Shewasoperatingfroma place of dysfunction. That was Cassidy’s take on what Marge was trying to tell her.
Well, no shit.
But the truth was the truth. There was too much turmoil in her life, in her head, and in her heart, for her to be playing these games. She sort of blamed Darlene for giving her the idea, but it was her actions that had taken her to his doorstep.
Twice.
But no more.
Mac would be easy. No entanglements. His rules, after all. As long as he could spend time with Fred, he wouldn’t care.
Cassidy ran her hands over the folded shirts and sweatpants on the sofa next to her. She’d washed and folded them. Ready to return to him. It was after dusk—not so late to be suggestive. She’d take them to him, hand them over, explain herself.
Maybe she wouldn’t need to. How do you break up with someone you were never with? When there are no expectations, how do you ask, “Hey, don’t have any expectations?”
The expectations were all hers.
That had to stop.
Now. Tonight.
Pushing herself off the sofa, she grabbed up the clothes. “Fred.”
Fred scrambled down from his spot and trotted with her to the sliding glass door.
Her reflection was cast back to her in the glass. She took the time to study herself as she walked toward the door, thinking she looked prepared for this: hair pushed back in a broad white cotton headband and wearing a fitted sweetheart neckline white dress. Demure, innocent.
She ticked her chin up: strong.
She could do this; she could resist whatever bedroom eyes he gave her because she was sure he would.
Walking out the door, she left it open; she wouldn’t be gone long. She was determined not to be gone long. “Remember, you left the door open.”
She didn’t have any attachment to Mac, but a look, a touch from him, and her mind blanked. He provided something she was missing; that was all. And he provided it in intoxicating doses.
Walking through the wooded path, she saw there was a light on at the cabin. He was home; he hadn’t left for the bar yet if he was going tonight. Angel was on shift, so it was a toss-up on whether or not he’d be there.
Cassidy never thought she’d see Mac afraid of any woman, but he avoided Angel whenever he could. It was almost comical.
Replaying the few run-ins between a pursuing Angel and a wary Mac in her mind, she was almost to the steps when she heard the sounds. Her eyes darted up the steps, through the screen, and she froze, her jaw dropping.
Knowing something about a person and being confronted with it were two entirely different things. The reality of Mac’s lifestyle slapped her right in the face in that instant, far beyond just watching him leave the bar with someone.
Mac was wearing a white T-shirt, leaning against his counter, head tipped back, cords of his neck exposed, a satisfied groan escaping him. In front of him, on her knees, was a naked brunette, her head bobbing in a relentless rhythm. One hand was presumably on his cock, her other on his thigh, steadying him or herself; it wasn’t clear. Her noises were almost as loud as his as she went to work. One of his hands was caught in her hair.
Cassidy stared, unable to look away. Her insane thought was that he was wearing a shirt so the woman couldn’t see his scars. She almost let out a hysterical laugh but slapped her hand over her mouth.
Beside her, Fred lowered his head and let out a singular, low bark.
She jumped and frowned down at him, gasping, giving him a silencing nudge. Swinging her eyes back to the cabin in horror, Mac was staring out the screen door. His eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the dark.
“Sweetheart?” his gravelly, strained voice called out to her.
The woman at his feet made a noise as though answering. He glanced down in distraction and peered back into the night.
She remained frozen. She wasn’t sure if he could see her or not. He seemed to have pinpointed her and was staring directly at her. Her cheeks warmed; her heart stumbled. He clearly knew she was out here, watching.
Snapping out of it, she tossed the clothes onto the bottom step, whirled, and ran. Fred happily chased at her heels.