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I snuggle into him.
We need to talk.
That’s the phrase that’s at the tip of my tongue. And boy, do we ever.
But that’s not what happens.
28
BEETLES AND BABIES
CASSIE
I wake up again. I fall back asleep. The indignity of it. This time, I know it’s not morning. I can tell from the light coming in the window. I run my hand along the other side of the empty bed. It’s still warm. Josh was just here. A smile makes its way to my face. The last few hours has been surreal.
Stretching makes the sheet fall off me. A reminder that I’m naked. Shit. And I imagine that my clothes are still crumpled somewhere on the bathroom floor. I’m not going to just lay here. I have to figure something out. I pounce out of bed and go to the bathroom. Yep. Crumpled on the floor, vaguely where I remember Josh tossing them. I pick up the garments, holding them with two fingers and not too close. I can tell from here they reek. I wrinkle my nose and throw them back down.
“Josh?” I pad through the bedroom of the little place and go into the kitchen. His home is barely that. It’s just a room with a kitchen and a bathroom. He has no TV, no niceties. Not even a microwave. What kind of way is that to live? I imagine he must be hard up, and that’s why he’s here. Maybe the new owner makes this a part of the deal of being bartender. Maybe Josh works as security, too.
Though I can’t imagine there being anything in the bar anyone would want to steal. The liquor’s the most valuable thing in there.
He’s not in the kitchen. Which means he’s not in the apartment—not sure I’d call it an apartment either, but whatever. I open the front door, hoping he’s not gone too far yet.
The sound of voices brings me up short. Loud voices. Raised. Yelling. And one of them is his. I slowly bring the door to a close, but not completely. I can’t deny I’m nosy. I want to know whom he’s getting into it with.
Just like that, it’s over. And before you know it, I hear footsteps, heavy and fast, coming up the stairs. I close the door as silently as I can, but I’m not sure he hasn’t seen me.
It’s not like I saw or heard anything. I don’t even know who he was arguing with. Except that it was definitely female.
Billie’s face flashes through my mind. Who is she? Who is she to him? Do I even have the right to ask? Seems I lost that right ages ago, when we parted ways.
I hasten toward the bedroom, sheet still wrapped around me. I hold it up from the floor, so I don’t trip over it. I barely make it to the bed and plop into it when the door clicks shut behind him.
He strides into the bedroom, fully dressed, clean jeans and a black shirt. He’s carrying a large brown paper bag. He sets it on the nightstand and starts digging through it. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I’m lucky my stomach doesn’t utter a grumble of agreement. I’m surprised, too, because it’s cramping with hunger.
“What was that about?” I incline my head downward and to the right, pretty much about where he and the woman would’ve been standing and arguing. My money’s on that having been Billie. And though I don’t have the right to probe, I want to know.
“Stuff. Work stuff.” He takes out a paper-wrapped sandwich. “Subs okay with you?”
I nod. My stomach roils. This time I think it’s in protest at eating after the liquor last night.
Though really, eating’s the last thing on my mind. But since he’s closed the topic off, then that means I need to drop it. For now, I suppose. I have so many questions to ask him. Mostly, where do we stand now? How can I even do that? After what happened before.
He unwraps it, hands me one. It’s dripping condiments and losing shredded lettuce. It should look appetizing. Normally, it would, and I’d relish every bite. Right now, stress and alcohol wreak havoc on my stomach.
He unwraps one for himself and digs into it with a lusty mouthful. He wipes his lips with a napkin. I don’t know why that makes me think of sex. Maybe everything about Josh does. He’s crazy-sexy. No one should be that sensual.
I take a gingerly bite and chew it slowly so that it doesn’t drop on my stomach with the ferocity of a drain cleaner.
Josh grabs a to-go cup. “Sprite.” He shoves a straw in it and hands it to me. “It seemed like your stomach would appreciate it.”
“Thank you.” I take the cup and draw the soothing liquid in. “Josh, about your dad’s passing.” I wince in sympathy for his pain. “I’m sorry.”
He looks up from his sandwich. “Sorry about your mom. I heard she didn’t.”
My head snaps in his direction. This is the first time he’s been so vocal about the feelings he has for my mother. Her feelings for him are no secret.
