The Exception Page 8

  I relaxed back against the pillows, trying to control my breathing. “No, I don’t mind.”

  Cane made his way over to my bed and sat on the edge. “I was hoping you’d be a little happier to see me, but I sense I still haven’t won you over. Yet.”

  I felt myself settle in to the natural rhythm I always found with Cane.

  “Actually, I have softened a little where you are concerned. A little!” I laughed when his eyes lit up. “I think you are a really nice guy, although possibly a little self-centered.”

  “Me? Self-centered? I was the one who brought you dinner out of the kindness of my heart. You’re the one that wouldn’t reciprocate.”

  “Oh, is that how it is?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so. But I’m all about giving second chances.”

  “I’m sure you are.” My world felt like it had color for the first time all week.

  “No, I heard what you said the other night and I understand. I would never want you to do something you didn’t truly want to, even if I think you absolutely should.”

  I bent forward and smacked him on the shoulder. “You’re terrible!”

  “Oh, so you do want to get physical?”

  “No!” I laughed.

  “That’s too bad. I thought we were making progress.”

  I took a deep breath. I was tired—tired of fighting Cane, tired of arguing with my feelings, tired of feeling torn. I knew, down deep and under my raging hormones, we couldn’t be together. But I had to get that across to him. We could be friends, I would learn to navigate that, but he had to stop trying to … do whatever it was he was trying to do.

  Maybe if I just admit that I am attracted to him, it will make him feel like I’m not some challenge. Maybe that will be enough for him to move on, which would make it easier for me to do the same. I can’t keep sitting here ‘mowing the lawn’. Max is right. I have to go on with my life and I can’t do that the way I need to with Cane Alexander.

  I took a deep breath. “You want the truth?”

  He stilled and nodded slowly, looking unsure of where I was going.

  “I do feel a pull between us. How could I not? I’ve never felt anything like it before.” I looked into his eyes, emboldened by the desire burning in them. “That kiss ...”

  Having him so close with that look in his eye while I admitted how I really felt was a recipe for disaster.

  My mouth just started talking, forgoing any filter. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Cane. I—I think about you all the time.”

  “What do you think about?”

  The sound of his voice, low and controlled, made my own voice quiver. “I—”

  “Tell me, Jada,” he demanded, his eyes blazing. “What do you think about? Do you think about me touching you?”

  I nodded as I tried really hard not to pant, my body temperature spiking.

  “Where do I touch you?” He leaned towards me, taking over my personal space. He seemed taller, darker somehow. His voice was thick with desire.

  I twisted my fingers in the sheets so that I wouldn’t reach up and pull him down on top of me.

  “When you think of my hands on you, where are they?”

  I tried to look away, but he caught my chin with his fingertips, turning it to face him once again. “Jada,” he said, more forcefully this time. “Where do I touch you?”

  “Everywhere,” I whispered, my voice overflowing with need.

  I ached for him to touch me, nearly desperate for physical contact. I tried to hold on to the part of my brain that remembered why that shouldn’t, couldn’t happen but I was losing control fast.

  “Like here?” He trailed his fingertips lightly down the side of my face. I could feel the connection ripple throughout my entire being.

  I nodded faintly as my breath hitched in my chest.

  “Where else?” His fingers lazily trailed down my throat, across my chest. He paused at my breast, my nipple hardening at the contact.

  My body was throbbing, screaming for a release. And the only thing that could release me was waiting for a response.

  “I think about you touching me everywhere,” I whispered. Before I knew it, I was flipped to my back.

  Cane placed one knee on either side of me, pinning both my hands firmly above my head with one of his. He leaned down, his face inches from mine.

  “I want to touch every part of your body, Jada. I want to make every part of your body mine.”

  All thoughts of fighting my attraction for him were long gone. I was putty in his hands.

  I tipped my chin and his mouth crushed mine, owning it. I kissed him back with everything I had. He growled at my responsiveness, which only made me want him more.

  His mouth moved more urgently. He nibbled my bottom lip and I couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped against his mouth. As soon as I made the sound, Cane immediately broke the kiss. He pulled back, panting. My eyes searched his, wild and fierce, as I struggled to catch my breath.

  “Cane,” I whispered raggedly, not sure why he stopped when I so desperately needed more.

  He closed his eyes and rolled off the bed, pacing a circle in the room.

  My head was spinning. I scrambled to sit up, my body feeling bereft without his touch. “Cane?” I asked again, my voice shaking.

  He ran his hands through his hair, clearly agitated. He paced around a few more seconds before he stopped moving and turned to look at me.

  My heart pounded, uncertainty and confusion warring inside my head.

  “I’m not going to do this,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

  I stopped breathing as I stared at him in shock. “What? You’re kidding me right now, right?”

  “I can’t do this.” He threw his head back and chuckled. “I can’t even fucking believe this,” he said more to himself than anything.

  “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

  His head jerked back up. “No, baby. You did nothing wrong at all.” The term of endearment wrapped around me, protecting me just a bit from the sting of being rejected.

  “If we do this—if I push this, you will hate me.”

  “You’re not pushing anything. I want this, Cane. I really want this.”

  He took the few steps between us quickly and bent down to eye level. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as this,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “But you aren’t that girl, Jada. And I can’t treat you like one. I’m probably going to have to give up my man card for this shit, but I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

  “I’m a woman—we change our minds. I’m definitely that girl,” I reassured him.

  He laughed softly. “But you’re really not. One day, maybe you will want this for real and I will give it to you like you’ve never had it before. But right now, ironically, I’m the one that has to go.”

  He kissed me on the forehead as he stood up and walked out of my room.

  I heard him call for Max and the door slam roughly as I sat there, not sure what in the hell had just happened.

  JADA

  The water was cool as I pushed through it, arm over arm, lap after lap, until exhaustion finally set in.

  I swam to the steps and trudged out of the pool, my limbs deliciously heavy. I walked to the cabinets on the patio where Kari kept the beach towels, grabbing the first one my fingers touched. I tossed it back in the cabinet, exchanging the blue one for a red striped version.

  Screw everything blue—blue towels, blue skies, and blue fucking eyes.

  It was a pair of aqua orbs that I couldn’t outswim, outwork, outrun. Cane’s beautiful eyes as he knelt in front of me, full of sincerity, telling me I wasn’t that girl.

  Bullshit.

  I scrubbed my face with the red towel.

  I had managed to keep busy over the last week, filling my days with more work than anyone should ever take on and my nights with dinners with my father, movies with Kari, and epic conversations with Heather. Simon Powers ha
d called the day before about Solomon Place and ended up asking to take me to dinner, but I had turned him down. I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with a date.

  But on Wednesday, Dad was sick, Kari was working at the hospital, and Heather was at a concert with her new rocker boyfriend, Brian. With only myself to count on for a distraction, I had jumped in the pool and swam as hard and fast as possible.

  Everything is so confusing!

  I wanted desperately to believe what I read in Cane’s eyes. I wanted to believe that he was really doing what he thought was best for me. But I knew better. People in general, and men especially, were in it to win it. Cane was no different. Only a fool would believe that.

  Tears pricked my eyes and I fought them from falling. I blinked rapidly and forced myself to get angry.

  Remember—he’s ‘the coach’. He was clear that he just wanted one night. I guess getting me to admit that I wanted him was enough. At least he let me down easy.

  I breathed deeply, holding on to the anger that was surging past the self-pity.

  He won. I handed another asshole a victory. Accept it for what it is and get over it.

  I wrapped the towel snugly around my waist and headed into the house, finally feeling like I may be able to sleep. I was physically exhausted but, more than that, I was emotionally drained.

  Spotting a new bottle of wine on the countertop, I grabbed a glass out of the dishwasher.

  Get a hot bath, drink a glass of wine, and I’ll be golden.

  I grabbed the wine, popped the cork, and poured it into the glass, my mind drifting back to my dinner with Cane.

  “Personally, I like to drink out of a real glass.”

  I sat the wine down with a shaky hand.

  Like a bolt of lightning, all of the emotions I had been keeping in check slammed together with the force of a train. I looked around the kitchen, desperate for something to give me a good memory to latch onto. I needed something to replace the images of Decker watching me leave the courthouse, of Cane walking out the door. But there were only things of Kari’s. Nothing of mine.

  Because this isn’t my house. I don’t have a home anymore.

  My lip began to quiver as my reality came crashing down on me with the weight of the world.

  I’ve lost everything I had, if it was even mine to begin with. And who knows how to get to where I even want to be? Where do I want to be? I don’t even know.

  I slid down the cabinets until I was sitting on the cold tile. It felt like a series of bombs were exploding inside me all at once, ripping me into little jagged pieces. Tears fell freely and hard, leaving me unable to catch my breath. It was an explosion after explosion, each memory triggering another, reminding me of what I never had and likely never would.

  I had never felt so alone in my life.

  If this is really living, like Max said, I’d rather mow the fucking sidewalk.

  CANE

  The smacking sound my ink pen made as I tapped it off of my yellow notepad was soothing in some crazy way. It was a distraction from—well, my distractions.

  I sat back in my office chair, the late Thursday morning sun heating my office. I got up and twisted the blinds shut, blocking out both the heat and the light.

  I wish I could block shit out of my life that fucking easy. Where would I even start? Jada? Or Powers?

  Definitely Powers.

  Grimacing, I headed to the mini-refrigerator across the room and grabbed a bottle of water. Max’s latest bit of information had me perplexed and a little nervous.

  “My friend at the police department said that they suspect Simon of being involved with the Sinaloa Cartel; they’ve been watching him for a few months now.”

  It made sense. It explained the apparent trips to the border. It explained the money and even the interest in an open office building to use as a front for his operation, if there really was one.

  But would a cartel use a tool like Powers? And how would he even get involved with a Mexican cartel?

  Too many questions and not enough fucking answers.

  I sat back down in my chair, my mind, like a magnet, going back to Jada Stanley.

  I am certi-fucking-fiable.

  I hadn’t seen her since I left her sitting on her bed, her eyes begging me for something I couldn’t give her. The only thing keeping me sane was that Max saw her almost daily. And, with a few threats involved, he divulged how and what she was doing. She hadn’t really said anything about me, but she hadn’t said anything about Simon, either. So I guessed, on some level, that was good news.

  I wasn’t sure why I gave a fuck. It wasn’t like it made any difference to me.

  I knew that she didn’t want me—not really. She wanted to fuck me and I sure as hell wanted to fuck her, too. But for some strange reason, I had a conscience about this. I didn’t want her regretting it.

  Is this what guys like Max feel like all the time? Poor bastards.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Jada was right. I couldn’t give her what she wanted.

  I didn’t want complications. I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want a responsibility. I didn’t want monogamy.

  I didn’t want to fucking prioritize.

  And even though Jada seemed to turn a one-eighty the last time I saw her, I couldn’t take advantage of that.

  I kicked my feet up on my desk.

  When did I, Cane Alexander, not take advantages that were laid out in front of me? Why did I give a fuck about all of this? When did I become such a pussy?

  My life revolved around a carefully constructed set of guidelines.

  1. Trust no one.

  2. Take responsibility for your own success and failures.

  3. Embrace being alone.

  Things change. Needs change. Desires change. And this setup ensured that I was able to meet my needs and desires. I was a hedonist and I was okay with that. I preferred it, really.

  I had lived the past few years without thinking about one girl for very long. Ever since things ended with her, I vowed never to get into a relationship like that again. Women only wanted you for what you could give them and they would always trade you in if something better came along. They would lie, cheat, and destroy your life if they thought they could get a step ahead by doing it.

  That’s what my mother had done to my father and what she had done to me.

  Fuck them both.

  Once I realized that all women were the same, I decided not to bother getting close to any one in particular. There was no sense in it.

  So why in the hell does Jada Stanley take up so much of my mental energy?

  I slammed my notepad down on my desk, the force rattling the pen holder. Black ballpoint pens hit the floor and rolled in every direction. There was probably some brilliant analogy that could be made from that, but Max wasn’t around to explain it to me.

  I rubbed my temples, trying to get some clarity.

  She’s not different. Not enough to change anything. Not enough to make promises.

  Not enough to make an exception to the rules.

  “I’m that girl.” I heard that roll through my mind a million times and each time, I wished it were true. I had almost talked myself into going through with it anyway in hopes that it would end this ridiculous fascination I had with her. But I couldn’t because I knew that she was talking in the moment. Even I had done things in the heat of the moment that I wished I could take back.

  Letting her do that to herself was unacceptable, even by my standards. It took every ounce of strength I had to walk out of there. I didn’t talk to Max the entire trip to his house, trying to wrap my head around what had transpired, trying to figure out what I was feeling.

  Because fuck if I knew.

  I figured if she really wanted it, she would call me. Or she would at least make some sort of indication that she meant what she had said. But that call never came.

  Sighing, I sat up and flicked the cursor on my laptop to work on a bid. I needed to buckle down and focus
.

  The monitor sparked to life … and the orange in the background reminded me of Jada’s dress.

  I lay back in my office chair and blew out a breath through my teeth. I needed to release some steam so I could actually be productive.

  I picked my cell off the desk and scrolled through my texts. A quick fuck would do me some good.

  Yeah, that’s what I need. That’s my problem.

  I tapped my phone against my chin, trying to think of the last woman I was with. They all blended to together.

  There was only one face that was clear.

  Out of nowhere, something Jada once told me crossed my mind. I pulled up the search engine on my computer.

  I just can’t let well enough be.

  I grabbed my phone and dialed the number Google gave me.

  I need to Google “therapy” while I’m at it.

  A cheery voice introduced answered the phone.

  “Hello.” I cleared my throat. “This is Cane Alexander. I’m not sure how to do this, but here’s what I need …”

  JADA

  I was on fire.

  Thursday had begun with a post-crying hangover. Once the tears had started the night before, they didn’t want to stop. I knew that was going to come eventually. Even after my divorce, I didn’t cry a lot. I reasoned then that it was because I cried so much during my marriage, but apparently there were still tears inside to release.

  And release they did. It was very cathartic to just let go, even if I was on the kitchen floor by myself.

  I felt purified of the past with Decker, as well as the past with Cane. Decker had left scars that I knew I would carry with me forever. But Cane—I chose to believe his intentions were honorable and my pain was simply a by-product of two people trying to force something that just wasn’t meant to be.

  It didn’t really matter. He walked away. There was no sense in worrying about it.

  I left the house earlier than usual on Thursday morning and stopped by a little bagel shop for a coffee and a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese. The girl working in the shop was sweet and we had a nice, easy conversation while I picked the raisins out of the bread and enjoyed my coffee. She told me about her love life and I offered her some advice like I knew something about the topic.