insistence that she could take care of herself, and my desire to maintain and strengthen her trust in me, though, I forced myself to drive in the opposite direction and simply returned to her house.

It wasn't lost on me that I was chasing her. I was, somehow, always chasing her. Hours after we had just met, I was racing to her house. Even when I was trying to avoid whatever connection we had, the stars had aligned and forced me to show up at Gas Lamp while she was working. The dominoes of whatever our relationship was began to fall after that, and I went after her again when Colton inevitably returned. And, here I was, pedal to the metal down the same bumpy, snow-covered road that led to her home…chasing her. She wouldn't even be there for several more hours, and I was still chasing her because it felt like I could do no less.

Bones feeling as though they were trying to jump through my skin, I put my nervous energy to good use and searched for a shovel to clear her front porch of snow. It was easy enough to find—kept within a shed on the backside of her house that stored various other tools—and I was cursing that fact as the task at hand only took about fifteen minutes. I paced the kitchen afterward, body and mind restless, and upon realizing that it was only just past ten o'clock, I took it upon myself to light a fire. I returned to the shed to find a stack of wood kept beneath a blue tarp. There were smaller logs beside her fireplace, but they would burn quickly, and I knew that I was far from sleep. What was under the tarp was thick—far thicker than the pieces intended to burn inside—and I would have been remiss to immediately toss them in her fireplace.

So… I found an axe in the shed, and what had begun as an honest intention to replenish her chopped stack turned into an exertion that was needed. I swung at the logs for far longer than necessary and ended up sweaty with an absolute pile of splintered wood, most of which inevitably returning to its original location beneath the tarp. But…my anxiety that had dwindled with strenuous effects had returned full force. With exhaustion from my mental state and the exertion of chopping wood, I should have been primed to snooze away just as the fire managed to catch and crackle. However, as expected, sleep was evading me. I was simply watching the flames contort and flicker while I waited for her call.

The fire eventually reduced to embers, and two o'clock came and went.

And 2:15.

And 2:45.

The GPS location that she promised to share with me was shining bright on my phone, signifying that the last trace of her was at Gas Lamp, and my feet were pounding the floor—through the kitchen, to the fireplace, down the hallway, and back. By the time three o'clock came around, I was standing next to her couch, frantically tapping her name under Recent Calls to ensure that she was alright. I placed my cell against my ear, and there was no subsequent ringing. All that came through the speaker was Cassie nearly singing:

"Hi, you've reached Cassie! Sorry I missed ya. Here comes the beep. "

The high-pitched tone sounded, indicating that my voicemail was being recorded, and I should have just hung up…but because my pulse was palpitating in my throat, I bit out in a shaking voice:

"You said you'd call when you got off. Your shift ended at two. I'm waiting for you at your house, and you're not here. Where the fuck are you?!" There was no response, of course, but I still paused as if she were listening on the other end of the line. I exhaled heavily and added, "If you aren't here in fifteen minutes, I'm coming to find you, and I swear to God, Cas, if you're totally fine and just chatting with your work friends after hours or some shit, I'm going to kill you myself!"

The last few words came out in a growl. I nearly smacked the glass face of my phone to end the call, and just when I was sliding it back into my pocket, her front door behind me was creaking open. I whipped around to see her standing in her doorway, eyeing me in curiosity. Dressed exactly as she was when she left with her maroon overcoat protecting her from the cold and black backpack slung over her right shoulder, she cocked her head to the side and quietly asked:

"What are you doing here? Did ya just never leave?"

I didn't answer her question—I just stomped in her direction. Her gaze widened as she took in my anxious state, and I threw my arms around her shoulders before the feeling of relief was even able to sink in. Cassie took a single step backward to steady herself, I buried my nose in her hair, my over-filled lungs deflated as I let out a loud breath, and her arms slowly wrapped around my waist.

"Fuck, you scared me," I whispered into her neck. "What happened to calling?"

"Phone died," she apologetically mumbled. "Breath, Jay, shit."

"Should I, um… go?"

A second woman's meek voice sounded from behind Cassie, and I lifted my head to see her illuminated beneath the porch light. Though I was positive that we had never met before, there was something about her that screamed familiarity. She wore all black, the remainder of her a stark opposite with her skin naturally pale and almost powder-like complexion, and her long hair was nearly white. Her eyes—large, and the irises so light in color that I was sure they could reflect an image like a mirror—were bouncing across my embrace on Cassie hesitantly. Cassie and I had spoken to each other so quietly before that I was certain she hadn't heard a word, but she still appeared to deduce that she had interrupted an important moment when she stated:

"I'll go. "

Our hold on each other loosened, and Cassie lifted a hand to pat the left side of my chest, shooting me a quick, questioning glance that wordlessly asked if I was alright. I nodded rapidly in response, and her palm fell away as she spoke over her shoulder:

"You're fine, Sky."

"I—are you sure? I don't want to be in the way—"

She spun on her heel, sweetly chastising, "You're fine, Skylar," and then turned right back around to walk across the threshold.

I took a step backward to allow her inside, and Cassie's touch briefly found my waist as she casually waved for Skylar to follow her. She did, though the timid expression on her face remained as she walked past us and further into the living area, and Cassie shoved her front door shut.

"Um…hi." I waggled my fingers at Skylar. "I'm James."

Skylar smiled shyly. "Sky. Erm—sorry I barged in."

Cassie rolled her eyes. "You didn't barge, Sky. I invited you over. You're physically incapable of barging." She looked back at me. "Sorry I didn't call. The battery on my phone's shot…gotta get a car charger or something. Was just gonna charge it and call you, but," she gestured at me grandly, "you're here."

"I am," I unnecessarily concurred .

Our eyes locked. I saw Skylar's head moving back and forth between us in my peripheral vision, and she remarked, "I can really just go, I—"

Cassie turned her head to place her gaze on her, replying in an admonishment that came across in a pleasant tone, "You don't have a car." Skylar's lips pressed together tightly as she looked to the floor, and Cassie explained to me, "Sky works with me at Gas Lamp—I was giving her a ride home since her car wouldn't start, and her bathroom's, ah, all screwed up. Um—flooded. She's staying here tonight."

I narrowed my eyes at Cassie's stammering, but Skylar appeared to be too lost in apologizing over the inconvenience to notice that it was unlike Cassie to behave as such.

"I don't know how that happened," Skylar cringed. "It was completely fine when I left to go to work."

"Yeah, well—bathrooms can be tricky. Chalk it up to old pipes," Cassie dismissively remarked. "I'm gonna go get ready for bed. I'm beat," she murmured. "Jay…a word?" She quickly called over her shoulder as she walked, "Blankets are in the basket by the couch, Sky—make yourself comfortable."

I watched Cassie move to the hallway, and as she disappeared into it, I stated to Skylar without looking her way, "Ah… be right back."

I walked straight to her bedroom, allowed myself in, and saw Cassie sitting on her bed with her coat beside her. The pocket door to the right of her that led to the small master bath was slid halfway into the wall, the light illuminating the tile at her feet. To my surprise, she was looking at me with a hesitant expression. I felt my head shake in mild confusion, but before I could ask her what was wrong, she blurted out:

"I fucked up Sky's bathroom."

I gently replied, "What?"

"I fucked up. Her bathroom. James." Her irritated tone made me finally conclude that the situation was far from dire. My previous anxiety abated, and I smirked as she asked, "The hell do you mean what?"

I chuckled out, "What'd you do?"

She whispered, "Get in here. Close the door."

I did as she asked and pulled the door shut. Crossing my arms, I suggested:

"Let's back up a few steps… that's why it took you so long to get home?"

Cassie drew a long breath through her nose, letting it out of her mouth as she said, "I was trying to convince Sky to just stay over here tonight since she needed a ride home, anyway…she wasn't really listening. I had no choice. "

"You messed with her bathroom on purpose?" I asked with a single raised a single eyebrow, and she nodded. "You missing out on precious girl time or what?"

"No," she snapped. "I am not missing out on girl time. Sky's apartment has, like, no security. The girl barely remembers to lock her door at night. I just…" Cassie peered to the floor. "I don't—we don't know anything, and I still stand by that. Work was…fine. Totally fine. Absolutely unsuspicious. But…"

Her words faded off, her sentence remaining unfinished as she glanced left and right as if she were searching for a sign, but her point was ever clear—she was concerned.

I sighed. "You're worried about her?"

"Uh huh." Her dark gaze landed back on me, and she defeatedly threw her hands up only to place them in her lap, continuing with, "She's my friend. I feel like I have to say… something. I can't have her just going on with her life having zero guard up, but I don't—I don't know what to tell her, Jay. She's bound to ask questions, right?" Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, Cassie groaned, "I'm at a fuckin' loss here."

Seeing her so bothered yanked at my heartstrings, and I moved to sit next to her on the mattress. I lowered myself onto it slowly, the padding plush beneath me, and I looked at her as I softly noted :

"Well…she's here for the night and she has no means of leaving. You bought some time to think, so that's a plus."

Her pretty face turned to me, and she let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

She voiced in a timid rasp, "I had to shove a hand towel down her toilet…flushed it until it overflowed."

"Cassie."

It came out as an adoring admonish, and her lips quirked up.

"I may have also yanked on her showerhead until it started to leak for good measure."

"Very creative," I cooed. "I would have paid to see that."

Her smile grew and then faded, and she muttered, "What the hell am I supposed to tell her?"

I shrugged. "We know a dude who thinks Gas Lamp could be shady, but we have no idea about that for sure, so just be alert?"

"And then she asks, ‘Shady? How shady? How do you know? Who is this guy? How can you trust him? Shouldn't we just tell the police?'" The last question was one that particularly struck me because speaking with the police when the concerns regarding Gas Lamp were interconnected with Colton seemed to be a poor choice. With him being missing and having just helped us remove potential murder evidence, I truthfully didn't want to be anywhere near the police. Cassie looked to share the same sentiment, and she murmured, "Sky's more of a go-with-the-flow type of girl, but…no way she wouldn't question that. And I—I don't think we should be answering questions right now."

"Yeah, me either," I returned in an exhale. "Well…you've got the night to mull it over, at least?"

Cassie nodded, paused for a moment, and then asked quietly, "Are you staying?"

I knew that question was coming, but it still caused my heart to flinch in my chest. I reveled in it, for it was yet another obvious reminder that things had shifted between us. It wasn't a dismissive, ‘Okay, you can go home, now,' or, ‘Made it home, Jay. I'll lock up behind you. See ya later.' It was neither an invitation nor a demand. It was asking what I wanted despite the fact that I knew. I knew that she knew that I wasn't intending on leaving her home—and that sentence comforted me more than anything because if she didn't want me here, she would have sent me packing the moment that she saw my face.

She wanted me here— welcomed me here—and that meant far more to me than any touch of our lips or brazen wandering of our hands.

"Yes," I replied.

"'Kay." Cassie smiled softly. "I was gonna head back out and do it myself, but, um…do you mind locking up for me? Tell Sky I'll just see her in the morning. I don't really think she's up for socializing right now, anyway."

"Since it's past three in the morning?" I questioned lightly.

Her smile grew. "Yuh huh."

"I'll lock up," I confirmed. "Be back."

I was up and ambling to go about the task at hand by the time she quietly called out, "Thank you," and I casually waved it away without a look back.

Skylar's head peeked over the couch when I exited the hallway, her expression pinching together as she remarked:

"I feel like I'm interrupting something. Am I interrupting something? I'm like five minutes away from calling an Uber."

"Call an Uber to bring you back to your apartment with the flooded bathroom that Cas just told me about?" I quipped. "Don't be silly." I moved past where she sat cross-legged on the center cushion, noting to myself that she had yet to grab the blanket that Cassie had mentioned. "And no—you're not interrupting anything. Cas didn't even know I was here."

"No?" Skylar questioned. "She mentioned you."

The butterfly infestation in my gut grew .

I kept my focus on the front door, locking it and then grabbing the chair to its right, similar to how Cassie had when I was here previously.

"Did she?"

She hummed in acknowledgment. "Something about how you've been around, erm …what are you doing?"

I shoved the back of the chair beneath the knob, ensured it was jammed tightly into place, and offhandedly said, "Oh, the lock on this door's shit—a good, strong breeze'll blow it open."

It was a terrible lie considering that one of the locks was a deadbolt, and she should have questioned it much like Cassie had anticipated with the mention of anything awry with Gas Lamp, but she did nothing of the sort. I turned to see Skylar nodding with what seemed to be an appreciative grin. There was no concern. No silent interrogation. Not a trace of unease in her light eyes…and the descriptor gullible came to mind. Nice, timid, and gullible—and though I had only met her minutes ago, I could thoroughly see why Cassie was wanting to protect her. Skylar covered her mouth as she yawned, and I took it as my cue to announce:

"Ah, I can get out of your hair…Cas is going to bed, too, I think." I pointed at her. "You like pancakes?"

She shrugged. "I have nothing against them. "

"When we're all up," I stated. "Pancakes. I'll cook. Don't let Cas cook for you. Her pancakes are shit."

Skylar laughed. "Sounds good. Night."

I threw her a wave. "Night."

I returned to the hallway, willing the absolute horde of butterflies in my stomach to abate, and told myself that this wasn't a big deal. I was casual. Casual and walking into Cassie's bedroom, where I was intending to sleep for the second time. Everything was fine— and it needed to be. I needed to keep whatever wits I had about me lest Cassie's defensive walls snapped back up, and the trust that she had seemingly placed in me came crashing down.

This is fine.

Totally fine.

Upon closing the door to her bedroom, the creaking of water pipes and telltale splashing against a plastic curtain reached my ears, and my head snapped to her bathroom door, which was now slid mostly shut. A tiny sliver of light peeked through, and though I wasn't attempting to examine what was occurring beyond the space, I still saw it.

Her, I mean.

There was nothing distinguishing about the sight. It was simply a flash of her bare flesh as she moved from one side of the bathroom to the other. I hadn't, by any means, seen her naked body—nor was I looking for her naked body—but it still made my entire being flinch, and the notion of playing it fucking cool was obliterated from my brain in a quick poof!

I blinked several times, my vision turning fuzzy as I cocked my head and stared at absolutely nothing. Water audibly dripped to the floor in louder, weighted splashes—no doubt due to the rivulets that were now rolling off of her body. A humid waft of something I could only describe as vanilla spice made its way into my nose, my eyes went heavy, I unlocked my knees to take the few steps to the door, and I rolled it aside enough to poke my head through the opening.

"Cas?"

The master bath was white and small—room enough for a toilet to the left, a sink and small vanity smack directly in front of the door, and a shower to the right with an ivory curtain.

"Ah, you found me," she spoke from behind the fabric with the slightest of humor in her voice that made me bite my lower lip as I smiled.

"That I did," I replied.

"House all locked up?"

"Mhm."

"Is Sky good? "

"On the couch where you left her last."

"Mmm. Good. You comin' in?"

No, no—surely, I hallucinated that.

"Huh?"

Cassie peeked around the curtain, her face fresh— clean— and her cheeks flushed from heat. Her hair slicked back and entirely wet, she was looking at me with a wide grin.

"Come on—shower with me?"

Yes, ma'am.

I nodded enthusiastically, clawing at the back of my shirt and the remainder of my clothing to pull them off with haste. Cassie watched me for a moment and then chuckled as she pulled the curtain back to its original position.

She was facing away as I stepped in, her head angled up to the showerhead as water rained to her chest and rolled down her slight curves. It was clear where the stream had already traced over her as I eyed the long, pink, heated streak of her skin. It was just wide enough to nestle between her shoulder blades, running from the base of her neck to the dimples on her lower back. I placed my hands on either side of it, flexing my fingers into her shoulders, and dropped my head to touch my mouth to her spine. Cassie hummed happily as my lips damn near burned, and I murmured :

"The water's scalding you."

She quietly noted, "I like it hot."

I trailed my hands down to her hips. "I see that."

Cassie rested her head back against me, rolling it to the right against my clavicle, and I wrapped my arms around her waist to fully embrace her from behind. As expected, her body was radiating heat, and I fell into the flames, softly kissing her neck that she had stretched and left exposed before grazing my nose along her jawline.

In the most casual of motions—as if she had done the act several times before—Cassie grabbed my right wrist and brought it up to her lips, nipping the inked skin along my pulse point. I could hear her smile rather than see it as she made a contented noise, and she held my arm to her eye level as her fingers lazily traced along the dark marks. She eventually lowered it back to place my hand on the swell of her hip, but she continued tracing along the ink on my right arm as if she had memorized the lines.

"Do your tattoos mean anything?"

It was a simple, everyday question, and I relished in it.

I released my grip on her to extend my arms, looking as if I had forgotten about them. The marks on my upper half were all in a dark, monochromatic color scheme. The designs were mostly abstract, ranging from looking as though someone had taken a paintbrush and carefully dragged it across my skin in calculated strokes to flinging the same bristles at my body to create a harsh splatter. There were no letters…nor were there depictions of Latin or another language that I would have to translate for those who asked.

I embraced her once more, finishing my thoughts aloud with, "Nah. Just art."

Cassie nodded, her head lolling against my shoulder as she noted, "The artist made them look messy."

The way she said it was complimentary, and her tone made me smile softly.

"Messy art," I told her.

"James-the-planner is covered in messy art… I like that."

I chuckled into her neck because, somehow, she just… got it. It was messy. The ink had the outward appearance of a madman who had thrown paint at a canvas and then haphazardly tried to make sense of it all, but, in reality, it took dozens of hours and a talented artist to sink it into my skin. I always thought that it was somehow beautiful that what was covering my arms from shoulder to wrist—and similarly on my thighs, though those were in more vibrant colors—was a visual contradiction. I thoroughly enjoyed the thought of being a canvas for something that appeared to be messy when my life was typically so well thought out.

Cassie's speaking on my tattoos fell to the wayside, then, and it was pleasant. Far more than pleasant. The steam gathered and relaxed my muscles, we sank into the feel of each other, and it was just… right.

I had wondered if joining Cassie in the shower was to be a hot and heavy, lustrous, heavy-petting affair. I had no qualms if it wasn't, of course, but with her invitation and prior devilish smile, I had, naturally, expected it. I had thought that we would immediately explore each other's bodies to a further extent with quick, insistent, greedy grasps, the steam along with our actions stripping our breath away and leaving us spent. And it wasn't that being with her here, naked and wet, wasn't alluring in all definitions of the word. It was…but there was a sensual sort of care that hung heavy in the mist and shifted the aura of the room the moment that we touched. I felt it in the way that she relaxed into my arms—in the way that she reached up to brush the side of my face while I nuzzled her cheek—in the way that she twisted her neck to look into my eyes, holding my gaze for the longest of moments as we listened to the deafening sound of the water splashing against the tile.

Cassie was the one to close the distance between us, kissing me with a gentle purpose. With slow movements that turned my bones to jelly. With sweet, quiet, appreciative noises that forced my grip on her to tighten. She reached for my right hand with hers again, guiding it away from her hip and down to between her legs.

"Just like this?" she whispered.

The water cascaded down her chest, over her arm and mine, onto our hands where they met at the apex of her thighs, and mixed with the slickness of her that covered my fingers. Her breath hitched as I slowly moved with her touch, over her pussy, up to her clit in a circle, and back.

No… hot and heavy wasn't the descriptor that I would use for this. Hot and heavy, to me, meant pinning each other against walls—giving into depravity and all things dirty—gasping for breath and shrieking to whatever God above whilst seeking an explosive release.

Hot and heavy had its time and place…and this was not it.

This was…comfort. Passion. Ardency.

Unlike all things hot and heavy, pleasure wasn't the only reason for our actions. It was an impending outcome, sure—a glorious side effect—but it wasn't what was driving us forward. The sole purpose was connection. I could see it in her eyes—feel it when she sighed against me—taste it on her tongue.

And, fuck, it was heady .

I returned her hushed tone, "Show me how you want it."

"Yes."

Following her languid motions, I went down, up, and around; down, up, and around. I kissed her with the same patience—the same delicious tempo, at certain times with an open mouth on hers and others with a lazy lick along her neck when her head would fall back on my shoulder. My erection was hard against her backside by the time she was ushering my fingers inside of her, and I couldn't help but moan along with her as I moved in and out.

"You like it like this?" I crooned into her ear as her head lolled back.

"Yes," she breathed.

I nipped at the space between her shoulder and her neck, and she gasped.

"Just like this?" I asked.

"More."

"Mmm." I placed my lips against the area that I had bitten, her sweat caused by the heat around us salty on my tastebuds. "Faster? Harder?" My voice deepened. "Both?"

"No," she panted, and I slowed my movements to a crawl. "I want—I want you."

I stilled completely, and Cassie turned to seal her mouth on mine, kissing me with fervor as she hummed a noise that could only mean please.

Pulling away from her, I inquired, "Are you on any—"

"Covered. IUD," she answered my question before I was able to finish it. "Are you…"

"Clean?" I presumed.

"Yes."

I rapidly replied, "Yeah, wouldn't have let you go down on me yesterday if I wasn't—you?"

"Yes—" Her response was cut off with a sharp inhale as I undulated my fingers once more, her head falling back against me as she moaned a loud, long, low, "Jaaamesss."

"Fuck," I groaned quietly into her hair. "Look at me." She rolled her head, our eyes locked, and I crashed my lips to hers before saying, "I fucking love how you sound right now, but your friend is on the couch, and you're echoing."

In an exhale, she said, "I don't care."

"I do," I told her. "Even if it's just your friend, those noises are mine to hear." I continued pumping my fingers in and out, and she nodded quickly, her mewls obediently turning quieter. I whispered approvingly, "Mine to hear. That's my girl."

"Your girl," she repeated my words. "Yes."

Goddamn .

I had been considering leading her back to the bedroom because it felt appropriate. Because I wanted her between the sheets. Because a stereotypically accepted area for metaphorically melding your soul to another's was a mattress. With her reiteration of my possessiveness having gone off like a flashbang, the idea of conventionally bedding her was swept away, and I was left blind to it all, for I wanted her here.

Right here in the humid air that was swirling amongst our palpable connection.

I removed my fingers from her gently as I murmured:

"In here? Like this?"

Her back arched, her ass rubbing against me in a way that made me suck in a breath through my teeth.

"Yes."

Cassie's response came out as a plea as she shifted ever-so-slightly to bend at her hips, arms outstretched to the tile at her front to steady herself. The shower rained down between us, over my chest in hot streams and falling to her backside. I followed the droplets' path, gliding one hand over her spine and the other down to my cock to position myself against her, and just barely pushed inside.

"Ah, fuck," I groaned at the feel of her—wet, hot, and tight—and leaned forward to wrap around her once more .

Reaching to where we met between her legs with one hand, I gripped her jaw with the other to angle her lips to mine, drank her in, and we both let out a quiet, "Yes," as I slowly buried myself. Her pitch went high as I moved, whimpering a combination of my name and words that I couldn't comprehend. The water was at my scalp, soaking my hair and dripping down my face—onto hers—caressing the front of her body.

"I…I…" Cassie stammered with each breath, and I cajoled:

"Talk to me."

"Feels so good," she whispered. "I won't last."

I squeezed my grasp on her jaw, quickening my pace, and spoke against her mouth, "I'm right there with you." The splashing of the water that had found itself between our bodies was rhythmic, occurring in time with each thrust, gaining in speed and volume. "Shit."

My voice turned hoarse as the pleasure coiled within me, and Cassie hungrily kissed me with an open mouth. She took one of her hands from the wall and tangled it in my hair, fisting it tightly, and I moaned on her tongue.

"Like that," she softly cried as my pace became frantic. "Baby… fuck."

Baby.

Baby .

The endearment repeated over in my mind, snatching my soul and leaving me breathless.

"Call me that again," I begged.

Her legs grew unsteady, wobbling beneath her. "You're going to— shit— baby, you're going to make me come."

Ready to snap, I pounded into her, biting at her neck, holding her close by her hair just as she had me, and I groaned into her ear, "Come for me." She silenced her scream by sinking her teeth into me in turn—on my left, just below my facial hair—and I felt her pulsing squeezes on my cock when her knees went weak. I kept her upright with the hold I had between her legs, and as I raced toward my own release, I praised, "That's my fucking girl."

Her returning, "Yes," was slurred and weak, but it shot through me nonetheless, and I was gone.

Obliterated.

Exploding inside of her with a final thrust and a gritty moan into her neck, I was forced to let my grip on her hair go to steady myself with a smack of my palm on the wall.

Our exhausted breaths rose above the water as we came down. We stood up straight. Cassie turned in my arms, lazily lacing hers around my neck, and kissed me deeply. We rotated so I was fully beneath the shower, I tilted my head back to allow the water to run through my hair, and, without saying a word, Cassie reached to the inset shelf on her right that I hadn't even noticed previously. Grabbing a circular, squat, brown bottle that I assumed was shower gel, she squirted a generous amount into her left palm, returned it to the shelf, and rubbed her hands together to create a lather.

The vanilla scent swarmed me as she placed her hands on my chest. I felt my lips pull up into a deliriously contented smile, and she cleaned me slowly. She took great care, lingering especially over my arms and tracing the outlines of my tattoos, and stopped completely when she knelt before me and rubbed at the color on my thighs. I ushered her back upward with a gentle touch to her face, she returned to me, and between light brushes of our lips, I asked if I could return the gesture and wash her, as well.

Her nose skimmed mine as she shook her head, mentioning that she had already done so before I joined her, and upon the remark that her skin was turning pruny, we made a leisurely descent for the bedroom.

We sufficiently dried and dressed ourselves, me in the undergarments I had kicked to the floor and Cassie in just a pair of navy boyshorts that I more than approved of. I used her toothbrush. We had a brief, altogether playful argument regarding her belief that I needed to apply lotion to slow the formation of worry wrinkles on my forehead. I inevitably allowed her to smooth said moisturizer over my face.

It was beautifully comfortable, and the gratified upturn of my lips remained as I lay with her under the sheets. We rested face to face, her eyes closed as I toyed with her damp hair, running my fingers through the strands softly as if I were searching for tangles to tame.

Because I knew that she was yet to be asleep and the thought had crossed my mind, I murmured:

"I have a confession to make."

Her right eyebrow flickered upward for a split second, but she seemed entirely unconcerned with her eyelids still shut as she responded, "Mmm?"

"I may have left you a…rather uncouth voicemail."

Cassie finally looked at me, amused. "Did you now?"

"Mhm."

"And what, exactly, was uncouth?"

My hand had stroked to the ends of her hair, and I started again by her temple. "Can I preface with the fact that I left it while I was concerned that you had gone missing?"

A corner of her mouth pulled up in sympathy. "Yes, you can. Go on."

I drew in a long breath, and then let it out as I admitted with an upward inflection, "I was telling you that I was at your house? "

"Mmm."

"And talking about how you hadn't called."

"Right."

"And that your shift had ended a while ago."

"That's all ringing a bell."

"And that if you didn't get home within fifteen minutes, I'd come to find you." I paused, squeezing my eyes shut as I ended with, "And that if you weren't actually in danger, I'd kill you myself."

Upon repeating it, the words sounded… bad. Controlling, even. I opened one of my eyes to peek at her reaction, and Cassie giggled in a girlish fashion that made all my concerns fly right out of the room, through the hallway, past Skylar, beyond the chair that was forcefully shoved underneath her front door's knob, and into the abyss.

"Oh, that's so unlike you," she sarcastically sighed as she caught her breath. "So unlike you to be rude and snappy when you're stressed."

"Am I known to be rude and snappy when I'm stressed?" I repeated her words back to her.

"Mhm." Her gaze sparkled as she said, "That's James Turner energy, for sure."

I scoffed, "James Turner energy?"

"Oh, yeah." Cassie quipped, "Even if I had gone missing, I have a feeling you'd have shown up wherever I was in about ten seconds flat, though…you do tend to show up, don't you?"

What had meant to be a casual, offhanded joke hit me square in the chest. My delight in our banter was whisked away, and my swallow through the lump in my throat was audible.

"That's not funny, Cas. If you disappeared, I'd lose my goddamn mind."

I said it in a quiet mutter that made her tense, and when I looked into her eyes, I no longer found any trace of humor in them.

She whispered, "Sorry."

I blew out a rough breath through my nose. "'S'okay…you're right." I continued to brush through her hair with my fingertips. I murmured, "I'd find you, Darlin'."

The name for her had simply waltzed out of my mouth. I hadn't meant to say it—had never internally tested the word in my thoughts—but I uttered it, anyway. And there was no awkwardness. No teasing, questioning, ‘Oh, I'm Darlin'?' There was only her soft exhale before she leaned forward to kiss me gently, and we plummeted into our familiar magnesis.