Page 49
Becket snorts.
Frank nudges me. “You need to slow your roll. Or your bestie could be tied up when you’re ready to go. Literally.” He winks.
“Fuck off, Frank,” I slur.
Cassidy reappears with refills.
Reaching for her arm, I tease, “You’ll make sure I make it home okay, right?”
She blinks with that mesmerizing smile of hers. “Of course, sir.”
Fuck. My head tips back against my leather seat, and I close my eyes, trying not to let out a moan at her reply.
Sir.
That one word short-circuits something deep inside me.
She sets the glasses down, leaning slightly between Frank and me to reach across the table. The movement is completely innocent. Yet, my brain is not.
I can practically see up her dress to her exposed backside and tiny hot pink panties. Pink. I knew it. I do groan this time, unable to help myself.
She takes a few steps in the direction of the bar, the rhythmic sway of her hemline against the back of her thighs making me drool.
“I’d love to spank that sweet little ass until it’s the same color as your hair.”
She turns to face me, her eyes wide. And they’re not the only ones. Broadie quirks a brow, staring at me in shock. Ben and Grace’s mouths are hanging open like baby birds waiting on their next feeding.
What’s going on?
The entire table has grown quiet. Except Frank, who doesn’t even try to stifle a laugh. “Bro, you said that out loud.”
20
CASSIDY
“Are you sure about this, Cass?” Holt’s voice is steady, but I can hear the protective gears grinding in his head. I look at him, my big brother, the firefighter. He’s built a life out of running into infernos, while I, on the other hand, have been watching mine burn to the ground.
“Yes,” I say, smoothing my palms over my jeans. “It’s time.”
Ever since I offered to watch Fern’s little brother, the realization has been clawing at me. I can’t live in the shadows of the club forever. The next time Holt was in town, I’d promised myself I’d ask him to take me out for coffee. Somewhere public, but low profile.
He chuckles. “Your first field trip and this is where you want to go?”
“Baby steps,” I mutter as we pull up to a little corner cafe.
Inside, the cafe is the antithesis of the club’s velvet-and-neon vibe from a few days ago. Calling this decor neutral might be an understatement. The walls are oatmeal and the tables are light wood. Every piece of furniture in here looks like it was plucked straight from an IKEA catalog. It’s safe, very generic. And as I sit here, I realize I’m not nearly as frightened as I expected to be. However, a bitter thought invades my mind.
Of course you aren’t. You have a six-foot-plus first responder and self-defense trainer sitting across from you, silly girl.
So much for giving myself a pat on the back for a job well done. But I have to face the facts. If I were here alone, the chime of the door would probably make me jump out of my skin.
“I can’t believe you missed the seventies party the other night,” I say, leaning over my latte to change the direction of my thoughts. “The club looked incredible. Gianni went all out.”
Holt groans. “God, I wanted to be there. But I was stuck on shift at the station. Think he’ll do it again next year? It sounded like a great time.”
“I hope so. Everyone there seemed to have a blast.” My mind immediately races back to Max. He might’ve had a little too much fun. He was talking nonsense.
Our interaction keeps replaying on a loop I can’t shut off. He had to be drunk. The scotch, the late hour, the relaxed atmosphere of the club surrounded by his friends. He’s normally so composed, in control. It’s the only explanation for the things he said. And I’d heard him loud and clear.
