Jaime
The weekend has gone by too fast in my opinion. Before meeting Cage, I actually looked forward to Mondays because my job is important to me. I love it so much that it is not a chore to head into the office to start a week that will be filled with as much strife and heartache as it will victories and rewards.
But after spending this entire weekend with Cage, I don’t want tomorrow to come. I want one more day because it’s been perfect in every way.
He brought a weekend bag with him on Friday night as we planned. Or rather, he had planned it. Saturday morning, we had a late brunch out at a popular restaurant. We went to the Warhol museum, then for fun, we hit River’s Casino. I’m not much of a gambler, and I’d only been one other time. Neither is Cage, but he had never been.
We cooked dinner together at my apartment Saturday night. Laughs and silliness, bolstered with a bottle of wine we drank while we cooked a decent chicken Parmesan and made a terrible attempt at cannolis.
“I suppose this is a result of you being of Irish heritage and me being a southern boy,” Cage said with a grimace when he tasted the first cannoli. The filling was bland and runny while the shell was semi burnt.
So we bundled up in coats and walked two blocks down the street to a donut shop for dessert.
That night was another magical, crazy, and wild romp of pleasure with Cage in my bed. Nothing is ever the same with him. I love that he’s inventive and filthy, but can be sweet and tender at other times. He’s the only man I’ve been with—which there haven’t been that many in my twenty-six years—that makes it his sole purpose to make sure I come first when we fuck, and then a second time before or at the same time he finishes. He’s every woman’s dream in bed.
Sunday was a day of relaxation. We cooked breakfast together, watched the Steelers on TV, and then ordered a pizza for dinner. In between all of that, there was a lot of fooling around, which naturally led to a lot of sex.
And now we’re winding our weekend down with another outdoor excursion. It’s a dark starry night, but in the city, the glow coming from the buildings can often hide such beauty. Cage suggested we ride the Duquesne Incline up to the top of Mount Washington, another Pittsburgh attraction he has yet to see.
We bundle up, and I can smell snow in the air. I bet if I checked my weather app, it will be coming in sometime tonight. I made a big thermos of hot cocoa and spiked it with Baileys for us to drink at the top. We stand in the cable car, a mode of transportation opened in 1877, and make the slow ride to the top with our arms around each other.
It feels… romantic and special. It’s far removed from the rowdy sex we’d had just a few hours before. It feels meaningful that we were doing this late on a Sunday night as an end cap to the weekend before Cage will head home to his apartment to finish some laundry and get ready for the start of his workweek.
The cable car only moves at six miles per hour, and it can be a little scary for those afraid of heights, but the evening view of Pittsburgh and its three rivers is beyond compare in my opinion. The city is so beautiful—who cares about the stars in the sky?
At the top, we exit the car and head to the observation deck. At this time of night, there are only a handful of people riding with us.
We take a few moments at the railing to gaze out at the glory of the lit-up city casting smears of reflective light on the smooth river waters.
“Now that’s magnificent,” Cage murmurs in appreciation.
“I’ve been up this incline dozens of times over my life, and it never fails to amaze me,” I reply.
His arm comes around my shoulder, and he pulls me in tight. It feels so natural to lean my head on his shoulder as we just stand there quietly, neither of us feeling a need to say anything.
More people come to stand around us. We move over to a bench, and I open the thermos of cocoa. After I fill the cup up, we pass it back and forth, sipping on it and chatting. Cage is a newcomer to Pittsburgh, so he asks a lot of questions. He’s fascinated by the steel industry and the fact my father still works in a plant. He’s pretty up to speed on the history of our sports since he’s a man who loves all sports, and we have a heated debate about hockey.
He’s a Carolina Cold Fury fan being from North Carolina, and I obviously root for the Pittsburgh Titans. We make loose plans to check the upcoming schedule to see when the Cold Fury might be coming to Pittsburgh next, agreeing we’ll try to get tickets to go. Despite how well we’ve clicked over the past days, it’s still a bit surprising we’re making “plans” that could be weeks into the future. I have yet to get any sense from Cage that this is anything but something fun for the time being.
Cage gives a shiver as he hands the cup of cocoa back. “Tell me… at some point, do you just get used to the cold? You don’t seem uncomfortable at all.”
Laughing, I pour some more cocoa. “Twenty-six years here, you’d be used to it. Have you never lived anywhere cold?”
Cage’s face clouds over just a bit as he looks out over the city. He doesn’t talk about himself much, and I haven’t pushed. Some people just aren’t open that way, and it hasn’t bothered me.
Much.
“I lived in Vegas before Pittsburgh,” he finally says, offering nothing more.
“What did you do there?”
“Same thing I’m doing now,” he replies with a smile.
I sip at my cocoa, mulling over his job. I know little about it other than he works at a dealership in McKeesport, just south of Pittsburgh. He told me he doesn’t necessarily like the work, and I haven’t pushed. We’ve had so many other things to talk about in the short time we’ve been seeing each other.
Still, I can’t help but ask, “Why do you sell cars if you’re not passionate about it?”
Cage’s gaze is focused on the cityscape as he ponders my question. When he turns, I can tell by his expression he doesn’t have a clear answer. “Not everyone is as fortunate as you to have something they feel strongly about as their profession. In fact, I’d say that applies to the vast majority.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to stay somewhere you don’t like,” I press.
“And I don’t intend to,” he replies, taking the cup of cocoa from me. “This is just temporary until I can get my footing.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you get your footing?”
I had not meant to say that. It’s something someone would offer to a person they were extremely serious about, and I’m not that serious about Cage.
Not really.
I mean… I like him.
More than I can recall ever liking a man I’ve dated before. I know this because I get a thrill every time he smiles at me, or my belly gets flutters when he touches me in affection. I get lost talking to him because everything he says is interesting and meaningful, and he really listens when I talk.
He makes me laugh.
He makes my body do things I never knew it could do.
It’s only been ten days, but I have to admit, I’m hoping this could be more.
We share another cup of hot chocolate. The silence isn’t awkward. Instead, we let ourselves be captivated by the gorgeous scenery and because it’s cold, we snuggle together.
“This is easy,” Cage says, breaking the silence.
I have to lean slightly away from him, tip my face to give him my attention. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, being with you is easy.”
Hmmm. Not sure how to take that. He must see my confusion because he laughs, leaning in to give me a kiss.
When he pulls away, he assures me. “That’s a compliment. I always sort of thought dating was a burden, and with you, it’s anything but.”
I frown slightly, wondering how we’ve never really talked about this. “Have you not dated before?”
Which is ridiculous. He’s two years older than me. At twenty-eight, surely he’s had relationships.
“Not really,” he admits.
“Aaahhh,” I drawl in understanding, smirking. “You’re a playboy.”
He doesn’t smile back, but rather tips his head to the side. “Would it turn you off to know that about me? That I’ve never, ever wanted to devote my time to one woman before? Or that I prefer one-night stands?”
“Then why are you doing exactly the opposite of what you’re comfortable with?” I ask, my heart sinking a bit. I feel like this is the inevitable start of the end between us.
Cage shrugs, his gloved hand coming to the nape of my neck. He squeezes slightly, a silent command to keep my attention on him. “I have no clue,” he admits. “I just know that being with you is so effortless I have no interest in the former way I approached how I spent my free time with women.”
“Does it help to know I feel the same way about you?” I whisper, afraid that might scare him a bit. Clearly, he’s out of his element, trying to forge a relationship when he’s never done it before.
“A little,” he replies somberly. “And it also scares the shit out of me. I’ve never been beholden to a woman before. It’s a huge responsibility, and I don’t want to fuck it up or hurt you. I can’t say I won’t get freaked or spooked at some point. Because while this is effortless, there’s a part that seems like a burden, too.”
Ouch.
That hurts.
But, at this moment, I know Cage is being one-hundred percent honest with me. Rather than scare me in return, it actually makes me feel safe. He’s clearly laid out there’s a risk if we continue forward, but that what we have is also good to us both.
He’s definitely a gamble.
I hold my gloved hand out, palm up. Cage doesn’t hesitate, moving his from my neck down to take mine. Our fingers wrap around each other. “Let’s just keep going as we are,” I suggest. “No pressure. Enjoy what we have. If you get spooked, I might try to talk you off the ledge. If I can’t do that, then I will just have to chalk it up to having a great experience with a great guy.”
“You’d really feel that way if I got spooked and ran?” he inquires, doubt clouding his eyes.
“How could I not?” I turn my gaze out over the city lights. “I’m sitting in a beautiful romantic place, having one of the most honest conversations I’ve ever had in my life, with a man I respect because he is being honest with me about his feelings.”
Cage’s eyes swim with an emotion I can’t quite name. He swallows hard before nodding.
“This is a risk,” I continue. “I’m well aware of what the pitfalls are—and the potential rewards. I think I’m in a gambling mood.”
Cage laughs, tipping his head back in amusement because we had spent a few hours in Rivers Casino yesterday grumbling about how neither one of us really liked gambling.
“I’m willing to gamble, too,” he says. He puts his arm around me, then pulls me into him. “So, what’s on your agenda this week?”
“I have to spend two nights this week at one of the shelters.” I had previously told Cage I volunteered a few times a month at some of the various shelters I work with. It lets me check in on some of my clients—keeps me grounded and aware of just what these women and children go through to escape. It fulfills me.
“I’ll coordinate the evenings I need to work with your nights,” he replies. “Although I might need to work some other evenings. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“It’s a plan,” I murmur, but part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s just creating a plausible out with potential work obligations if he gets spooked in some way.
I certainly hope not, because I like this guy enough to know I’m going all in without any reservations.