“Yo,” he said into his phone. “Hang on.” He mouthed “Sorry” to her, then walked down the steps toward the crabapple tree at the corner.
She heard his low voice, but not the words. She tipped her head back, gazing at the stars, the glowing moon, the darkness stretching above. Her mind cleared; her senses came back. Casey knew all too well that the call was club business. She was crazy to let herself get pulled back into that world again.
She watched him lean against the tree, the murmur of his voice drifting on the wind. A moment later, he slipped the phoneinto his jacket and strode back. In seconds, he was beside her again, arms wrapping around her, pulling her in.
Casey stiffened, then stepped back, gently pushing out of his grasp.
“What’s going on?” he asked, confusion lining his features.
“Nothing. I have to work, remember?”
“You’re not gonna work all night, are you?” He reached for her hand, but she stepped away.
“I had a great time tonight,” she said. “The food was excellent, the conversation and company even better, but—”
“You’re pissed because I got a phone call?”
“No. I’m not mad. It’s just that this”—she gestured between them—“isn’t going to work.”
“What the fuck are you afraid of?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“Bullshit. Who the hell burned you so bad you can’t recognize your own feelings?”
“I pay a therapist to psychoanalyze me, so save the pop-psychology.”
His stare drilled into her. “Whatever, Casey. Go inside. Bury yourself and your whole fuckin’ life in your work.”
“I did enjoy having dinner with you,” she said quietly.
“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me.”
“I’m not.” Her voice hardened.
“Like I said, whatever.”
He turned and jumped off the porch. She watched him stalk down the sidewalk. For a split second, she almost called him back, but didn’t. When he reached his SUV, he climbed in, slammed the door, gunned the engine, and peeled away without a backward glance.
Casey closed the door, a rush of emotions flooding through her.You did the right thing.Then why did she feel so crappy?
She glanced over at the computer and knew she couldn’t do any quality work. She’d get up early and work on the project all day.
She padded to the kitchen, put the leftovers in the fridge, and took out a bottle of chardonnay. With the wine and a glass in hand, she walked to the bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, she sat cross-legged on the bed in her fleece pajamas, sipping a second glass of wine, and staring at her phone.Did you really think he was going to call you?She’d hurt his pride; he probably wouldn’t forgive her for that.I bet he’s going to spend the night with a club girl or a hoodrat who’ll stroke his ego.The thought made her both sad and jealous.Damn, I’m fucked up.
And to prove it, she pulled a large tin box from the bottom drawer of her nightstand and popped off the lid. She picked up the photographs of her wedding, bike rallies, and silly snapshots of her and JT over the years. She traced the strong line of his jaw with a rose-tipped fingernail.
She kept staring at the photo as JT’s face blurred, morphing into Rags’s. Pressing the photo against her chest, she rocked back and forth as tears spilled down her cheeks.
Chapter Fifteen
Rags shifted inhis chair, then stretched his long legs in front of him, trying to concentrate on what Banger was saying. He wasn’t having much luck with it since Casey had taken root in his thoughts. He cursed under his breath, trying to banish the memories of that night to the dark corners of his mind. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful. The feel of her lips on his, the way she pressed against him, the feel of her skin was like velvet, and the feel of her tits were pure pleasure… and desire.Fuck.
“You with us?” Banger’s voice had a sharp edge.
“Dude, the prez is talking to you,” Tank said, elbowing Rags.