Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) Read online

  He nodded slowly. “It probably won’t happen again anyway.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  He chuckled, then sprinted for her one bathroom before she could go in. He blocked the door. “If we’re not going to get physical, I don’t have an hour to spare. I’ll only be a minute.”

  She huffed as he shut the door in her face. She’d remember this about him.

  But when he came back out less than two minutes later, she decided maybe he’d been right to jump ahead.

  She would be more than a minute. Shower, hair, makeup. Forty-five minutes of her hour was taken with grooming.

  Some days, she wished she was a man. Actually, lots of days she wished she was a man.

  Cassandra looked at Brady’s damp hair. “Did you use my brush?”

  “Your comb.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Did you use my toothbrush?”

  He held up his finger. “Your toothpaste.”

  “You know, you’re kind of bouncy when you’ve had a full night’s sleep.”

  His eyebrows pulled together and he sat back on his heels.

  She said, “Bring a kit with you on Wednesday so you don’t have to brush your teeth with your finger.”

  He nodded and squeezed her arm. “I will. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

  Cassandra locked the door behind him and thought she’d have to set her alarm a little earlier if he was going to be sleeping over. Maybe a lot earlier and she could get the full benefit of having a steady fling staying over the occasional evening.

  And then she raced to the bathroom and tried to make up for those lost few minutes.

  Shane’s car was parked in her driveway when she got home from work. She pulled in behind him and sat. Wondering just how she was going to react. Angry? Sad?

  Happy for him?

  He opened her front door and Cassandra got out of the car, just looking at him. Sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes that were normally happy, and today were not.

  He ran to her, squeezing her. “Cass! I’m sorry. So, so sorry. I’m the worst friend ever. In the world.”

  She squeezed him back. “Yeah. I was about ready to cancel your membership. It’s been a week.”

  It had been one week, two days, and four hours. But who was counting.

  He pulled back, “I’ve brought dinner to make up for it. Moo shu and margaritas.”

  “And your pretty little bird?”

  He shook his head. “Just us tonight.”

  Shane took her hand, leading her inside the house, and Cassandra said, “That was wise.”

  He nodded. “You can get it all out of your system so when you meet him, you’ll fall in love with him, too.”

  That seemed highly unlikely.

  He said, “But first, tell me what happened after the worst friend in the world left you alone to the tender mercy of your family.”

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  Cassandra recapped. “I got drunk, I tried to leave, I detoured to a night in the penthouse.”

  Shane stopped, turning. “Penthouse. As in Dear Penthouse?”

  “Just about. He’s big, he’s tailored, and he has a scar.”

  Shane sighed. “Lucky.”

  Actually, she thought it really might have been.

  He narrowed his eyes and flung his hand toward the bedroom. “Wait. Is that why your sheets are all rumpled? Penthouse was here last night?”

  She dropped her keys on the counter and said smugly, “I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

  He laughed, pulling food containers out of a bag, and Cassandra got two big glasses for the margaritas.

  Cassandra poured and said, “So, tell me his name.”

  Shane turned to her, radiant. In love.

  “His name is Christian and when I accidentally reached for his drink, he said, ‘These aren’t the drinks you’re looking for.’”

  Cassandra paused. “Star Wars?”

  “Star Wars!”

  Cassandra laughed.

  Shane said, “He quotes Star Wars, he plays video games. He makes video games.”

  “He’s a geek?”

  Shane sniffed. “Maybe. He’s wholesome.”

  Cassandra breathed in. Wholesome. She knew the terrible lure of wholesome. Mackenzie had fallen for wholesome, too. Hell, Cassandra had fallen for it. If she hadn’t loved Mackenzie like a sister, she would have stabbed her for a chance at Ethan O’Connor.

  Even then, Cassandra would have stabbed her if Cassandra had had any kind of chance with him.

  Funny how wholesome could make you go all crazy.

  She said, “Does he even know he’s gay?”

  “He knows; he just doesn’t like it. He’s a good Mormon boy.”

  Cassandra blinked, turning toward Shane. “You fell in love with a good Mormon boy?”

  “I know! What the hell. And what’s even worse is his fashion sense. Ugh. You should see it. Plaid, short-sleeved button-up shirt, white undershirt peeking out at the neck, cargo pants. It’s like he’s standing out on the corner, waving and shouting, ‘I’m from Utah!’”

  “At least he quotes Star Wars.”

  He sighed. “We role played.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t. . .even want to know what that means.”

  “A role-playing game. Like Dungeons and Dragons. You’ll love it; we’ll bring it over one night.”

  Cassandra took a long drink, thinking she’d rather jab a fork in her eye. But she didn’t say that to Shane, just sat down on a bar stool and dug into her moo shu.

  Shane said, “Do you think it just happens like that? Boom, you’re in love?” He pointed his finger at her. “And I’m not talking about lust, ‘cause we both know that happens. But love? Real love? Forever love? Stand-together-no-matter-what love?”

  Cassandra looked up at him and said, “Yes.”

  Shane sat next to her, pulling his plate toward him, then just stopping. He stared into his food and said, “Forgive me?”

  “For what? Leaving me to my family or for not loving me?”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I do love you. I love you as much as my poor little heart will let me.”

  “I know.” And she did.

  Cassandra said, “I really hope I like Christian.”

  Shane said seriously, “Me, too.”

  “And I forgive you.”

  He whispered, “For what?”

  “For both.”

  Shane put his arm around her shoulder and she snuggled into his side. And knew she had as much of him as he could give. And it was enough.

  He said, “Now, tell me more about Penthouse.”

  Cassandra smiled. “Oh, him? You’re going to like.”

  Cassandra was out watering the flowers when Brady. . .Shane. . .er, Brady drove up Wednesday evening. She waved him in behind her car and tried to pay attention to the flowers instead of his sporty little car.

  It wasn’t easy. First of all, they weren’t her flowers, they were Shane’s. He lived in an apartment and gardened at her house. Best of both worlds, he said. And Cassandra watered them when they looked droopy so Shane wouldn’t yell at her.

  And second of all, Brady’s car was a Nissan Z and it looked fast.

  Fast and small, and Cassandra didn’t know how Brady fit inside it. He ducked his head to get out and she watched him. Forgetting the flowers, forgetting the car.

  She’d told Shane that Brady was a man who had been beautiful once. Had been favored and adored.

  And now he wasn’t.

  His scar, and his eyes, told the world that he’d lost. Everything.

  She said, “I want to drive your car.”

  “You can, if that was a euphemism.”

  She laughed. “It wasn’t.”

  He stepped into her space and she looked up into his face. His dark eyes close. His hot body warming hers.

  She pointed the hose away from his shoes. “Did you bring me dinner?”

  “I did, if that was a euphemism.”
/>   He smiled, his lips spreading across his face, his eyes wrinkling. Cassandra forgot where she was for a minute, surprised by how it transformed his face.

  She shook her head. She was on a mission and wouldn’t be distracted by how close he was or that it would only take them a minute to get to her bed.

  “Then let’s go get dinner. We’ll take your car.”

  He let out a long breath and pressed his body against hers. He smelled like a rich man and she closed her eyes, tried not to be seduced.

  She put her cheek on his and whispered, “Come on. Let me take it up Mulholland Drive. Zip around those curves like it was made to do.”

  He opened his mouth and she said, “And yes. That was a euphemism.”

  “Are you going to drive the speed limit?”

  She pursed her lips. “What is a speed limit?”

  His body clenched and silence ticked between them. She wouldn’t tip-toe around him, wouldn’t pretend she didn’t know what had happened to him, to his family.

  She knew one thing about living with hard truths.

  You brought them out into the light, acknowledged them. Acknowledged that whatever “it” was, it bit the big one. Hiding wouldn’t make it any better. Hiding only made it shameful.

  And shame was ugly. Shame destroyed. It destroyed all happiness, all life. It destroyed the future. It destroyed all hope.

  Cassandra opened her eyes and pulled back from him. “I’m going to drive fast and I know you’re not going to like it. I also know that this thing we’ve got going on will end, and if I know anything about rich men, it will end sooner rather than later. I’ve driven you. I want to drive your car.”

  He gave her the car keys. “You can go without me. The Z likes to go fast; I don’t.”

  Cassandra laughed. Closed her eyes, tipped her head to the rapidly darkening sky and laughed. “Brady, if I get in that car without you, I am never coming back. The next time you’ll hear from me, I’ll be in Argentina.”

  She only briefly wondered if you could drive all the way to Argentina, then decided she could at least try.

  He said, “Brady?”

  “You’ll still be Shane in the bedroom.”

  He said, “As long as it’s still in the bedroom,” and he sounded completely serious. Sad and serious.

  “Rich man with a fast car who wants me to call him Shane.” She patted his cheek. “Maybe your money isn’t going to complicate things.”

  He grabbed her wrist. “I don’t think you know anything about money. Or rich men.”

  “I know that you never give a rich man what he wants. Not until he’s worked for it.”

  She’d learned that from Mackenzie, who’d found her own rich man and wrapped him around her finger. Without even realizing she was doing it.

  Brady smiled slightly. “It’s not a bad philosophy, actually.”

  Cassandra didn’t want to wrap Brady around her finger. She knew this thing they had going on wouldn’t last forever, she didn’t want it to.

  But she didn’t mind poking him a little, maybe bring him back to life a little. She could do that for him.

  She could thank him for distracting her. For giving her a little bit of fun now, when she needed it.

  She turned off the water, knowing Shane was going to be mad at her for drowning his flowers and not caring one bit.

  She jingled Brady’s keys. “Are you coming? Or should I call from Argentina?”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away from her to stare at his fast, little car. “It’s not Argentina I object to. It’s knowing you’ll eat in the car on the way.”

  She chuckled. “It’s a good bet I will.”

  “You’ll have to go through me to do it.”

  “I can only go through you if you’re there.”

  He nodded, looking over his shoulder at her dirty, wet flip-flops. “But change your shoes, at least.”

  She smiled, flinging the hose toward the house. “I’ll give you that one. You don’t even have to work for it.”

  Cassandra parked in a pull-out near the top of Mulholland Drive and looked out over the city. The lights twinkled, the city sprawled before her. The freeways curving snakelike along the valley.

  So many people. So much hurt and misery.

  It was easy to remember, sitting here, that she was only one in seven billion. Insignificant, really. Her hurts, her misery. Insignificant.

  She looked over at Brady, his hand still squeezing the door handle. He looked a little green, and Cassandra didn’t know if that was from her driving or from the winding road.

  When he opened his eyes, she was still watching him. He swallowed and said, “You are not driving back.”

  She smiled at him. “My plan was to distract you with a little hanky panky when we got up here but I can see that isn’t going to work. This car is too small.”

  He cracked his window and took deep, gulping breaths. He said, “I thought we were going to go over the side a few times.”

  “Didn’t you want to?”

  He stopped breathing; he didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to because Cassandra already knew his answer.

  He did want to go over the side. And he didn’t.

  She knew how that felt.

  She looked back toward the lights and just sat with him.

  She said, “I don’t know why those who get what everyone deserves always feel guilty about it.”

  “I deserve my guilt.”

  “You do. You deserve your guilt for hurting those you love. You deserve it for taking their life from them.”

  “But you think I should forgive myself anyway.”

  Cassandra said, “Never.”

  He turned to her, in shock, and Cassandra said, “You can’t undo it. You can’t make amends. You will never be forgiven. Some things just won’t ever be.”

  “Then what the hell are we talking about?”

  “You don’t deserve the guilt you feel for surviving. For living when they can’t. There’s no forgiveness, Brady. You’re never going to find it. But maybe you can find life again.”

  He pushed his door open, jumping out of the car. He slammed his palm onto the hood of the car and shouted, “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Cassandra jumped, her heart thumping. Smooth move, ex-lax. Bring a man who can bench press a small elephant to a secluded area and piss him off.

  She got out of the car slowly and faced him. She kept the car between them and said, “The man I love fell in love with someone else. And he feels guilty about it. Guilty, when he got something everyone deserves. To love, to be loved in return.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about Shane.”

  “You’re alive, Brady. You deserve that. To live, to spend as much time as you get driving your fast car fast. To sleep in a bed.”

  He jerked.

  Cassandra shook her head. He’d woken up next to her twice now and both times he’d stared at the bed like it was a sleeping dragon. Like he couldn’t believe he’d slept on it.

  She said, “You’re searching for forgiveness when it will never come. Maybe you should start looking for something else.”

  “You mean like loving someone who can’t love me back? You’re right, that sounds better. I’ll start looking for that.”

  She looked up and could almost make out a star if she squinted. “I can’t help who I love; you can’t help who you killed. We can still live.”

  Brady stared at her, his stomach heaving.

  No forgiveness, ever.

  And he knew she was right. He would never forgive himself. He’d made peace with that.

  But he didn’t deserve to live, either. Cassandra was wrong about that.

  Didn’t deserve to find pleasure in simple things.

  Couldn’t sleep in a bed.

  Except when he was sleeping next to Cassandra, apparently.

  He didn’t know why except there was something so peaceful about her fatalistic view of the world. She saw ho
w hard it was, how horrible. And then, somehow, moved past that.

  He knew, without even asking, what her motto in life was. Life’s a bitch. What’s next?

  What’s next? Brady didn’t have a next.

  His wife had been an angel. Not perfect, of course. They’d had their share of problems, most of them coming from him. But she’d been an angel. Forgiving him, loving him.

  Without her, he was lost.

  He didn’t yell at Cassandra again. “My wife was an angel. I don’t know why she was taken when I wasn’t. And I don’t deserve to live when she can’t.”

  “Why did she marry you?”

  He pinched his brows together. “What?”

  Cassandra waved her hand in the air and rolled her eyes. “Anybody dies, all of a sudden they were a saint. I’m sorry she died. I’m sorry she left you here to suffer alone. And I’m sorry that you killed her. But I doubt that she was a saint or an angel because you aren’t. And no angel could handle you.”

  “She couldn’t handle me. But she loved me anyway.”

  Cassandra squeezed her lips together, smiling at him. “That’s nice. That must have been very nice.”

  It had been.

  “And even if my wife hadn’t been an angel, my son was.”

  “How old was he?”

  Brady paused, swallowing the lump in his throat before saying, “Four.”

  He cleared his throat. “He was four, and he loved garbage trucks and swimming in the pool and getting thrown up into the air.”

  A car drove up the hill, slowing as if to turn in, then speeding off again. Probably teenagers, looking for someplace deserted. To have some fun, drink some pilfered beer. To live.

  Brady watched the taillights disappear and said, “I thought that as my nephews got older that it would hurt more. To see what he could have been. But it doesn’t work that way; he’ll always be four.”

  When he looked at Cassandra, there were tears in her eyes, and he rounded the car. “Do you really think someone like me deserves life?”

  She nodded, the tears still swimming, and she sniffed.

  He kissed her. Not as punishment, not as a distraction. He kissed her because he wanted to. He kissed her because she wasn’t an angel. She’d never forgive him like his wife had. Never look at him when he was Brady like she looked at him when he was Shane.

  But she could handle him. She could handle what he’d done. She could handle what he’d always be.