All the Right Moves(38)
“What?”
“You said, ‘bag a fighter pilot.’ What does that mean?”
Impatience flashed in Gwen’s eyes. “You know. Get him to marry you.”
“That’s sweet,” Cassie said. “You’re sweet, really. But I don’t want to marry John. I just want him for sex.”
She grabbed a beer for Scott, then walked straight toward John, so tall and lean and looking ridiculously handsome in his jeans and blue polo shirt. He was by far the hottest guy at the party...not that she was biased. What she’d liked best was that he hadn’t batted an eye over her parents being bikers or that she herself had lived on the road, even though it was clear she’d surprised him. And when she’d told his friends she was a bartender, he hadn’t tried to mitigate it by adding she was a grad student.
“I decided not to have another drink,” she said after giving Scott his beer. She latched on to John’s arm and leaned close so the others couldn’t hear. Cassie stood on her toes, and whispered, “I hope you don’t mind. I told Gwen I just wanted you for sex.”
John laughed and coughed at the same time.
The other three turned to see what was going on, and Cassie just smiled.
“I’m not gonna ask how that came up.”
“That’s smart.” She shifted her weight so that the side of her breast pressed against his arm. “So...when were you thinking of leaving?”
He studied her face for a long, heated moment. “Your place okay?”
She nodded, tried to look blasé, then saw the wild pulse in his neck. Despite the warm flush surging to her cheeks she shivered.
“Hey, we’re going to be moving on. I’ll see you guys later,” John said, putting his arm around her and turning her back toward the house.
“You leaving?” Mike asked, and Scott grinned. “Something we said?”
“I think it was something I said.” Smiling, Cassie wiggled her fingers. “Nice meeting you.”
* * *
HANDS STUFFED in his pockets so he wouldn’t do something foolish like maul her in front of her neighbors, John waited while Cassie fumbled with her keys. He would’ve been more impatient if not for the distraction of the overhead porch light shimmering off the golden highlights in her hair. No ponytail tonight, just long loose shiny curls that fell past her shoulders.
She had great skin. Soft, smooth, some freckles that seemed to blend with her light tan. He’d find them, though, each and every one, once they got inside the duplex. And her tattoos. It was crazy, but he looked forward to discovering where they were hidden...if she ever got the door unlocked.
“Need help?”
“I almost have it.” She shoved with her free hand. “Here we go.” She flipped on a light switch as she stepped inside.
“Does the door always stick?”
“Mostly in the summer.”
“Remind me to have a look at it.”
She turned to face him, a slow smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “You surprise me. Not many people do.”
“I didn’t say I could fix it.” He closed the door behind him. “I just said I’d look at it.”
Cassie threw her purse and keys at a chair. The purse landed safely, the keys thudded on the floor. “Ha. You’re a riot. You want something to drink?”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Grinning, she pulled the hem of his shirt from his jeans and tugged him toward her.
“So you just want me for sex, huh?”
“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “I am. But Gwen, she’s just—well, she’s kinda nuts. Have she and Mike been married long?”
“No.” He kissed her bare shoulder and slid a finger down her chest to the first of far too many little white buttons.
“Right.” She briefly closed her eyes and slid her palms up his chest. “We won’t talk about them.”
“Good.”
“Come.” She took his hand and led him to the hall opposite the side of the kitchen.
They passed a small bedroom on the left, a bathroom on the right. Her bedroom was at the end, the walls painted a light blue, the queen-size bed neatly made and covered by a puffy white comforter. The room wasn’t crowded like the rest of the house. A small dresser stood beside an old-fashioned sliding-door closet. No clothes were strewn around. Some were folded inside a plastic laundry basket sitting in the corner on the floor.