“Mack the Knife.“ Cassidy corrected her before taking a sip.
“Oh, right. Well, last I saw him was when you last worked,” Darlene continued. “Fucked me solid not two seconds after Andy walked out after you. I’ve never come so hard or fast in my life. It was like he couldn’t wait to get me alone except, well, Mac doesn’t have favorites. For a man who limits it to strictly boning, he delivers the maximum effect.”
Cassidy made a face. “I do not want to hear about how you and my neighbor have sex.”
Darlene narrowed her eyes and tapped her tumbler on the counter, her expression contemplative as she pointed out, “I’ve kissed and told before without you getting squeamish. Except, ya know, no kissing in this case—just straight up boning.”
Cassidy took another sip before she answered, “That was before. And I didn’t know the guys.”
Darlene continued to stare. “Baby girl, you went down a well for days. I was pissed, left in the lurch, and I know you’ve already apologized for it. And I know what it’s like because you know I’ve been there. Still pisses me off. That didn’t need to happen. But it’s gonna unless you do something different.”
Cassidy side-eyed her.
“Yeah, you’re sad, and you’re grieving, and you’ll have your bad days, but Cassie—missingdays? Still? And not one or two—you were gone for four and a half days.”
“You own a bar, Darlene; you aren’t a therapist,” Cassidy pointed out quietly.
“Kinda like unofficial therapists, the amount of shit people lay on us,” she countered. “But as I was saying, I’ve been you.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Depression is depression. You need to take that first step, baby girl, I told you. Another man’s touch? That release? And Mac has no judgment and is a sure thing. Get things taken care of.”
Cassidy chuckled. “You’re right; Mac has no judgment.”
Dar grabbed up a bar towel and snapped it at her. “That’s not how I meant it!”
Shaking her head again, she protested, “I’m not you. Our situation wasn’t the same. I love my husband, Dar. I miss him. I’m not running away from him.”
Darlene’s eyes clouded over as she asked, “Ever figure you oughtta start?”
Darlene’s words haunted her; taunted her. They teased her. And now, days later, as she mindlessly ran orders from the tables to the bar where Jemma was working, her mind kept going over Dar’s odd advice.
Run away from Elijah? From everything they had? Had hoped to have? Wasn’t that the ultimate betrayal? She was the only one left to cling to everything they’d built, the only one who remembered. How could she throw that away, run away from that, do the exact opposite of everything she’d been doing for two years?
She barely knew Mac. Her encounters with him were intense and intimate, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t know how to process it. Well, she was lying to herself. Whatever it was between them, it wastheirs,even though she had plenty of evidence to the contrary. Mac’s allure was that he could make every woman feel like she had his sole attention when he had countless women feeling that way. She also knew when he looked at her, she felt… caught.
Cassidy couldn’t even call him a player because he was upfront and honest about the fact he wasn’t playing. He had no attachments and didn’t plan to form any. There was no play in that, no games.
As though she’d conjured him, he entered the bar. She noticed him on her way to one of the booths to deliver a tray full of drinks. He scanned the place, and his gaze lingered on her, noting her attire: Elijah’s white button-down dress shirt she’d belted with a tie over a pair of dark cotton shorts and combat boots. A crazy outfit, but it worked on her, she thought: she wasn’t out for attention, but comfort. Adding to the whimsical look, she had her hair in pigtails.
She thought she saw his lips quirk at her appearance, but she had other things to concentrate on besides him and his opinion of her fashion choices. Approaching the table, she set out their order, then moved on to the next table and delivered theirs. She exchanged brief quips with the occupants before moving to the now-occupied booth at the end of the row near the bar.
Holding the empty tray against herself, not unlike a shield, she met Mac’s dark, sardonic gaze. She hadn’t seen him since the boathouse a few days earlier. Seeing him reminded her she still had his shirt, that she had made it a habit to smell itas often as she did Elijah’s clothes, but Elijah’s scent was fading. In truth, it had faded a long time ago.
“Mac,” she said.
He smiled seductively. “Day.”
She raised a brow and gave him a look to convey he was wasting her time. “What do you want?”
“Bit lacking in the hospitality department, huh?”
Smiling tightly, she asked again, “What’s your pleasure, soldier?”
He laughed, his eyes dropping to the tray, his expression telling her he had no problem conjuring to mind what she attempted to hide. “More like it, sweetheart.”
Cassidy had to look anywhere other than at his compelling dark features, so she pretended to scan the crowd over her shoulder. “You must have the menu memorized. In fact, I’d bet you know exactly where every bottle is arranged on the shelves better than me by now, so what can I get you?” She flicked her gaze back to him, attempting to exude impatience rather than disquiet.