They reached his apartment in Seattle, located just off of I-5 and between the University District and downtown, at ten o’clock in the morning. His neighborhood included a homey-looking café called Julia’s, a laundromat, a small grocery store, public tennis courts, and a dry cleaner.
“Do you want to come up?” Pete asked.
Cassidy felt the hum of electricity between them spike. “Sure,” she said. Just for a bit, she told herself. She removed his skis from the rack on her truck, and Pete carried his duffel bag and ski poles. They climbed the stairs to the second floor where the grey, overcast sky obscured the city skyline. Cassidy followed him to the end of the exterior walkway, trying not to rush, hearing her breath loud in her ears, but Pete’s stride was brisk, as if he, too, was in a hurry. He unlatched the double lock on his apartment and the door swung open.
“Welcome,” Pete said, placing his bag inside the doorway.
Cassidy stepped into the living room furnished simply with a brown fabric couch, oversized easy chair, and dark wood coffee table piled with magazines and newspapers. She noticed the lack of a TV.
“Can I get you something?” Pete asked, disappearing into the kitchen. “Coffee? Orange juice?”
“I’ve definitely had enough coffee,” Cassidy replied, following him around the corner. She leaned her hip against the wall and took in the tube-like kitchen arranged with a small round table and two chairs at one end, appliances at the other. In the middle, a window over the sink let in the diffuse winter light. “But orange juice sounds good, thanks.”
Pete dove into the fridge and pulled out a half-empty jug. He pulled down two mismatched glasses and poured. Cassidy stepped closer and accepted her glass of juice. A peek out the window revealed a view of the side street.
“The view is better from the front door, unfortunately,” he said, taking a sip of the juice.
Cassidy nodded. “It’s nice, though,” she said of his place. “You and Mark don’t watch TV?” she asked.
Pete shook his head. “We had one, but we never watched it. Then the one time we tried, it didn’t work, so we pitched it. After Mark comes home, the last thing he wants to do is watch more TV.” Cassidy remembered that Mark worked as a news writer for Seattle’s King Five studio.
Cassidy finished her juice and put her cup in the sink. Pete’s glass sat on the counter, half empty.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said.
“No problem. Thanks for driving so I could work,” she said.
“Anything for science,” he teased.
She smiled, and their eyes locked. He took a step closer. She lifted her face to his, her insides buzzing with a warm, powerful current as their lips met.
Seven
Pete’s apartment, Seattle
November 29, 2014
Cassidy stepped closer and kissed him back, feeling the heat of his body. They kissed again, longer this time, her head buzzing. He brushed a lock of her loose hair over her shoulder and caressed the side of her neck, his fingertips so soft. She reached her arms around him, delighted at how perfectly their bodies fit together. His body felt strong and compact, like he was made of granite. Their next kiss went on until she had to gasp for breath, and their eyes locked again.
He smiled. “I had a great time with you this weekend,” he said.
“Me too,” she replied.
He leaned down and kissed her again, and her skin started tingling. He pulled her closer. Their tongues met, playful and gentle, and the kisses deepened. Cassidy felt like she was being swept along on a gentle ocean current, the shore drifting further and further away. Her body hummed with a craving that strengthened the longer they kissed. The sensation that time was slipping peacefully away was wonderful and intoxicating. She gave into it fully, taking in everything: his soft lips, his firm body, his gentle touch on her skin.
Pete pulled back. “Sorry about my scruff,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” he asked, his fingertips brushing the side of her face.
Cassidy shook her head. His eyes watched her with such care it almost felt like too much, and she blinked.
“I usually grow a beard every winter at the start of ski season.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “Is that going to bother you?”
“No,” Cassidy said, startled that he would think to ask her.
“So, um, I haven’t had a shower in three days,” he said, looking suddenly shy. “And that thing I told you about my feet? It’s no joke.”
She laughed. “I should go, anyway,” she said, though the heat swirling low in her belly told her otherwise. “My deadline is no joke, either,” she added.
Pete’s hand found hers and even though it was such a simple thing, the warmth of his touch flowed into her.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
Tomorrow? Cassidy wanted to say. “How long will you be in Portland?”
He thought for a moment. “A few days, at least.”
She didn’t want to wait that long. “Are you free tonight?” Cassidy asked before she could stop herself.
Pete blinked and an expression of hope bloomed on his face. “Want to get some dinner?”
“Sure,” she said, though realistically, grabbing a quick beer at the end of the evening would be the more responsible plan.
Pete didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. “Or why don’t I cook. You do own a saucepan, right?” he asked, his eyes flashing with mischief.
“How else can I make my Top Ramen?” she said.
His eyes widened in horror. “Please tell me you don’t really eat that stuff.”
“Why not?” she said, biting her lip to hold in her smile. Messing with him was almost as fun as kissing
