“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
Caine waited for more.
“It was Davis. He texted me earlier, and I forgot to text him back.”
He nodded. “You make a decision on that?”
“No.”
“Want my help?”
My brows lifted. “You’re going to help me decide if I should give my ex another shot?”
“Sure. Why not? Tell me about him.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What’s he do? How old is he? Ever married? The basics.”
“Okay. Well, he’s twenty-nine, divorced, and a regional sales manager for a nuclear medicine durable equipment company.”
Caine deadpanned, “Sounds like a dick. You shouldn’t give it another shot.”
“What? Why?”
He held up three fingers on one hand and began to tick them off as he spoke. “Three reasons: One, he’s twenty-nine and divorced. Something’s wrong there. Bad track record. Two, salesman. That right there is a red flag. He sells crap for a living. It’s only a matter of time before he’s selling you a line of crap, too. And three, name’s Davis.” He shrugged. “It’s a stupid name.”
I stared at him incredulously. Feeling the need to defend my previous choices, I reminded him how ironic his assessment was. “One, you’re thirty-two and don’t have serious relationships. That right there says more than making a mistake when you’re young and marrying your high school sweetheart. Two, you’re a musician. Everyone knows musicians are notorious playboys. I’d venture to say the cheater ratio is double for a musician over a salesperson. And three, have you read the Bible? Cain wasn’t exactly the good son.”
Caine nodded. “Exactly. So I know the type. You should keep away from him.”
I’d apparently misunderstood his point.
“I think you’re a little insane. You don’t know Davis’s type just from his age and occupation. He’s a great guy. He works hard, wants to have a family some day, calls his mother every Sunday. He even has a romantic side—took me on a picnic in the park once.”
Caine scoffed. “That’s not romantic. He sounds like a wimp.”
My hands went to my hips. “What are you talking about? Of course that’s romantic. What’s your idea of romance, if you’re such an expert.”
Caine walked from the kitchen to the couch where I was standing. He stepped into my personal space, and I refused to move. When he leaned down, putting us eye to eye, our noses were practically touching.
“I don’t do romance,” he said. “I prefer fucking like animals to picnics in the park.”
God, why was he being such a jerk?
More importantly, why did I like it so much? Goosebumps prickled all over my skin and a shiver ran through my body, causing a tingle between my legs. Not to mention, my nipples had grown so swollen I was going to need to step back in a minute if he didn’t give me some room. And while he’d turned me on, he’d also pissed me off. I rolled with the latter.
“Maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
Caine’s eyes narrowed. “If everything about this guy is so great, what’s taking you so long to answer his question?”
He had a point. It should have been a no-brainer. But if I was being honest with myself, the reason had nothing to do with how great Davis was or wasn’t. The only thing keeping me from giving the man another chance is that he wasn’t Caine.
I felt defeated. “You’re right. There’s really no reason not to have dinner with him tomorrow night. Who knows, maybe the spark will light again. I’ll never know until I try.”
Caine retreated with a stiff, blank mask. It didn’t matter that we had chemistry like I’d never experienced or more in common than most happily married couples. He wasn’t interested in me. The more I got to know him, the more I realized the professor-student thing was just an excuse. Caine West was not a man who’d let anything get in his way if he really wanted something.
With a little distance back between us, my thoughts were clearer. “I should go.”
He was silent as I tucked my cell into the side pocket of my purse and took out my keys before slinging it over my shoulder. He didn’t move when I brushed past him but then grabbed my elbow to stop me.
“I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice. But if it’s not there, you can’t force it. No different than when it is there and you try to make it not be.”
Again, I wanted to read something more into his comment than he’d meant. I needed to stop doing that. “Thanks, Caine.”
He nodded, looking sad and resigned to stay that way. “Thank you for covering my class today and coming to my rescue tonight.”
“Of course. That seems to be our thing. We rescue each other.”
Caine
Fifteen years ago
A little thing like her shouldn’t be out riding a bicycle all by herself.
I’d waited outside the church this week, on the little bench hidden in front of the statue of Mary—most likely so people could pray in peace, not stalk ten-year-old girls. If anyone caught wind of the crazy shit I was up to on Saturdays, they’d probably think I was a goddamn child molester.
My little friend locked up her bike on the other side of the church and looked around to see if anyone was watching before running inside. I ducked but wasn’t sure if she saw me or not. I wasn’t even sure what the hell I was looking for—but at least I knew how she got here and that she came alone.
I waited a few minutes before going inside, figuring I’d let her settle in on her side of the booth. But when I slipped into the church, I found her kneeling in a pew near the confessional. Her head was bowed to her steepled hands.
She must have felt someone watching her, because after a minute her head came up and she looked around. Luckily she looked the other way before turning in my direction, giving me a chance to pull my head back behind the column. What the fuck am I even doing? I was hiding from a little girl I was reasonably sure lived in some sort of an abusive home and pretending to be a priest so I could what…rescue her?
Finding the coast was clear, the little girl got up from the pew and went to the confessional. Just like last week, she opened the priest side instead of the parishioner side. Although this time, she didn’t go in. Partially blocked by the door she was holding open, I couldn’t make out exactly what she was doing. But from the way her body folded at the waist and her arm came up and then right back down, I thought she might have tossed something inside. Then she opened the other door and disappeared inside.
What the hell was she up to?
Curious, I headed straight for the booth, only to find it just like each of the last six weeks I’d sat inside. There was the red velvet chair, the makeshift wooden pew with its worn-leather kneeling bench, a gold cross on the wall…and that was about it. Then I noticed a small coin sitting directly behind the front leg of the chair. I’d almost missed it. Leaning down, I picked it up. She spoke before I could even take my seat.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
I flipped the dulled copper penny over and over between my thumb and pointer as we got started. “Tell me your sins.”
Her mood was melancholy this week. She didn’t have any funny stories to share about Tommy, and even though she’d been on the other side for a solid twenty minutes, she hadn’t actually said much at all.
“How was school this week?”
“I didn’t go for three days.”
“Why not? Were you sick?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you go to school?”
“Is it a sin to skip school?”
“Not really. But you should go. Education is really important.” Apparently today I was channeling my mother instead of a priest. “And you can get in trouble for not going. Do you know what truancy is?”
“No.”
“It’s when you’re absent from school illegally.”
“So something can be illegal but not a sin?”
What was she getting at? “Well, breaking the law set by the state of New York is different than breaking God’s law. Why were you absent from school?”