“Are you always like this with women?” I ask, unsure if I’m put off by how forward he is or intrigued that he truly is this confident.
“I don’t hesitate when I see someone I like. I think you like me too. I mean, unless you were checking out Alex the other day, but I didn’t get the feeling you were. You seemed more interested in me,” he says in that smooth way that seems so natural to him.
Hearing he likes me makes every ounce of anxiety that lives inside me rear its ugly head. I should have never looked out that kitchen window at him. That’s what I get for listening to Dr. Thorpe and Meadow.
Put yourself out there, Hailey. Let people know you like them. Try it.
This is what happens when I take their advice. I end up in a parking lot talking to some gorgeous guy and feeling like the only thing I want to do is run away before I say or do something so utterly ridiculous that I humiliate myself.
Looking down at my keys I’m gripping tightly in my hand, I mumble, “I have to go. You should go inside and have one of the lemon desserts I made. You might like them.”
And then before he can say another word, possibly that it was a mistake to come here today because I’m just a basket case, I run inside the restaurant and hide in the kitchen back near my station.
Ten minutes later, after pretending like I was looking for something just in case someone saw me tear back here, I look out that same kitchen door window where he saw me checking him out the other day and see there’s no red Jaguar in the parking lot. For a moment, relief washes over me, but then that’s replaced by regret, like always when I push people away like I just did with Cade.
I sneak out the back door of the restaurant this time and walk out to my car, silently berating myself for being exactly who I swore I wouldn’t be anymore. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It doesn’t matter what the horse looks like or that he likes you.
By the time I reach my car, I can’t remember what I wanted to do today because all I want to do now is go home and crawl underneath the covers. As I slide into the driver’s seat, a white piece of paper stuck under one of my windshield wipers flaps in the breeze. When I grab it and open it up, I see it’s from Cade.
Hey, give me a call sometime. I think we could have fun. I promise I don’t bite. Unless you want me to. 555-2466
Cade March
Quickly, I stuff the note into my pocket and decide right there and then there’s no way I’m ever going to call him. I may be afraid to get back on the dating horse, but some people you should be afraid of.
Men like Cade March.
Chapter Six
Cade
After checking my phone for the fifth time, I toss it onto the other side of the bed in disgust. She got my note. I’m sure of it. So why hasn’t she called? It’s been almost twenty-four hours.
Maybe this arteest isn’t for me.
Bullshit. She and I could be having a good time if only she’d call. I should have stuck around to get her number, but after watching her run away into the restaurant, I can’t be blamed for calling an audible. It’s not every day a woman flees from me like she’s running from a house fire.
She’ll call. They always do. And why not? Who doesn’t want to have a good time?
I close my eyes and ease my palm over my cock. Just thinking about her gets me hard. I can only imagine how incredible it’s going to feel to actually kiss her. After that, it’s all good from there.
And then in the middle of my daydream about how fucking fantastic it’s going to be with Hailey, I hear a voice I know all too well call out my name. Thanks for crashing my fantasy, Dad.
“Cade? Where are you? It’s the middle of the day.”
I know damn well what time it is. Why does he have to do his Big Ben impression for me this afternoon?
Quickly, I get into a pair of shorts and scrub the remnants of last night’s sleep from my face before heading out into my living room. There, standing in the middle next to the coffee table, my father swivels his head left and right examining the room like he’s never seen the place before.
“Hey, Dad. How did you get in?”
It’s a valid question, if not a polite one. I’m all for family togetherness, but just walking up into my condo and interrupting what was going to be a fine jerk off session is a bridge too far.
“You left the door open. Pretty trusting, don’t you think?” he says with all the disapproval he can fit into those few words.
“Not trusting. Forgetful. I thought I locked it when I went to bed,” I say before turning to walk toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything, Dad?”
“No, not unless it’s juice. Your mother has me on this juice cleanse for the next two days. I think she might be trying to kill me.”
I look back at him and see in his expression he’s serious. “She’s not trying to kill you. She’s just trying to make you healthier. I might have orange juice, but I can’t promise it’s still good. Someone left it after the party a couple weekends ago.”
He follows behind, begging off the possibly rancid juice that’s sitting in the back of my refrigerator. “I’m good. I’m thinking I might just stick with water until this whole cleanse thing is up. Water has to be better for you than juice.”
I grab a bottle of spring water and hand it over the refrigerator door to him. “It might be, but it doesn’t have the vitamins and nutrients juice has.”
My father thinks about that for a moment and smiles. “Don’t tell your mother then. I just know I can’t drink another glass of carrot juice or I’m going to turn into a rabbit. Does my skin look orange to you? Someone at the club said I was looking a little orange and asked if I went heavy on the self-tanner. As if I’d use that shit. If I didn’t need all the bartenders I could find, I’d fire that little shit Antonio. Asshole.”
My father’s stream of consciousness makes me laugh. One second he’s talking about turning into a rabbit, and the next he’s threatening one of his bartenders.
“So what can I do for you, Dad? I’m guessing it’s important since you didn’t bother to even knock before you came in.”
“It’s not like I broke in, Cade. The door was unlocked, so I walked in.”
Why this sounds right to him I have no idea. It’s not like I’m still a kid living in his house and he found my bedroom door unlocked.
“Yeah, you said. Do you routinely check to see if people’s front doors are unlocked when you go to someone’s house?” I ask as I take my place across the kitchen from him and lean back against the countertop.
His expression hardens into a grimace. “You aren’t someone. You’re my son.”
Somewhere in there I sense there’s a sentiment I should be unhappy with, but there’s no point in getting into it with my father today. He’s just being his usual dad self.
“Got it. So what’s up?”
He looks around my kitchen that could use some cleaning and sighs. Okay, maybe it could use a sandblasting to dislodge the crusty food stuck on the stove. And the countertops.
“So, is this what you’re planning to do today? Just hang around?” he asks before wincing, like my condo is causing him some terrible pain.