Coming Clean (17 page)

Shaw reclined back, his demeanor oozing condescension. “I mean, she's still holding a grudge over my getting the partnership. A partnership she willingly gave up, I might add.”

“Oh, don't flatter yourself,” I barked. “I wasn't talking about that. I meant partner as in life partner. You didn't even know that I don't eat seafood, for crying out loud! How could you not know that?”

“Jesus Christ, Cass! My plate's been a little full, in case you haven't noticed. Cut me some slack.”

“Oh, I've noticed, and you're right, it has been full. Full of yourself! My plate's been full, too, just
not
with lobster.”

“
Pfft.
Whatever.” He looked away with a dismissive wave of his hand. The same hand attached to the wrist with that stupid watch.

“Cassidy?”

“What?” I snapped at Dr. Sparling, my misplaced anger getting the best of me.

When my voice softened with an apology, Jeremy said, “It's quite all right. Can we keep going?”

I nodded, but still crossed my arms over my chest defensively and turned my head in the opposite direction of Shaw. I was sure we looked like quite the brooding pair.

“If you had a day off alone and could do whatever you wanted, what would it be?”

It was a good, safe question, which I was sure was the point. “Wow. A day off alone?”

Before I could answer, Shaw opened his big, fat mouth. “She has every day off.”

I turned to look at him like he'd lost his damn mind, because it was apparent he had. “Excuse me?”

“What? It's true.” And then the proverbial lightbulb went off above his head. “Wait, I didn't mean it like that. You have Abe all day. I'm sure running around the house playing superhero
is
hard work. So I take it back.” Even without the sarcastic smirk, I would've known his poor excuse for an apology wasn't sincere.

“You know what?” Jeremy interjected. “That's not really an important question. Let's just move on from it.”

“No. I want to answer it.” I set my chin in defiance. “If I had a day off alone, I'd still want to spend it chasing my son around the house playing superhero. Because that's not only my
job,
” I emphasized, “it's a privilege.”

Shaw was quick on the retort. “Well, it must be nice to have that privilege.”

“You could spend just as much time with him, but work always comes first,” I challenged.

“Someone has to make the money to support us, Cass.”

I sat up straight on that one, prepared to get down and dirty with him. “Maybe you've forgotten, but I happen to have plenty in my savings account, Matthews! No one asked you to take over the bills. But you've just gotta be in control of everything, don't you? You want me beholden to you.”

“Beholden to me? Go fuck yourself, Cass.”

“Ooookaaaayyy!” Dr. Sparling bolted forward. If he'd been a referee on the field, I was sure he'd have thrown a flag on the play with a loud squawk of a whistle. “Let's just go back to our neutral corners and take a breather, all right?”

I was fuming mad. Teeth grinding, jaw clenched, nostrils likely flaring, and crossed leg nearly doing a can-can. Closing my eyes, I began a mental countdown from ten in an effort to get myself under control. I had no idea what Shaw was doing on the other end of the couch, but I could hear him breathing, so that was getting on my nerves.

“I'm a little leery about continuing at this stage,” Jeremy said. “We can stop if you want.”

The sound of that pen making long strokes amped up my determination not to let Shaw get to me. “No. Let's get this over with.”

“Very well.” Jeremy sighed. “Cassidy, a meteor is headed for your house. You and Shaw have saved your family, pets, and the family photos. You have time to save one more item. What do you think Shaw would choose to save?”

I spared him a sideways glance, my leg continuing the rhythmic bounce on my knee. “His watch.”

Shaw turned on me. “You say that like it's a bad thing. It was a gift from your father, plus it's an antique. It's irreplaceable. Of course, I'd save it.”

With a roll of my eyes and a bored huff, I said, “Next?”

“I think maybe we should stop.” Clearly, our coach was throwing in the towel. Maybe he'd already determined we were hopeless.

“Keep going!” Shaw ordered him.

“Um…” A caged Dr. Sparling flipped the paper over to look at the page beneath it. “Shaw, complete the following sentence: ‘A perfect mate is one who…?' ”

“A perfect mate is one who understands and accepts me for who I am.”

“I accept you just fine for who you are.” How dare he insinuate otherwise? I'd overlooked all of his flaws and had the patience of a saint. Saint Cassidy, that's what they should've named me.

“No, you don't. You're constantly trying to change me.”

I could feel my blood pressure spiking. I'd had it! Sitting up to lean in to face off with Shaw, I called it like I saw it. “Well, I guess I'm not your perfect mate, then!”

Shaw mirrored my pose, his nose coming within inches of mine. “Guess not!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dr. Sparling again sprang forward in his chair. “Boy, you two really do go from zero to a hundred at the snap of a finger, don't you?”

We both sat back, resuming our previous positions on the couch. Again, I got my can-can on, and again, Shaw sucked the oxygen out of the room.

“Would you look at that,” Jeremy said, drawing my attention to see he was looking at his watch. “Saved by the bell!” He laughed, though I failed to see the humor.

“So we failed epically, huh?” Mad as I was, I still needed to know the results of his test.

He perused his notes, doing his best to maintain a positive air. “It's clear that you know all the facts about each other, that part was…well rehearsed. But when it came to the questions with a little more substance…” He canted his head.

Shaw raked his fingers through his messy locks. “We fumbled the ball.”

Jeremy's smile was polite, not one of genuine satisfaction over our antics. “And do you know what that tells me?”

Much like a child being chastised, I looked down at the fidgeting fingers in my lap, unable to meet his eyes. “That we're a couple of head cases who should never be with anyone else, let alone each other, for the rest of our lives?”

This was it, the part where he'd recommend Shaw and I go our separate ways.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” My head shot up in surprise at his statement. That faux smile finally turned into something genuine as he eased back into his chair, looking for all the world a thousand times more relaxed than any one person locked up in a room with the two of us should be. “While there are a few issues, at least we now know what they are and have a good starting point. The good news is that while you two can be your own worst enemies, you're also each other's closest allies. I've never seen couples be as opposing yet defensive of each other as you are. Plus you're a couple of cheaters. I'm guessing there was a cram session last night, wasn't there?”

I nodded, guilty as charged.

He laughed. “I figured as much. But all that I've observed today tells me that you care enough about staying together to go to the lengths you have to make sure you do. And that's a passing grade in my book.” He looked down at his notepad and started scribbling on it again. “Not that you were being graded, but you two are the most ardently competitive couple I've ever met.” He shook his head in amazement.

Tell us something we don't already know
.

The meeting with Dr. Sparling hadn't exactly gone as well as we'd thought it would. But he hadn't given up hope on Cassidy and me as a couple, so that was encouraging. Even if he had told us it was time for us to go our separate ways, I wouldn't have listened. No one was going to tell me whom I should and should not love. Cassidy was it for me. Period. And I was going to make this shit work, even if it killed me.

The good news was that our next meeting was with Dr. Minkov, my new best friend. And that meant someone was going to get off. Maybe even the both of us. So it wasn't going to be anywhere near the train wreck our session with Jeremy had been.

In the meantime, Marcel and I had gotten in some one-on-one together while Camille and Vale were hitting up some sort of Mommy-and-me day spa that Cassidy had suggested. Of course, I'd insisted on taking care of the tab. The Ingrams would be heading back to Kentucky in the morning, and I wanted to give them a send-off they wouldn't soon forget.

Marcel continued to impress me every second I spent with him. The kid had a pretty solid head on his shoulders. He was in this for all the right reasons. Not for fame or glory, but for the genuine love of a game that had set him on the straight and narrow in life, while helping him grow into the man he wanted to be for his young family. I admired the hell out of him. And he taught me a few things I needed to see about myself, as well. If Marcel could overcome the odds that had been stacked against him from the day he was born, I could do the same. I didn't have to let my fucked-up past determine my future, as it would be whatever I made it. I was the master of my own destiny. I just needed to figure out how to overcome the one obstacle standing in my way: me.

Yeah, I had some shit, on a very personal level, to deal with. Hopefully, I wasn't already buried so deep in it that I couldn't tunnel my way out.

After giving him a tour of San Diego, we made one last pit stop, the illustrious home of the one and only Denver “Rocket Man” Rockford. As promised.

“You don't have any sort of homophobia, do you?” I asked as we pulled into Denver's neighborhood.

“Man, I've been getting naked in a locker room full of dudes since high school, and it's never bothered me. Besides, if Rocket were to hit on me, I'd probably take him up on it.” He laughed. “That's one pretty motherfucker, pardon my language.”

“Yeah, he is. And believe me, he knows it.” I laughed along with him, not because I thought he was seriously crushing on my superstar quarterback but because I knew it was all about getting his fanboy on. Anyway, if Quinn was at home and sensed so much as an inkling of a flirt, he'd climb all over my next big thing, and I couldn't have that.

“He's not the only gay athlete out there,” Marcel continued. “What he did, the whole coming out publicly and all, it sort of led the way for others to do the same.”

Marcel was right. Since Denver, four other pro football players had made a similar announcement.

“That took some giant balls. He's got my respect.”

“Aw, man. Don't talk about his balls in front of him. Unless you want him to whip them out. 'Cause he'll do it, I swear.”

“Noted.” He chuckled as we got out.

Denver and Marcel took an instant shine to each other, and it made me feel like a proud papa. I didn't need to do much by way of getting them familiar with each other, as athletes tended to be aware of other athletes, particularly when the numbers they were putting up were also putting them in a spotlight they either coveted for themselves or had to share with one another. Denver never felt threatened, though. His confidence in himself surpassed even my own. He was all about the “welcome aboard”s as he passed Marcel a beer and showed him around, bragging with an “All of this could be yours someday, and Shaw Matthews is the man who can make it happen.”

I really fucking loved that big lug.

We'd spent the next three hours with Denver—talking football, swapping tales about key players in the industry, and coming up with strategies—before Quinn came home, pleased to make Marcel's acquaintance.

With a not so subtle bomb drop, he said, “Uh, Shaw…I just talked to Cass a little while ago, and I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be somewhere
important
right now, but here ain't it.”

“Oh, shit!” I said, jumping up. “Cassidy and I have an appointment.”

With Katya, and I was perilously close to missing it. I hadn't even realized how late it had gotten, and that made me feel guilty as hell, seeing as how I'd always had an awareness of the time when I was with Cassidy and Abe. That was when every comment she'd made—about the watch, about my putting work before my family, about my inattention to her—smacked me upside the head. I finally got it.

Goddammit! I hated it when she was right.

“Man, you better get going, then.” Denver had incurred the wrath of Cassidy Whalen a time or two himself, so he was very much aware of the consequences I faced if I got her ire up.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, and then I realized I still needed to take Marcel back to his hotel. Shit. I looked down at my watch, knowing I wasn't going to make it in time. “You ready, man?” I asked him.

“Hey, don't worry about Casper, bro. I'll get him where he needs to be.”

“Casper?” Marcel and I said at the same time.

“Yeah, Casper. Every pro football player needs a nickname, and I just figured out yours.” Denver beamed, proud of himself.

“But why Casper?” I asked.

“Isn't it obvious? 'Cause every time our man here gets handed the ball, he disappears like a ghost and leaves 'em all standing around looking at each other like, ‘Where the fuck did he go?' ”

Marcel gave a slow, contemplative nod. “Yeah…I think I like it, man.”

“That's very clever, babe.” Quinn gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then patted his head. “Shaw, go!”

“It's okay with you if Denver gives you a ride?” I double-checked with Marcel.

“Oh, yeah, it's cool, it's cool,” he said as he stood and the three of them closed in on me, practically pushing me out the door. “Go. Just be careful. I don't want to land back in Kentucky only to turn on ESPN and find out my agent bit it before we could make great things happen.”

My agent
. He called me his agent. Mental fist pumps were rocketing off inside me, the need to get my
Jerry Maguire
“In Rod We Trust” celebratory dance going on. I had no idea how I kept my cool about me when I would've loved nothing more than to bask in the glory of my epic win, to wrap him up in a big bear hug, or to even whip out a contract to get him to sign the bottom line, but I hadn't the time for any of that. Because Cassidy was waiting for me, and I'd be damned if I'd let her down again.

So I smiled and clapped him on the back as I shook his hand, told him to have a safe flight home and I'd be in touch. And then I ran out the door, hopped into my car, slammed it into reverse, and shot out of there like a bat out of hell to speed toward my woman.

I'd already scored one major win on the night. With any lucky, Katya would make sure I'd score again.

When we pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse, the reverse lights were illuminated on the rear of Katya's car. The driver, the same as the last time, had just been about to leave us. Whipping in beside him, Cassidy and I jumped out, locked things up, and went to greet him in the same fashion as we had before.

Once we'd reached Katya's, still in blackout conditions, our escort again stood by the door as we got out, and then turned to leave us.

“Hey!” I called after him, and he stopped. “You got a name?” After all, an introduction seemed in order if he was going to be our regular chauffeur during our visits.

He inclined his head with a clipped show of respect. “Nikola,” he answered, offering no more than that.

“Cool. Thanks, Nick!” I said, offering my fist for a knuckle bump. Nick only grumbled in return, so he either wasn't into the nickname or the informal knuckle bump. Nevertheless, though his expression was still stoic, I could've sworn the twitch at the corner of his lips was what passed as a smile from that one. It was quite possible that this was the extent of any kind of friendliness the man ever exuded.

Teddy was the butler's name. Okay, so it was Teodor, but I liked Teddy better. Cassidy elbowed me for my apparent rudeness after he smiled with a respectful bow without commenting on the name and then led the way to Katya's office.

Where she was waiting for us.

A leopard-print body glove was her choice of apparel for the evening. Or so I assumed it was a body glove. Fit her like one, anyway. Her boobs were spilling out of the top, her waist was cinched, and there was zero imagination left as to the shape of her flawless body. She was trying too hard to fit the part, in my opinion, but Cassidy was seriously checking the woman out with a bit of drool threatening to dribble down her chin.

I tried not to be jealous—because, yeah, her attraction to another woman was hot—but I was a red-blooded man, so my girl checking out anyone other than me set the little green monster inside on edge.

And then Katya did that European thing where she pulled Cassidy in close to kiss her on each cheek. Really close. With little more than the thin material of her barely there clothing and Cassidy's tank top preventing nipple-to-nipple contact.

I did not receive the same greeting. Perhaps that was about maintaining a certain level of professionalism, which I appreciated, but any propriety to that end had been shot to hell the moment she pressed herself all over my woman like a cat seeking a rubdown.

Not that I was complaining. If it got my girl worked up, I'd be the one reaping the rewards. Maybe, just maybe, that was the point. Dr. Minkov was tricky that way.

“Tell me, did you accomplish the task?” Katya asked me after we'd taken our places in the sitting area. Cassidy and I were on the couch built for two—again, probably by design so we'd always be touching—with Katya getting comfy in the chair to Cassidy's left.

“Yes,” I told her, slipping my hand between Cassidy's knees.

Dr. Minkov grinned knowingly at that claiming maneuver. “How did you manage it?”

“You told me I couldn't touch her, but you didn't say she couldn't touch herself, so I gave her direction while she masturbated.”

Cassidy cleared her throat, her cheeks warming to a lovely shade of pink.

Katya, however, crossed her legs with a slight arch to her lower back and a noticeable squeeze of her thighs. My guess was that while Cassidy was embarrassed, Katya was well pleased. “Very good. Did you come
hard,
Cassidy?”

The exchange I witnessed next was nothing short of a thing born of fantasy. Cassidy met Katya's penetrating gaze, a silent seduction arcing between them. And then the mother of my child covered my hand with hers, moving it farther up her thigh ever so slightly. “We had to change the sheets afterward,” Cassidy admitted with a boldness I hadn't ever seen from her outside the boardroom. “I'd never done anything like that before.”

“It is my desire to get you to open up about your sexuality, to try things you might not have thought to do on your own. You will find my techniques reveal lessons within lessons and will also teach you things about yourself.” Somehow, her Bulgarian accent made everything sound erotic. “To that end, why do you think I gave you this particular assignment?”

The answer was obvious, by my way of thinking. “You were torturing me, making me see what it felt like to know she was getting hers without any hope of getting mine.”

Before Katya could say whether I was right, Cassidy weighed in. “I was thinking something along the same lines, only slightly different in that it was about Shaw needing to learn how to give without
expecting
anything in return.”

“I like those answers, but both are wrong.” Katya leaned forward, the soft scent of musk fanning through the air. “This was a lesson in control. Cassidy, you need to learn to give it up, and Shaw, you need to learn how to maintain and then influence it. Yield and wield. You understand?”

I could see her point with Cassidy but not myself. “I've never had an issue with control, Doc.”

“Have you not?” she contested. “I do not doubt that you are able to take control, but maintaining it and then to be able to manipulate it to the benefit of someone other than yourself is not the same. If you had mastered that, perhaps there would not have been an issue with bringing Cassidy to orgasm and you would not be here with me now.”

Touché.

“I do, however, find it curious that you saw the exercise as torture without realizing the gift being given to you. How could this have been about Cassidy's pleasure when you received two for the price of one?”

“I don't follow.”

“How did it make you feel when you accomplished the task and brought Cassidy to orgasm without a single touch from you?”

Like a fucking stud in beast mode. “Pretty damn victorious.”

“It pleased you when she came?”

“Very much.”

“Her pleasure was yours, and then you were permitted to take pleasure for yourself. You see?”

I nodded because I got the afterschool-special moral of the story. Sometimes rewarding another was a reward to oneself. My masculinity was rebuilding with some crazy testosterone-fueled confidence. Mostly.

“Did you complete the questionnaires I sent home with you after our last session?”

“Oh, yes,” Cassidy said, opening her purse to retrieve our separate envelopes.

We hadn't been allowed to know how the other had answered the rather naughty questions. They were all about either how we saw ourselves, our confidence level, or our secret fantasies—things we'd done before, things we had not, things we wanted to try, and things that were a hard no for exploration. There wasn't much I'd said no to, but I was surprised by how vanilla my experiences had actually been. It wasn't that I wasn't good in bed. On the contrary, I was very good at what I did. It just seemed like my reach into new territory hadn't been as broad as I'd thought.