All the Right Moves

chapter 6

TRAFFIC WAS BAD and normally John wouldn’t have suffered the bottleneck so graciously, but he was early to pick up Cassie, so he could afford to be patient. He’d mapped out her address and had a good idea where he was going. If he had to wait in the car until six-thirty, so be it.

Cassie O’Brien. He thought back to his college days, to the women he’d dated or more recent hookups, whether arranged by friends’ wives or after a night of club-hopping, and he couldn’t think of anyone like her. Not even close. She was unique, all right, and refreshing. She spoke her mind, wasn’t obsessed about her appearance and yet, every time he looked at her, he liked what he saw. A lot.

He turned down her street, surprised to see a lineup of apartment buildings. Her address was in his top pocket and he pulled it out for another look. She hadn’t given him a unit number. Damn. Had she done that on purpose? No, that made no sense. He knew where she worked.

Slowing to a crawl, he systematically checked each building address. When he got to the end of the street he saw a trio of duplexes, all painted tan but each with its own number. The first one on the left was Cassie’s. There was a Ford four-door parked in the driveway. The car had to be over fifteen years old and looked like something Stephen King might use for a character.

He parked at the curb with eight minutes to spare. With the air-conditioning on he listened to an old Van Morrison CD while he checked out her neighborhood. Very blue-collar, clean, neat, with obvious pride taken in the small lawns and flower beds. Cassie’s grass had recently been mowed and a large pot of yellow and pink flowers sat on the porch.

At six twenty-eight he knocked on the front door. It needed a fresh coat of paint. He saw a curtain move and then heard the doorknob turn.

“Hey,” she said, swinging the door open and stepping back. Her hair was down, bouncing in loose curls around her shoulders. “Come in.”

“Hi.” He stared at her shorts, jeans that had been chopped off, leaving the hem frayed. Man, she had a great pair of legs.

“The place is kind of a mess. I didn’t have a chance to organize the chaos by the time I got home,” she said, gesturing him to the left. “But the kitchen is okay.”

“You just got home?”

“About an hour ago.” Her pink tank top didn’t meet the waistband of her shorts, leaving an inch of tanned skin exposed. “You have any trouble finding me?”

He smiled at her bare feet and bright red toenails. “No.”

“I should’ve told you I live in a duplex.” She gave his gray slacks a quick frown then took the lead. “What would you like to drink? I have beer, iced tea, orange juice and possibly a couple cans of cola.”

John took a look at her tanned legs from the rear and forgot the question. “Uh, what was that?” He followed her through a small room with a floral couch, a black sling-back canvas chair and two tables covered with books. Textbooks. Plants were everywhere, not the decorative artificial variety, but overgrown ferns and glossy-leaved vines that seemed determined to take over the house.

Only a Formica counter crowded with more plants and books separated the room from a tiny galley kitchen. A pair of tall stools sat on the living room side in front of two place mats. A toaster, microwave and blender took up most of the space between the stove and wall on the opposite counter.

Cassie stood at an old white refrigerator that was covered in snapshots and magnets. “What will it be? Oh, I’ve also got wine. Chardonnay.”

“Thanks, but I was hoping to convince you to let me take you out for dinner. You’ve been working hard lately.” He checked out the title of one of the books on the counter. Something about neurology. “And I’m guessing it’s not made easier by the fact that you’re a student?”

She nodded. “Thanks for the thought, but I invited you to dinner. I didn’t think you’d mind staying here. It won’t take long to make, and then I’ve got to hit the books.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. It was my pleasure to help out. And it also would be my pleasure to take you to dinner.”

“Wow, that’s nice, but...”

He glanced again at the textbooks and pads of paper scribbled with notes on the dividing counter. “I suppose me telling you we could go somewhere casual wouldn’t convince you?”

“I know it’s cluttered and there are lots of plants, but the kitchen’s clean.” She pushed aside her study material and a potted flowering cactus. “I thought maybe you could quiz me while I cook, but that’s okay. Forget it. Dumb idea. In fact, don’t feel like you have to stay.”

“I didn’t mean to imply...”

“I didn’t infer anything.”

Her arms crossed her chest, and how had this conversation gone so off the rails? He moved around to her side of the counter. “I just wanted you to be waited on for a change,” he said. “But I’m happy to help in any way I can. Hell, I’d offer to cook, but that wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest.”

There was her smile. Wide and bright and making her a whole different kind of pretty. Her hair had something to do with that, and he couldn’t deny that outfit of hers was making this nondate thing difficult. He stepped closer to her. Really close, although he didn’t touch. “I should lay my cards on the table, though,” he said. “Staying here might complicate things.”

“How so?” she whispered as her grin disappeared behind a quick swipe of her pink tongue.

Half a step nearer and he watched as her hazel eyes darkened. The temperature of the kitchen had gone up in a flash. “I’m having a lot of difficulty thinking about anything but that kiss of ours.”

“That wasn’t really about us.”

“It may have started out as a game, but it sure didn’t end that way. At least for me...” With a gentle nudge of his finger under her chin, he tipped her head back. She stayed perfectly still as he bent to kiss her. As soon as their lips met, her hand came up to rest on his chest.

His body’s instant reaction to the kiss shocked him. Last night had obviously been a teaser, because the first taste of her went straight to his cock. Maybe what got to him was the relaxed palm over his heart when she just as easily could have shoved him away. And maybe he’d better back off before things got out of hand.

They broke contact at the same time. He knew why he’d cut the party short, and looked into her face, hoping to learn her reason. He found her staring at her hand, frowning as if it somehow had betrayed her.

“I should start dinner. I’ve got a test tomorrow, and I’m not ready for it.” She met his gaze for a second, then stepped back. “Hope you like pancakes and omelets.”

He smiled. He wasn’t here for the food. “I think pancakes and omelets sound great.”

* * *

CASSIE TURNED TO THE FRIDGE. He was damn smooth, and she wasn’t used to that. Not when it seemed so earnest. She thought about how he’d offered to leave the bar yesterday, how he’d made sure she came out of the Karma situation on top. It was entirely possible he was for real.

“What did you say you wanted to drink?”

“A beer would be good.”

“One beer coming up, Mr.—what is your last name?”

“Devlin.”

“Devlin,” she repeated softly.

“John Harrington Devlin, to be precise.”

After she passed him his drink, she reached up to her high cabinet to fetch the pancake mix. She felt his gaze on her as her tank top rode up, sure he’d seen the tattoo on her hip. She wondered if he would comment on it, but he stayed quiet, leaning against the edge of the counter, just far enough not to get in her way. “John Harrington Devlin,” she said, turning to the task at hand. “That sounds—”

“Formal?”

“A bit.”

“Imagine if I’d tacked on the third.”

“Are you?” She’d been hoping to find out a little more about him, and even though she would have to hit the books soon, she wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass. “There are two more like you?”

“I’m third in line,” he said, then thought a moment. “But we’re really different.”

“Where are you from?”

“I was born in Maryland, but I lived all over the place. We moved about every two or three years.”

“An East Coaster, huh?”

“Not so much. We left Maryland when I was three.”

“What about your parents? It counts if they’re from the East.”

“My mom’s from Boston. The colonel—” John twisted the cap off his beer and took a drink. “My father grew up like I did, living on the West Coast, the Midwest, Europe.”

“You call him Colonel?”

“Sometimes.”

She stayed quiet, rearranging everything to give herself work space. She turned on the electric griddle and put a container of real maple syrup in the microwave. Pancakes were an important food group, and they deserved nothing but the best.

“What about you?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

“Tempe, Arizona, but I grew up like you. We lived everywhere. Not Europe. Just in the States. I’ve lived here in Vegas the longest. It’s been four years.”

“Your folks live here, too?”

“Part-time. They’re in Oregon right now. But no fair, I wasn’t finished with you yet.”

“Ask away.”

“What about the first John? He would be your grandfather, right?” She measured out the powdered mix, her unsteady hand not exactly precise. “Was he a colonel, too?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What branch?”

“Air force.” She bent to get the big blue mixing bowl. Her butt bumped his fly.

“Oh.” She stiffened. “I didn’t know you were there.” Her heel came down on his shoe. “Sorry, did I—?”

“No.” He put a hand on her bare waist to steady her. Or something. All she felt was the heat of him, his closeness. He was a stealth mover, closing the distance between them without a sound. The contact between them had only lasted a few seconds, and she doubted that the bump behind his fly was anything but a trick of his trousers.

There was one way of finding out. She turned in a tight circle, his hand staying in contact until it rested on the other side of her waist.

“You know what?” she asked.

He looked hungry, and she didn’t think it was for pancakes. “Nope.”

Grabbing the front of his shirt, she tugged him down, and he willingly submitted. “You’re pretty darn sneaky.”

“Yeah, well, you have your moments, too. I imagined this evening going a whole different way.”

He was close enough that his warm, slightly beer-tinged breath caressed her lips. “Oh, yeah? And what did you picture happening?”

“A dinner with waiters and candles. Getting to know you. Bringing you back here reasonably close to the agreed-upon time.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded, and his nose brushed hers.

“That’s not so different.”

“I never anticipated seeing your tattoo.”

“Oh, that one’s nothing.”

“There are more?” he asked, his mouth curving into a smile.

Returning his grin, she let go of his shirt, cupped the back of his neck and pulled him the rest of the way down. Her breasts pressed to his chest as she leaned into him. He moved his hands to her back, stroking his palms under her top, trailing his fingers along her spine as if he’d be able to find her ink by touch.

She kept the kiss light, pulling back when she still had her wits about her.

He chased after her, but gave it up as his focus seemed to clear. “Damn. You aren’t making this easier, you know.”

“What easier?”

His hands slipped out from under her top and he distanced himself from her. “I’m starving. How about those pancakes?”

“Right. Dinner. Have a seat, and I’ll make you a couple. How does a cheese omelet sound?”

He made his way to the opposite side of the counter. “Great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can continue telling me about yourself.”

“All right, as long as I get to ask you questions, too.”

“Absolutely. Now, what about your mom?” Cassie found it a lot easier to pay attention when she concentrated on the cooking. None of it took very long. After being a bartender so long, she was great at multitasking.

When she did take the occasional peeks at John, his gaze was squarely on her. Mostly her face, but sometimes lower. She was used to being looked at, but his attention was different from that of the guys at the bar.

Somehow, she managed not to spill anything or start a fire.

His story was interesting, although she kept waiting for his admission that he was a fighter pilot. What she got instead were the outside pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, which were interesting, but didn’t show the full picture.

“You’re what, in your early thirties?” she asked.

“Thirty-three.”

“How come you’re not married? Or maybe you were?”

John shook his head. “Nope. Travel, circumstances. I’m not against the institution, but it hasn’t been in the cards. Not yet, at least. What about you?”

“I’m not married. I haven’t even had a serious boyfriend since I was a sophomore undergrad.”

“What happened?”

She turned back to the stove to flip his omelet. It would be done in a minute, so she turned on the microwave to heat the syrup. The pancakes were keeping warm in the oven. “We wanted different things,” she said.

“Such as?”

“He was a musician. A very good one. Not a superstar soloist or anything, but he was heading for a seat in a major orchestra.”

“What does he play?”

“Cello. And guitar, but he was a cellist. Anyway, in his senior year, he joined a band. Playing guitar. And that was the beginning of the end.”

“He gave up the orchestra?”

“He did. Which wouldn’t have been a huge issue, or at least one we might have worked out, but the band ended up having some success, and they went on tour. He...found a lot to like in that lifestyle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t fun.” The microwave dinged, she plated the omelet and a few minutes later they were eating. He’d traded in his beer for O.J. and she finally allowed herself to watch him. He ate well. She liked that. Also, he smiled readily, and laughed at her jokes. At his own, too.

Near the end of the meal, his gaze went to her textbook. “So, grad student?”

She nodded. “Psychology at UNLV.”

“Know what you’re going to do with the degree yet?”

“I want to be a therapist, so I need a master’s degree.”

“Is that a lifelong dream?”

She had to think about that. “Kind of. I’ve always been a nurturer. Trying to make things work between people. But I’m not a pushover, either.” Except where her brother was concerned, but John didn’t need to know that.

They finished off the last of the meal in an easy silence. Altogether, and despite the fact that she’d probably have to kick him out of her house if she wanted to get any studying done, she wouldn’t have missed this. Not for anything.

When he got up to collect the plates, they nearly crashed into each other, because she’d gotten up at the same time.

As close as they could be without touching, she looked up into his face. The mood had gone from easy to sizzling in two-point-three seconds.