When Matilda finally called and explained the dilemma, I just couldn’t say no.
“Cassie, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” she said. “We need someone who wasn’t at the induction.”
She explained how Bernice was facilitating a very elaborate fantasy involving a photo shoot for S.E.C.R.E.T.’s new participant but she fell ill. They desperately needed a volunteer to be there, someone whom the new candidate didn’t know and wouldn’t recognize. And just like that, I was back in S.E.C.R.E.T., this time not as a guide but as a fantasy facilitator. I didn’t have time to be a full-on Committee member, not yet. Maybe once the restaurant was up and running, and I had more time on my hands. It was the least I could do after all that S.E.C.R.E.T. had done for me.
My instructions for my first fantasy were to go to the Warehouse District that following Sunday. Matilda suggested I wear a blond wig and heavy makeup just to make sure I wouldn’t be recognized. The task: act as a photographer’s assistant. I was excited, thrilled for the distraction, though I had to admit, when Matilda told me the new S.E.C.R.E.T. participant was the Solange Faraday from Action News Nightly, I was gob-smacked. She was someone you’d never think would need an organization like S.E.C.R.E.T., but I had to remind myself that she was a woman just like the rest of us—like me, like Dauphine, like Kit and Angela once, too, a woman who needed a little sexual boost.
This fantasy indeed had been an elaborate undertaking. First, S.E.C.R.E.T. had to convince the network to hire a new photographer named Erik Bando to shoot its billboards, without giving away the ruse. Angela recruited and trained him. Erik charged the network nothing, S.E.C.R.E.T. covered Erik’s costs, and the network photos, in the end, were stunning. Plus, Matilda was right. Helping with Solange’s fantasy was a total trip and it (mostly) took my mind off Will. There was just one problem. I had to do her makeup! What a mess I made of that! I was grateful Solange took charge and slapped my hands away.
In fact, she impressed the hell out of me. And playing the part of a bossy blond, becoming this other person, someone more daring, sexier and more confident than I really was, was not just thrilling; it inspired an idea, one I desperately needed to run by Will before the opening night of Cassie’s.
We had decided to open on New Year’s Eve. And the weeks leading up to the big night were a blur of menu planning, food testing, equipment buying, plus hiring and training new floor and kitchen staff. And somehow, through it all, Will and I were mostly able to avoid each other, communicating almost entirely by text. Many of the tasks we did separately: Will purchased the steamers and fryers, I interviewed chefs, hired the sous chef and the bartender. Will negotiated discount parking at the lot up the street; I made batches and batches of homemade praline ice cream, trying to perfect a unique house recipe, until Dell thankfully stepped in to help. All the while I worked a few shifts at the Café training Maureen, Claire filling in here and there.
I was so busy I forgot to make plans for Christmas. I would have been happy spending it with Dixie, batting her away from the recipes and supplier lists strewn about my kitchen table. But Matilda convinced me to spend it with her and Jesse, who was at his own loose ends because his son would be at his ex’s.
It was a cozy affair, if a little awkward. We gathered in the eat-in kitchen at the Mansion. Matilda thought it would be fun to use the house for purposes other than sex. After all, it was a stunning location, and the kitchen featured top-of-the-line appliances. She answered the side door in jeans, slippers and a sweater, looking radiant and eerily young without any makeup, her red, shiny hair down around her shoulders. I was overdressed in my sparkly top and heels.
“Cassie, you look lovely,” she said, taking my coat.
“Suddenly I feel like a walking Christmas tree.”
“I should have told you pajamas would be appropriate.”
I handed Matilda a bottle of mid-price champagne and marveled at the smells wafting out of the kitchen.
“Claudette made a beautiful turkey,” Matilda said. Claudette was the live-in help at the Mansion. She was not only discreet but clearly a talented cook. As I followed Matilda to the kitchen, I took in the enormous appliances working overtime and the pine table already set with a basket of biscuits, a tureen of soup and a big bowl of salad.
“Last time I was in this room …” I said, not able to finish my sentence because just then Jesse walked out of the powder room, where my fourth fantasy had played out, the one with the famous hip hop star, the one that involved oral sex while a big pot of gumbo simmered on the stove.
Jesse wiped his wet hands on his sweatshirt. “Last time you were here, what?” he said, kissing the side of my head. “Nah, don’t tell me. I prefer to imagine it. Hope you brought your appetite.”
It had been more than two months since Latrobe’s, and I hadn’t seen much of Jesse. We’d texted now and again, and made vague plans to see a movie, but nothing solidified. We were both ridiculously busy, but mostly I didn’t want to know too much about his involvement in S.E.C.R.E.T. Problem was, though helping with Solange’s fantasy had taken my mind off Will, it sent my thoughts right back to … sex.
Now, with Jesse on my right looking all kinds of hot in his red plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos, hair slicked back, face cleanly shaved, it was hard not to sneak glances at him. I squirmed in my seat, watching the muscles in his jaw clench as he chewed on a breadstick. God, he was sexy. I forgot how much I loved watching him eat. He worked with food, so he had a passion for it, and he was nothing if not a man of appetites.
After dinner, he reached over and poured more wine for Matilda, then for me, before refreshing his own glass.
“To Christmas misfits,” Matilda said, raising a glass for toasts. “May we always find comfort in one another’s company.”
“And to ex-lovers. May they be ever in our hearts,” Jesse said, “even if they’re not in our beds.”
I felt my face redden. “Jesse Turnbull, you are drunk,” Matilda scolded. “That’s not proper dinner talk. Apologize to Cassie immediately.”
“To whom?” he said, a weary smile on his face. Without waiting for her reply, he turned to me and placed his hand over my forearm. “Cassie, forgive me, I am a little drunk and that was rude. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I will make us some coffee,” Matilda said, rising from the table.
I turned to Jesse, who suddenly seemed agitated. “Are you okay?” I whispered. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about our breakup, if you could even call it that—could he?
“I’m fine, but I think it’s time for me to fly,” he said. “Matilda, tell Claudette dinner was amazing.”
I expected her to insist he stay, at the very least for a coffee. But without replying she buzzed for the limousine.
“I got my truck.”
“And I have your keys,” she said. “You’ll get your truck tomorrow. Good night, Jesse.”
Jesse rose, stretched, kissed both our hands good night and left without saying another word.
“Something’s got him all knotted up,” I said.
“Well, wine doesn’t mix well with resentment,” she said, placing the pot of coffee on the table.
“I didn’t realize he was still so … vexed.”
Matilda gave me a warm smile. “You know I don’t like gossip, Cassie. And chatting about a newly departed guest is the worst kind.”
I knew better. She was right. I changed the subject.
“Matilda, there’s something I want to run by you. It’s about Will. And the new restaurant.”
I told her Will had insisted on calling the restaurant Cassie’s. “So. I’ve made a decision. I want to invest in it. I want some skin in the game. I have that insurance money from Scott. It’s tied up in other stuff, but it wouldn’t be hard to extricate. You’re a businesswoman. What do you think? Is it stupid?”
Matilda carefully weighed her response.
“I thought that was your retirement money, Cassie. That’s all you have. It’s difficult for restaurants to turn a profit, even at the best of times. There are less risky places to put your money.”
“And what would happen if the place went under? How would you take care of yourself then?”
“It won’t. If I invest, I’ll bust my ass to make that place work.”
She laughed. “I say this with great reluctance, but knowing you, you’ll make it work. But please, do this for yourself, not for Will. He’d be a fool not to partner with you.”
I threw my arms around her and thanked her. Now I just had to convince Will.
On Boxing Day, as Claire and I were polishing the new restaurant’s silverware, my mind was occupied with practicing my pitch to Will. I was growing closer to Claire, who was in the middle of clarifying some romantic drama at her new school, the kind teenage girls of every generation seem to create.
“No. Olivia likes Ben, but she thinks I like him just because we had sex, like, once? Well, twice. But I don’t like him. Well, I like him as a friend. And if he likes Olivia, why does he hang around me more? And why should I stop hanging around him just because he might like her? It’s so stupid. And all the girls are mad at me. If they have to be mad at anyone, why aren’t they mad at Ben for having sex with me if he likes Olivia?”
“It all sounds very confusing, sweetie” was my only answer. I still thought of her as a kid, with the kind of problems that just blow over. And, frankly, I was distracted. I checked the clock. It was almost four. I had agreed to see Jesse that afternoon, after his sheepish morning apology for the drunken outburst at the Mansion the night before. I wondered if Matilda had put him up to it.
“Confusing? Know what’s confusing? You and Uncle Will,” she said, jumping up on the metal kitchen table, the one that never failed to remind me of my fantasy with Jesse. “So, like, why aren’t you guys together anymore?”
Claire had received no effective answer from Will beyond “It’s none of your business, kiddo,” so I kept my answer equally vague.
“We decided we’re better off just being friends.” I wanted to add, And hopefully, business partners. He was supposed to close up that night, but there was still no sign of him.
“Yeah. Right. Whatever,” Claire said, snapping her gum.
Just then Will walked into the kitchen, holding a box of plastic sleeves that would house our new menu cards. Though I still loved the sight of his face, I hated that even now he managed to take the air right out of my lungs.
“Sorry I’m late. Hot off the presses,” he said, pulling out a menu sleeve and handing it to me. I plucked the sleeve from his hand. It was still warm.
“They’re perfect,” I said, aware that our fingers had touched as he passed me the card. While I had to make an effort not to register a reaction to this casual connection, Will seemed utterly nonplussed.
“So is the new dishwasher still leaving spots?” Will asked Claire, pulling away from me.
“Damn. Between that and the new wiring, we’ll be in the red before we even open.”
This was it; this was my “in.” Now. Ask now.
“Will, I want to run something by you before I go.”
“And you,” he said to Claire, ignoring me. “Did you find out who left that shitty Facebook comment?”
Claire’s shoulders slumped.
“Ben told me it was Olivia,” she said. “But I talked to her and she said she didn’t.”
Will’s face reddened. He lifted a finger to her face. “I’m telling you, Claire, if anyone ever writes something like that again on your wall, I’m not going to be able to stay out of it, okay? I have to talk to their parents.”
“Yeah, Uncle Will, because every teenager wants angry adults to handle their problems, ’cause that fixes everything.” She rolled her eyes, jumped off the table and shuffled back into the dining room.
“What comment? What’s going on?”
Will exhaled long and loud. “Apparently, someone—she won’t tell me who—has been calling Claire names on her Facebook page. They’re getting posted through her friends’ accounts. Her friends say they’ve been hacked, or something. I don’t know how all that shit works. All I know is it’s upsetting her and it’s affecting her at school. She stayed home two times last week.”
“What are they calling her?”
“A slut, a whore, shit like that.”
I felt guilty suddenly for not pressing her when she brought it up. “That’s awful.”
“I know. Girls can be so horrible to each other,” he said, shaking his head in bafflement.
“Oh, well, you know. Men can suck too.” Zing. It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
A flash of hurt crossed Will’s face, but I changed the subject before that can of worms was reopened. This wasn’t the time.
“So, Will. I’m glad you’re here. Because … thing is … I want to discuss something with you. I have a proposition of sorts.”
“O-kay,” he said, crossing his arms, all business.
“Yeah. It’s about the restaurant’s name. I was wondering if—”
“We’ve been over this, Cassie. The name stays.”
“I know, Will. I’m aware of that. And you’re aware of my ambivalence about it.”
“I am, but you’ll get used to it.”
“Maybe. But it’s just that if it’s going to be named after me, then I want to … have it mean something. I want to invest in it as well.”
He blinked several times, his face placid. “I told you, your sweat equity is enough.”
“It’s not enough for me. I told you when Scott died he left me with some insurance money. And I’ve only drawn on a little of it. The rest—about sixty-five grand—I want to put into this place. I want to be your … partner. Business partner, I mean.”
He took no time to think about it. “No. No way. That’s your retirement fund, Cassie. That’s all you have.”
“No. This is my retirement fund. This place. And you need the money and you know it. Investing will make me feel, I don’t know, more worthy of its name. Don’t say no. I need you to say yes. I want to do this. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
If you say it, you have to mean it. No more empty threats. But in that moment, it didn’t feel like a threat. It felt entirely necessary. “Then I really can’t stay.”
“Don’t do that, Cassie. Don’t drop ultimatums.”
“It’s not an ultimatum. It’s a fact. I need to do this because I feel lousy. What’ll make me feel better is if I get a piece of this restaurant. A piece of the risk. And, hopefully, if I have anything to do with it, a piece of its success too.”
He scratched his head. I couldn’t decide from his expression if he was a little angry or kind of pleased.
“Well, we could use some money for the unforeseen expenses, like fixing the fucking dishwasher that we just installed! And I’d love to run some print and radio ads …”
“Then it’s all set,” I said, not waiting for a full yes or a firm no. Will imagining an easier opening night was enough for me, plus I was running late now. “I’ll cut a certified check. We’ll deal with paperwork later. And by the way, we have the wine testing tomorrow. We have to pick the house red and white. I know you like those Texas Hill Country vintages, but they’re not cheap.”
“Right,” he said, looking dizzied.
“And I left the insurance forms upstairs for you to sign.”
“Great. Yeah. You off?”
“I am.”
I grabbed my coat off the hook in the kitchen. Leave. Leave now before he changes his mind.
“Okay, then. Have a nice night,” I said, bounding out of the kitchen.
I waved bye to Claire, who barely looked up at me over her phone, no doubt her latest drama already morphing into something new. I headed to a certain truck idling a half block from Café Rose. Will and I weren’t going to be partners in life, but we’d be business partners, a relationship that I hoped I would one day find almost as satisfying. Sex I would have to get elsewhere.
I opened the truck door, startling Jesse.
“Hey babe,” he said, shoving his newspaper aside. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry. I was in … a meeting.”
He was wearing mirrored sunglasses and working a toothpick. He looked like an ad for his truck. I slid into the seat next to him, took his sunglasses off his face and put them on mine. I was flooded with adrenaline.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
I’m not sure what my grin said, but we were both instantly aware that we weren’t going out for a coffee or dinner or a movie. We weren’t going for a chat. There didn’t seem to be a whole lot left to discuss.
“Your place or mine?” he asked.
“Yours.”
He peeled away from the curb, and when he steadied the truck on Frenchmen, he reached his right hand behind my head and gave me a warm caress.
“I’m thinking it’s time I get you naked, Cassie Robichaud.”
Despite my lingering feelings for Will, it was goddamn instant wetness with this man.
“I’m thinking the same thing.”
I had waited more than two months. Long enough for Will to change his mind. Long enough for a thaw or a shift, something that would tell me it wasn’t over between us. But that moment wasn’t coming. And frankly, Matilda was right: having sex made you want to have sex. It was a muscle; exercising it created an appetite. And I was hungry. Sitting next to Jesse, something deep in me released, the way your bra can sometimes come undone and you don’t feel it at first. You just start to breathe a little easier.
We were quiet on the short drive. He parked in front of his place in Tremé, and I let him walk around to the passenger side of the truck to open my door. I got out and followed him closely, wordlessly, on the walkway leading to his front door. I needed sex; I needed this man inside me.
In the foyer, I let him take my purse from my shoulder and drop it in the pile of kids’ unwrapped toys stuffed under a Christmas tree that would probably be up for another month. He turned my body to face him and kissed me hard, pressing me backwards into his darkened bedroom, a teak-filled room with heavy brown drapes. There, he stood me in front of his wall-mounted, full-length mirror, undressing me slowly, stopping me anytime I did anything to help.
“Don’t move. Just stand there,” he said, bending to pull off my boots and socks.
I rested a hand on his shoulder. He undid my jeans, wrestling them down, unsheathing my legs. As he slid my panties down I was conscious of how wet I was. My T-shirt and bra were next, tossed on the pile of my clothes on the nearby chair. The strangest sensation came over me, one that went beyond arousal. I realized that for the first time in my life I was just a body. My heart wasn’t in the room with me. It was all sensation, movement, touch, feel.
From behind he placed his hands on my breasts. He knew my body well. I pressed back into him, feeling his erection through his clothes against my back, my whole body leaning into it, softly rubbing it, surrendering all over again. I was doing another Step One. I need hands on me. What is wrong with that?
I closed my eyes and my head tipped back against his chest.
“You want this?” he whispered, his tongue in my ear.
Eyes closed, I nodded.
“You want me to fuck you?”
I nodded again.
He slid his hand down between my legs, over my pelvis, pulling my hips back. I wrapped my arms up and back around his neck. He slipped a finger, then another one in me. Oh god was I wet.
“There have to be rules.”
I looked at myself in the mirror, my body stretching back against his. My pulse quickened. Uh-oh. Heart, stay out of this!
“We’re both in S.E.C.R.E.T. That could get tricky. Emotionally.”
“How?”
“My Step’s coming up.”
I was looking at his face buried now in my neck. “I know that,” I said.
He moved me closer to the mirror and placed my hands on it. Our eyes locked in the reflection.
“So it doesn’t bother you at all that I’m going to have sex with the new woman, the new candidate?” he asked, kissing my shoulder but never taking his eyes off mine in the mirror.
Steel yourself, Cassie. You know what it is to be with this man. This isn’t about love.
“I don’t have any expectations.”
“And I don’t either,” he said, moving my hair to one side and kissing my neck. “I really like you. No. I adore you, Cassie, but we’re different. You crave love. I just … I crave.”
“But you said … you said you might have been waiting for a girl like me.”
Why did I have to bring that up? And now?
My hands were still pressed on the mirror. His fingers reached around my face and under my chin. He glided them across my lips and slid one into my mouth; I closed my lips firmly around it, tasting soap. I watched myself sucking his finger. I could feel him stiffen even more behind me. His breathing sped up. Matilda once told me that what a man tells you about himself is true. If he says he’s a shallow jerk, that’s usually true. If he says he’s not good at relationships or has trouble committing, ignore this information to your peril.
“I meant it when I said it. At the time.”
His finger was still in my mouth, his tongue traveling to my ear. My knees went weak.
“Then you went back to Will first chance you got,” he whispered. “I learned my lesson.”
He removed his finger from my mouth with a tiny pop. “I told you I was sorry about that, the way I treated you, I—” I thought I detected a hint of anger in his voice.
“I’m not looking for an apology. But it made me realize that I am suited to this. And to fantasies. Not necessarily to real love. Or real commitment. I worry that the opposite might be true of you.”
He stepped back and whipped off his T-shirt. This man was elbow-deep in icing and butter all day. How was it possible that his body was so sculpted?
“How so?”
“You want love.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
He turned me around to face him.
“No, everybody does not. Some of us just want to fuck.”
He gave me a little push that sent me backwards onto his bed. He was no longer smiling. The face of the sweet, supportive friend who had driven me home from Latrobe’s was replaced by that of an intense young man, his tattoos lending him a menacing patina, one that I found a little scary and incredibly sexy. I inched backwards on the duvet, centering my body on the bed, as he stripped the rest of his clothes off. He was magnificent naked, his cock erect and insistent. He stood there, casually stroking himself as his eyes took me in.
“Open your legs, Cassie,” he instructed, leaning over to his nightstand to remove a condom.
I hesitated. I wasn’t sure I liked the tone in his voice.
“Do it,” he added, sounding hoarse.
“Ask nicely,” I replied, my knees clenched.
He slid the condom on, ignoring me, then climbed onto the bed and kneeled before me, placing his hands on my knees.
“Do you want me to make you? We can play like that too, Cassie. Just say the word.”
This was making me wet and freaking me out. Did I want that? Did I want him to make me?
“Does this turn you on?” I whispered. “Ordering me around like this?”
“Sometimes.”
“I thought men in S.E.C.R.E.T. needed clear signals.”
“I’m not your fantasy man anymore, Cassie. I’m just a man, who wants to fuck you.”
He tugged my knees apart and collapsed over me, his hands on either side. His cock graced the nook between my thigh and pelvis, lying heavy against my skin. The dark bedroom cast shadows across his cheeks and chin. He was breathing heavily, his eyes traveling over my body. I reached up and moved the tips of my fingers across the light hair on his chest, his sternum, the back of my finger tracing up his neck, his chin, across his cheekbones. For some reason I wanted gentleness to contrast with his sudden aggression, but he took my wandering hand and placed it over my head the way you’d move a lever back into its place. There was a moment where I asked myself, Should I let him fuck me like this? Should I let him restrain me and use me? Should I use him? I said yes in my head, while using my knee to press him away from me in a complicated no.
“Too rough for you?” he asked, sounding almost … triumphant.
A surge of something (indignation?) rushed through me. “I actually don’t mind rough sometimes, Jesse.” I remembered Will’s spanking, the fun we’d had pushing each other’s buttons and limits. “It’s that you’re angry. That part I don’t like.”
He blinked a couple of times as though coming to consciousness. Then he rolled off me and collapsed on his back, an arm slung over his eyes.
“Sorry, Cass. I’ll take you home,” he muttered. “I gotta be somewhere anyway.”
I hoisted myself off the bed and began to gather my clothes. “Don’t bother. I’ll walk.”
“Cassie.” He reached to grab my arm. “Let me take you home. I’m being a fucking dick. I’m sorry. Really. We don’t have to—”
I jerked free of his grasp and began plucking my clothes from the floor and dressing with my back to him. I felt a strange power surge through me—a new sense of agency.
“You’re right, Jesse, we don’t have to fuck, because I decide whether we fuck or not. And I get to have the kind of sex I want. And what I don’t want is to just lie there and let someone fuck me the way I did with my ex-fucking-husband, waiting for it to be over!”
I was breathless. I turned to face Jesse and saw his expression registering shock but also awe.
“That’s what you feel this was?”
“No!” I screamed. They were different men, Scott and Jesse, but this feeling was familiar. “No, it’s not the same. But you are being a dick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Jesse looked up at me. “This might be inappropriate,” he whispered, “but you are very sexy when you’re like this, Cassie.”
Jesse reached for me like I was a cornered animal that might bite. He tugged loose the T-shirt I was holding, dropping it to the floor. Then he pulled me by my jeans, securing his hands on the top button, popping each one open, a warm smile spreading across his mouth. His cock was so hard it was like it had heard nothing of what was just said.
“I think you need to make amends to me,” I whispered.
“How about I start by kissing your pussy. Would that make it better?”
“Maybe,” I said, my hands going to my breasts. This man! One minute I wanted to slap him hard, the next I wanted to fuck him harder.
“Tell me what you want me to do. Use your words, Cassie, the ones I taught you,” he said, placing my foot on the bed next to his thigh, splaying me before him. He wet his lips.
“I want you to lick me, Jesse,” I said, my fingers in his hair.
“You want me to suck your clit?”
His eyes were dancing with mischief. He liked me like this, bratty and transgressive.
“Tell me what else you want me to do, Cassie.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I said, climbing towards him. “I want your cock in my cunt.”
“Yesss, that’s it,” he said, collapsing back, taking me with him.
I remembered the way Angela had wielded her power over Mark that time in the Mansion, when I was behind mirrored glass watching them. I channeled her now, mimicking her movements, the fierce way she tore into him. I shoved Jesse down on the bed, ignoring his erection, to take my own pleasure from his mouth, his darting tongue finding my grooves, his smooth fingers exploring my body, every curve and crevice, his tongue lashing back and forth over my clit, my whole body now over him, writhing with desire. He knew me so well, knew how fast to go, how slow. He knew how close to bring me to orgasm before spinning me around and throwing me down on the bed so he could enter me quickly, his hips grinding me.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Cassie,” he murmured, his arms ropy and ridged, his stomach muscles tensing with every feverish thrust.
As he fucked me, arousal flooded my core, until I had no choice but to come, on command, on his command.
“That’s right, Cassie, I got you … come for me, baby, come now …”
He was scorching, his eyes burning into me. I flung my arms up in surrender. Eyes open, I came so hard, so searingly, I felt something akin to disbelief—disbelief that he could do this to me, to my body, that he could make me come like this, my spasms gripping his cock so hard he nearly emptied into me. At the last second he tugged out with a moan and spilled onto my heaving stomach, in hot, helpless spurts.
“Holy shit,” he said, collapsing atop me.
I held his sweaty head between my breasts. After a few seconds of gasping, still in a state of astonishment, Jesse fell off me, sliding comically to the floor in a weak pile, both of us laughing at the mess we had made of each other.
“Holy shit,” he said.
I was about to reply, I know, that was amazing, but he was already up and sprinting to the bathroom to shower.
“Sorry, Cass. I almost fucking forgot! I have a thing at nine.”
“Oh,” I said, getting up to gather my belongings. “What do you have to do at nine? Another girl? Haha.”
“I’m helping out tonight. With S.E.C.R.E.T.”
“Oh,” I said. “I was kidding.”
My entire center dropped out as I took in what this meant. Solange. He was “helping out” with the new candidate. He was going to have sex with Solange. Oh, this did not feel good at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Relax,” Jesse yelled from the washroom, reading my mind. He shut off the taps. “I’m not the main attraction.”
What did that mean? A few seconds later, he brought his naked, dripping body back to the bedroom. He hurriedly plucked his jeans off the floor and threw them on commando-style.
“Can you drive me to the French Quarter, Cass? That’s where it’s happening. You can take my truck home. I’ll cab it after.”
“I’m not going to drive you to your fantasy! We just fucked!”
And there it was, my Jealous Girlfriend Voice.
“Whoa! Calm down, Cassie. I would not have sex with you and a S.E.C.R.E.T. candidate on the same day. I’m not that much of a tacky fucking asshole. Tonight’s just a quick walk-on role. I’m just facilitating. Like I said, I’m not the main attraction.”
I was afraid to open my mouth.
“I knew this was too complicated,” he said. “Maybe we need to stick to being buddies.”
“No. It’s okay. I’m cool,” I said, shrugging on my T-shirt. My stomach grumbled so loudly we both noticed.
“You need food. That’s why you’re cranky,” he said. “If I dress in the truck we’ll have time for a quick bite. Come. Please?”
He was offering a truce and I wanted to prove I could handle this, both of us being in S.E.C.R.E.T., both of us enjoying each other sexually without having to get all possessive about it. I shook off my own doubts and negativity and took the keys he dangled in front of me.
I drove into the French Quarter while he slapped on what looked like some kind of security guard costume.
“Well, I guess I know what your role is going to be,” I said.
“Ha,” he said, adjusting the belt. “Even if I were the main fantasy man, I doubt she’d accept the Step. I look like a fucking dork.”
After I parked near Jackson Square, we walked over to a loud line of food trucks and each ordered a couple of creole-style rotis. We found seats in front of Stanley’s. I told myself we would be okay. We had just had an off night.
“The fantasy’s going to happen here? It’s pretty crowded,” I said, prompting him.
“That’s part of it. Being in public. Crowds,” he said, thoughtfully looking around and chomping his food.
He wasn’t giving me much. “Huh. I had one of those. A public sex fantasy.”
“How did it go?”
“It happened at Halo. At the bar. While the band was playing.”
“Oooh. Details please.”
I felt a surge of pride. I would have spilled the story then and there, but shit-fuck I spotted none other than Solange Faraday making her hurried way through the crowds towards the old military museum at the end of the square.
“Jesse,” I hissed, using my body to block Solange’s view of him. “We have to go. Now.”
I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him low, his face in front of mine.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s her. Solange.” I pointed over my shoulder. “She shouldn’t see you.”
He lowered his chin, shrinking lower. My back to her, I lifted Jesse to his feet and we sidestepped from St. Ann to Chartres, where we opened our gait and walked briskly to where the truck was parked on Royal.
“That was close,” he said, leaning against his door to catch his breath.
“Far too close.”
“So that’s her? That’s Solange? Well, well …” he said.
“You’ve never seen her on the news?”
He gave me a look that reminded me he wasn’t much for current events.
I had to admit my heart hurt at his enthusiasm. Even in just a coat and boots, she looked spectacular. Women like her were always more beautiful because of their lack of awareness of their looks. Add to that the knowledge that the man sitting next to me would have mind-blowing sex with her, if not tonight, then soon, and I felt woozy. What had I gotten myself into? If it was just sex with Jesse, why was I feeling so unsettled? And if that’s all that Jesse and I had, what was the big deal?
“Okay, baby. I gotta go. It’s showtime.”
“What’s the scenario?” I asked.
“You know the rules, Cass. There’s no fuck-and-tell in S.E.C.R.E.T. If it’s not your fantasy, it’s none of your business. At least the guys honor that. You could probably wait, if you want. I could meet you at Coop’s. This won’t take long.”
“Oh really? Poor Solange,” I said, with no small amount of snark. “I’ll just walk home. I’m not in the mood for waiting.”
“Hey,” he said, pressing me back against his truck. “You know what S.E.C.R.E.T. is, right?” He bracketed me with his arms. “You might have stuff coming up, too, that I don’t get to know about or have a say in.”
This was true—if I were actually training recruits. Right now I was just helping facilitate fantasies, but Jesse didn’t need to know that. Part of me wanted him to think my involvement was more sexual than it actually was.
I smiled, pulling myself together. “I can’t stay. I’ll call you later,” I said, handing him his keys.
He gave me one last probing look and walked away in an exaggerated Charlie Chan wobble because he knew I’d have my eyes on him until he rounded the corner and was out of sight.
If sharing him with S.E.C.R.E.T. was the price of dating him, I had to seriously consider whether I could afford to pay it.