Chapter Twenty-Two
Cassidy
Inspired by the rustic Colorado landscape, I curl up on the front seat and play possum the second we leave the museum. I need time to recover the thoughts Luke’s tongue knocked out of my head.
I kissed him. Or he kissed me. Both. I felt the hard press of his body as he pinned me against the car, and he was more than eager.
Now what? What am I supposed to do or say? I’m in the basin of one of those old washing machines, all my thoughts and emotions swirling.
Normally I’d phone a friend, but I can’t very well whip out the cell and dial up Berkeley to get her advice while Luke is sitting next to me, totally unruffled.
He clearly isn’t as affected as I am. If he was looking for a hookup, he wouldn’t have so delicately stated, “I won’t stop driving unless I pass out at the wheel,” when I asked him what the plan was tonight. That was his opening, and he didn’t take it.
And if he doesn’t even want to touch me again, he surely isn’t interested in more. Definitely not a relationship past this trip.
I almost laugh at the thought. Mostly that it’s even a thought that crossed my mind, because what the hell would a guy like Luke want with me long term? His 401k probably has its own 403b. He’s a guy with health insurance, a ten-year plan, and a routine. I don’t even know what I’ll be doing in two weeks. Berkeley and I bought a ticket to Ireland four months ago, then called back to say it was identity theft because we realized how financially irresponsible it would be to go to Ireland when student loans exist.
I work multiple jobs because the thought of a desk job makes me panic—but a string of jobs does not a career make. I’m coming to terms with what that means for my life, but it doesn’t mean he ever would. Luke is successful and driven.
I’m not his type.
This is not a big deal. So we kissed. It was just one time. That’s all it needs to be.
And yet the thought of touching him again, taking it further, sends a burst of heat through my body. It’s not like I can un-feel his demanding mouth on mine, un-hear the deep sound he made when I bit his lip.
My sentimental heart shudders in my chest. I’ve never been good at just kissing.
He’s so many things I could really fall for if I let myself. Generous, dependable, observant. Good. He reeks of goodness, perhaps to a fault.
Not to mention he’s devastating on my poor, unassuming eyeballs. They didn’t ask for dirty-blond Adonis. They weren’t ready for Luke in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. They were unprepared for the raw sexuality of eye contact as he stared me down while stroking my bottom lip.
I take a slow, steadying breath. It calms my body 0 percent.
What Luke and I did back there was already more than a kiss to me. If we did it again, let alone took it further, even once, and he got back to California and discarded me like a road trip souvenir…
I shake off the thought. Not worth the pain.
Berkeley’s been trying to convert me to a no-strings-attached girl since my breakup with Adam left me almost non-verbal for weeks. I was way more into him than he was me, as proven by the fact that he was dating other people the entire time I thought we were exclusive. And considering he was married within a year after our breakup, it’s pretty clear that I was the problem. The roadblock to his happily ever after. Not good enough for a monogamous commitment.
Unfortunately for my thirsty libido, Berkeley has been unsuccessful in this no-strings-attached endeavor.
And it’s not like I have a ton of experience trying, either. College was more of me caring more about men than they did about me. High school dating was a different kind of disaster.
Life would be easier if I could bang people out of my system and move on.
But I can’t. And men never want more.
The faster we get to California, the sooner the end comes for me and Luke. I need to set boundaries with myself. Wrap my body and my heart in do not cross tape.
In the meantime, I’ll play it cool. We absolutely don’t need to talk about the kiss.
…
Somewhere outside of Denver, after the sun has set and I’ve given up on fake sleeping, I crack. “Penny for your thoughts?”
He maintains his grandpa grip on the steering wheel. Utterly unfazed. “I was thinking about barbeque. Saw a sign for a place off the next exit. We should probably get a hot meal before it’s too late.”
“Very practical. And the kiss?”
The car lurches, like his foot fell off the brake.
So much for playing it cool.
“Never mind.” I tap the dashboard thermometer. “Forty freaking degrees.” I rescue the sweatshirt from the back seat and tug it on.
And take my sweet time resurfacing.
“Cass…”
His tone has all the makings of let her down easy.
Which is more than fine. I had already decided this was not going to happen. The sinking disappointment in my body is just hunger in disguise. “We’ll eat, and then we’ll talk. You like brisket?”
He sighs. “Yes, actually. Maybe we could share? Most smokehouses usually sell by the pound.”
“Oh. I don’t like brisket.”
“You asked about brisket, specifically.”
“Because I hate it.”
I should’ve stayed fake-asleep and spared us both this misery.
He slows to the required twenty-five miles per hour off the exit as my skin crawls.
He pulls into an unpaved parking lot in front of a place called Birdie’s Barbeque, claims a spot in the back row, and throws the car in park.
Here we are.
I silently vow to make this dinner as fast and painless as possible. In and out, and then more sleeping. Hopefully the real kind.
As I move for the car door, his hand closes around mine. The contact zips through me. I glance up from his hold, and we lock eyes.
“I give my mother and sister two grand a month for bills, which I earn at a workplace where I spend almost all my waking hours—employed by a man I refuse to let down or quit on.”
His words fall out like a confession, gaining steam. I relax into my seat.
“Sometimes my mother goes on benders, goes missing, and winds up in a hospital or four towns over, stranded. She doesn’t want to be found. Or controlled. But diabetics don’t get to just drink themselves into a stupor without serious ramifications.
“And on top of that, and her COPD, which is getting worse due to her continued smoking, she’s bipolar and refuses to take medication for it. Which means we—me, my sister, and her kids—never know which Marcie we’re going to get on a given day.”
“Oh, Luke.” I twist my wrist to grab his hand and squeeze it tight. “That’s so hard.”
“Long story short, I don’t do relationships, Cassidy. It’s not a reflection of my feelings. It’s that I don’t start things I can’t see through or give my full attention to. My last and only real serious relationship ended for this exact reason. With the way my life is, I couldn’t give her what she wanted. My family was a constant issue. And they have to come first because they don’t have anyone else.”
His words carve a hole in my chest. All this time riding with him and I had no idea the weight he was carrying.
So much of Luke’s behavior makes sense now.
Every single impressive thing about this man—his career focus, his responsible tendencies, his caring nature—were born of struggle and strife. They’re essential to survival for him and his family.
My heart breaks clean in half. I want to hand him the piece that’s filled with care and respect and admiration and tuck the other half away where he can’t see it so my feelings don’t weigh on him.
“I get it,” I whisper. “I mean—not fully, because I can’t pretend to understand the pressure of your responsibilities. But don’t add me to the list of things you worry about. Please. I don’t think I could stand to make this drive with you if I knew you were worrying about me, too. I’m not asking anything from you.”
His hand finds my shoulder. First, it’s a gentle squeeze, like we’re old pals. But he lingers, his palm sliding to the crook of my neck, warm against my skin.
And then it’s moving up and down, a soothing circuit that makes me want to lean into his touch. We’re so close with just the center console between us I’m afraid he’ll glimpse my every thought laid bare in my eyes.
When I’m sure he’ll pull away, he floats lower, finding my collarbone. Tracing it with his thumb. Lighting a thousand tiny fires under my skin.
“You wouldn’t have to ask,” he murmurs. “If things were different and we did this? You’d never have to ask me for a thing.”
His fingers move lower over the fabric of my shirt. My inhale is shaky. I try to catch his eye, but his attention is glued to his hand as he grazes the top of my cleavage. His eyes darken as he watches himself touch me.
My breath hitches.
His forehead falls against mine. Only the narrow center console separates us. His hot breath fans my face as he inches closer.
Nothing about his hand gripping the back of my neck and guiding me closer suggests it’s better if we don’t go there. Confusion and desire go to war in my body. It’s not fair for him to touch me this way, to make me want him if this isn’t what he wants or needs. But I can’t even bring myself to be angry because how could I fault someone for putting their family first?
It’s the nicest, most confusing rejection I could imagine. The distant cousin of it’s not you, it’s me. It’s not you, it’s the man I’m trying to be for them.
It makes me want to comfort him. It makes me want to help when he clearly wants none of that.
I’m scared I’ll be the one who needs comfort by the end of this trip if I let myself fall any further.
Just because we can’t doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
“You said…” I whisper.
He tilts my head. His lips brush mine. Not enough to count as a kiss. Just enough to make me ache in a place he’ll never touch me. “I know what I said.”
“Then let’s not, okay?” I frame his face with my hands and pull back. “Let’s get you home.”