Cane came here with Kelly.
Did he spend last night with her?
This morning?
Did they wake up together?
All of it hurt my heart much more than it should have. And hell, I could have been assuming things, but when Kelly placed a hand on Cane’s chest and looked into his eyes—an intimate gesture that made my belly clench—I just knew he’d called her over, or he’d told her he was coming to visit.
Perhaps he wasn’t satisfied and had to find a reasonable woman to unleash himself on and that woman just so happened to be Kelly.
Did he think about me when he fucked her? Did he remember what he did to me, and pretend she was me?
I think I found that answer when he and Kelly shared a laugh. His eyes shifted over to mine. He scanned me twice. I wore another dress that day. It was white, stitched with cotton, and stopped just above my knees.
Cane’s tongue rolled over his bottom lip as he studied me. His eyes were smoldering and hungry. It was a short look. A fleeting glance.
In that moment, I realized that yes, he had most likely imagined sliding between my legs and stealing my innocence.
Yes, Quinton Cane still wanted me, despite the realities laid bare right in front of us.
Despite the friendships and relationships.
Despite the rights and the wrongs.
Despite my age and naivety.
I saw in his eyes the same look I’d seen the night he finger-fucked me, an insatiable hunger and so much lust.
Even though I knew the consequences—feared knowing my father could find out how I felt about Cane and what I wanted him to do to me—I was tempted to make him sin all over again.
15
KANDY
My father's recovery took a little over a month. He hopped around on crutches and attended therapy sessions to strengthen his leg.
Even though he asked me to fetch every little thing for him—and had even made me drive to the store in his truck to get him a Snickers bar—I didn't mind doing it. I was thankful he was alive.
During Dad's recovery, Cane only visited twice, and to my complete and utter satisfaction, Kelly wasn't with him during either visit.
The first time he came around, he hung out with Dad in the basement that Dad liked to call his man cave. Little did he know that it wasn’t, and that I spent more time down there than he did during the day.
I heard them talking about the nasty gun wound on Dad’s thigh (that he so often liked to flash to me and Mom, saying it was a battle scar) and they talked about Cane getting the big opportunity to open a Tempt factory in Canada.
I heard all of this from the kitchen over my lonely dinner at the counter. Mom was working that night—another late shift as divorce attorney Mindy Jennings—and I'd taken Dad's heated-up lasagna down to the basement for him a few minutes prior to Cane’s arrival.
I should have been bummed when Dad said he wanted to celebrate Cane's big promotion, but I wasn't. I heard talks about the beach and beer, but I stopped eavesdropping when Kelly’s name was mentioned.
I went upstairs before Cane could come back up, and started typing about my day, which somehow led to typing about my relentless infatuation with him, just like a girl with a crush would.
Only this wasn't just a crush anymore. This was my heart. My all. This was my love for him...the love he would never, ever understand.
The second time Cane came around, neither of my parents were home. I was on the sofa in the living room watching reruns of Breaking Bad when the doorbell rang.
Pushing off the sofa, I slid into my fuzzy pink slippers and shuffled to the door. I expected it to be the delivery guy, seeing as Mom had told me she was expecting a package and wanted me to be on the lookout for it.
I didn't think to check the peephole. I opened the door swiftly and regretted answering it. In pink slippers and sweatpants, I looked like an unprepared idiot while standing in front of the always well-dressed Quinton Cane.
He wore dark gray pants with a creaseless sky-blue button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair had been trimmed and was gelled in the usual modern-casual style.
His gray-green eyes landed on mine, and as if he wasn’t expecting me to answer the door, he blinked rapidly and straightened his back.
"Oh, hey, Kandy," he sighed, and his voice did the same thing it always did: made me weak in the knees.
"Hey, Cane," I breathed, tucking my hair behind my ear. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Uh..." Cane looked back at the driveway, like he was waiting for someone to arrive. "Your dad told me to come by at five to pick him up for the Atlanta Hawks game tonight..."