Coming Clean (8 page)

Shaw perked up at that, his back and shoulders a little straighter. “Really?”

My question, exactly.
Really, Shaw?
I crossed my arms over my chest and eyeballed him. He noticed and visibly swallowed, but I could tell my disapproval hadn't done much to subdue his curiosity.

“Indeed,” Jeremy said, reaching for his notepad and beginning to jot something down. “I must warn you that should you agree to see her, and she you, it will be an experience like none you've ever had before. To say Katya is unconventional would be an understatement. She's a professional, of course, but she's also the most…” He shook his head with a very deep breath and long exhalation. Were his glasses fogging up again? “Let's just say you'll thank me for this.”

Ripping off a sheet of paper, Jeremy passed it over to us. He hadn't been writing notes. He'd been scribbling Dr. Minkov's contact information.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked, not entirely sure how we'd gotten to this place. A sex therapist who isn't really a therapist at all? I had some serious research to do on this Dr. Katya Minkov.

Jeremy's eyebrows lifted. “I can't see how it could possibly hurt. Think of it as an adventure of sorts. After all, sex was the foundation of your relationship. You said so yourself. So let's fix the cracks in that foundation before we look at the rest of your house.”

Though I was apprehensive about making an even bigger deal out of our issues, I supposed he did have a point. Besides, I could use a little adventure. Peering over at Shaw, I knew we both could. Maybe he'd make more time for his family if we could find our passion for each other again.

“Of course,” Jeremy added, “confidentiality runs both ways with Dr. Minkov. The agreement you signed with me safeguards the contact information I just gave you for Katya as well. Whether you choose to use her or not, you must not share it with anyone.”

“Sounds secretive, very
Mission Impossible–
ish,” I told him, suspicious of the hush-hush behavior. “Is this Dr. Minkov even on the up-and-up? Because if we end up in the Nevada desert at a brothel…”

“Cassidy, I assure you that I would not recommend you see her if she were not. Katya is simply
very
good at what she does. So good that her clients have to go through an intense application process and she handpicks each and every one. Referrals get to skip the application process, but she will take them on only if
she
chooses to.”

“What do you think, Shaw?”

Relaxed back into his seat with an elbow propped up on the armrest, his thumb cradling his jaw, and a finger lying across his full lips, Shaw gave a lackadaisical shrug. “You're calling the shots here. I'm just along for the ride.”

Great. He was pouting. No doubt because I'd bruised his delicate ego. Fine. If he wanted to behave like a child resorting to dropping into deadweight mode, I'd drag his butt to yet another therapist's office and see how much he liked that.

I fake it
….Cassidy's admission kept replaying through my mind on a loop, each syllable pounding my ego like the clapper of a ten-ton bell and the reverberation drowning out any other thought. She'd been faking it? Could there be a worse blow to an alpha male's self-esteem?

I was Shaw Matthews. Never had a woman ever had to fake it with me. Least of all, Cassidy. And worse, I'd never so much as thought it a possibility. I mean, I had some mad skills.

“You're angry about what I told Dr. Sparling about faking it, aren't you?” Everything about Cassidy's demeanor screamed apprehensive and nervous as hell as I escorted her to the parking garage.

Nervous? After she'd given me an ultimatum to see that damn therapist in the first place or she'd leave and take our son with her? Apprehensive? After devastating my pride the way she had in front of a total fucking stranger?

Yeah, served her right.

So I didn't answer.

“Say something, Shaw. I need to know how that made you feel.”

I gave her an incredulous grunt. We'd seen a shrink all of one time and now she wanted to fit the cliché and talk about feelings. Right.

I wanted to continue to ignore her, but there was one question still plaguing me. Stopping by the hybrid I bought for her—highly rated for the safety of our son with a price tag to match—I turned on her. “How long, Cassidy? How long have you been faking it?”

She kicked her hip out and crossed her arms over her chest with an irritated huff. Like she had any right to be annoyed. “I don't know. A while. Why? What does it matter?”

It really didn't. A day, a month, a year…no matter how long, it wasn't acceptable.

Instinct and pride urged me to rip off all of Cassidy's clothes and take her against some stranger's car right there in the parking garage, giving not a single damn if anyone saw us. All to prove I didn't need a fucking sex therapist, who wasn't really a therapist, to show me how to pleasure my girl. But I didn't. I didn't because I wasn't much in the mood to pleasure her at the moment, a mood that was very much warring with my alpha nature at the same time.

She'd stripped me of something with those three little words. Something essential to my core. My dominance. My manhood.

“Shaw?”

I was back to not answering her again. It wasn't like I knew what to say even if I could get my teeth to stop grinding long enough to get any words out. No, I wasn't angry. I was pissed. At her, yes, but mostly at myself.

My woman had gone without getting off for God only knew how long. She'd been walking around our place, taking care of our child, feeling like I didn't want her, like I no longer found her sexy. But that wasn't true. Even now, as mad as she'd made me, my cock was straining against my zipper, wanting nothing more than to answer her body's call for release, for the pleasure it had been deprived of.

Emotionally, I couldn't deny my anger. Physically, I couldn't deny the pull to satisfy her sexual need. Mentally, it was all fucking with my head in a very messed-up way that demanded I restore some semblance of balance immediately.

“Shaw,” Cassidy prodded.

“What?” Even I could hear the warning in my voice for her to drop it.

It did nothing to keep Cassidy from poking the bear, though. “You haven't said anything.”

“Goddammit, Cassidy!” I snapped at her persistence and then unloaded without a care for who might overhear. “A whole lot of shit was said back there! Shit I didn't know! And now we have to go see a sex therapist on top of it all? I've just been blindsided, and you want to know how I feel? I don't
know
how I feel! Is it too much to ask for a fucking moment to organize my thoughts so I can figure it out for myself?”

Cassidy's astonished eyes blinked up at me. “Oh…Okay. Sorry. You're right.”

“Jesus!” I said with an incredulous shake of my head that did nothing for the stabbing ache beginning to ice-pick my brain. I rubbed my forehead, not that it did anything to relieve the throbbing, and then took a deep, calming breath. “Look, I told you I'd do whatever you need to make things right between us, to fix things for my family, and I will. But you…You've gotta give me some time to process all of this.”

She nodded, her gaze fixating on the ground. Dammit, I couldn't do anything right.

She turned to open the door to her vehicle, saying, “Abe's having a sleepover with Quinn and Denver tonight, so I'll just see you whenever you get home.”

I stopped her before she got inside and closed me out. “Hey.” Cassidy froze in place but didn't turn around. Instead, she faced forward with her back to me and her shoulders bowed. “Tell me.”

I don't know why, but I needed to hear her say it.

“I love you.” Her voice sounded small and unemotional, like an automated response. She'd done what was expected of her but still hadn't looked at me. With that, she got into the car as if she couldn't do so fast enough and shut the door.

I just stood there as she started the damn thing, putting it into gear and checking the rearview mirror before backing out of her parking space and pulling away. Not a glance was spared in my direction.

“Love you, too,” I said to her taillights.

Even when she was out of sight, I remained where I was, still staring after her with an overwhelming sense of shame, anger, and frustration. She'd wanted me to discuss my feelings, and I couldn't. Instead, I'd bitten her head off and then let her drive away. Once again, I'd left her unsatisfied.

What
the fuck
was wrong with me? And why did I feel justified despite my guilt?

Well,
that
had gone in no way, shape, or form the way I'd thought it would.

Dr. Sparling, Jeremy, had scheduled our next appointment, and I was already apprehensive about what might come out during it. Good Lord, one appointment had already revealed so much.

He'd also given us a heads-up on what we'd be discussing. Since it had been determined that the foundation of our relationship revolved around sex, Jeremy wanted to see how much Shaw and I actually knew about each other. I was nervous. Really nervous. Though I'd just outed Shaw in front of Dr. Sparling for not paying enough attention to me to know I'd been faking, I'd started to question exactly how well I knew the man I'd built a life with.

Most of my and Shaw's conversations were usually about Abe or work, or my family and what had been going on with them. We never really discussed Shaw's family. I didn't even know if he had any relatives other than his mother and father. I'd only seen his mother the one time, and his father not at all. He had no pictures of them, there'd been no greeting cards on special occasions, no trips home for Christmas, no anything. They hadn't even met their grandson, and probably didn't even know he existed, for that matter.

And I'd never questioned any of it. Hadn't really given it a second thought.

Holy crap! Talk about having your head in the sand! And I'd been on Shaw's case about a freaking orgasm fake?

“Cassidy Rose, you're a clueless moron,” I said aloud to myself.

Suddenly, all sorts of questions about Shaw started bombarding me. What was his favorite color? His favorite meal? His favorite song? Favorite book?

My mind was blank on every single one. I had nothing, not a single answer.

But I knew how to fix that, didn't I? I'd just have to switch gears, dust the cobwebs from my good ol' trusty agent hat and don it once more to use my impeccable research skills to our advantage. This was a test, and I was not lacking the tools by which to ace it. Though I was a total ass for not knowing so much as the basics about the man I claimed to love.

Sex was the basis of our relationship, true enough. But was that all it had ever been? No, I refused to believe that. And I refused to lose Shaw on a technicality. I knew what my heart wanted, who my heart wanted. Shaw, plain and simple.

But I'd signed Dr. Sparling's contract, fully prepared to abide by his recommendation as it pertained to the future of my and Shaw's relationship. Since I wasn't okay with throwing in the towel—never had been—I was going to buckle in and get back on my game. My ma and da hadn't raised a quitter, though I wasn't exactly doing them proud with all my double-standard behavior either.

Shaw needed a moment? Yeah, well, I needed a drink. So I pulled into the parking lot of our building, locked things up tight, and walked the couple of blocks to Monkey Business.

Monkey Business was the neighborhood pub where all my friends and I hung out, or at least used to. They still did. Me? Not as much now that I was a mom. It had an old-world Irish feel with the traditional emerald green and gold trim, dark wood everything, and a few mounted televisions tuned in to different sporting events and news. Walking through the doors, I breathed in deep, letting the smell of ale and history, the quiet hum of various conversations, and the soft glow of painted glass chandeliers and neon signs begin to work their magic. For years, this was where I'd gone after so many long hours at the office to unwind and ease the stress of the day. Now, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

I'd missed it.

I tried not to be disappointed when I didn't find what I was looking for. On the far side of the room and to the left corner of the bar was a table of rich, dark wood with a glossy top. Four unmatched chairs sat empty, which meant Demi and Sasha weren't here.

“Holy shit, ladies and gentlemen,” a boisterous baritone voice shouted in my direction, “Monkey's misplaced daughter has finally returned home!”

I'd know that voice anywhere.

The grin that pushed my cheeks to a nearly painful split was unavoidable as I headed toward the stretch of lacquered wood that lined the west end of the room with matching stools along its front. Chaz Michaels, one of my nearest and dearest friends, was the barkeep with the big mouth. He was a chiseled mountain of a man with spiky blond hair, soft baby blues, and a pristine smile. For someone who didn't know him, the body ink and piercings, not to mention his build, might be intimidating. But I knew him to be nothing more than a giant teddy bear. He was also Demi's adoring beau.

“What's up, handsome?” I said, stepping up on the brass foot rail and meeting him half the distance to kiss his cheek. I couldn't help but notice the picture taped to the mirror behind him. It was one Demi had taken of Chaz and Abe when they'd kept him so I could go to a doctor's appointment I'd had while Shaw was out of town. Abe mirrored his “uncle” Chaz, dressed in identical blue jeans and white T-shirt with a Harley-Davidson hat turned backward on his head. The fist bump pose they were in was cute times a gazillion.

“Hey, I know that handsome devil,” I said, pulling back and nodding toward the picture.

Chaz looked over his shoulder, a proud grin on his face. “Aww, thanks, Cass! I think I'm pretty cute, too.”

“Not you!” I laughed. “Abe!”

Chaz laughed, too. “Yeah, that's my little dude,” he told me. “Man, I love that kid. You need to stop being so stingy with him and let us hang out more often.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I waved him off, though I knew I'd make it happen as soon as possible. “Where are my girls?”

Chaz's fitted black T-shirt was stretched taut across his broad chest, the short sleeves threatening a tear around his biceps as he worked a bar towel inside a tall mug he'd been drying. “Demi's got a class and Sasha is still honeymooning.”

Demi I got—she taught self-defense with various class times to accommodate different schedules—but Sasha?

“Wait, I just talked to Quinn the other night and he was here with Demi and Sasha, so I assumed she and Landon were already home.”

He put the mug away and started on the next. “Oh, yeah, they're back in town, but that doesn't mean the honeymoon is over,” he said with a suggestive waggle of his brows and a mischievous laugh. “They want a baby right away, and, well, practice makes perfect.”

Wow! I hadn't even known they were trying. Which only proved how out of touch with the world, my world, I'd become.

“I so didn't need that visual.” I laughed. “Okay, then. Superbummed about finally having the chance to have a drink with my girls and them not being here, so I guess I'll just head home.”

“Oh, so you're too good to have a drink with me? Ouch, my feelings, Cass.” In dramatic fashion, he rubbed the spot on his chest that was just over his heart.

“Stop it!” I swatted at him and missed. “You're working.”

He shrugged and dropped the towel onto the counter below the bar. “It's my break time anyway. Come on. I'll get some beers and meet you at the table. And yeah, even though you haven't shown your face around here for like a million years, I still remember what you like,” the smart-ass tacked on.

“Okay! Sure!”

I got a little pep in my step as I went over to the table that he'd reserved for the girls, Quinn, and me when our visits had been more predictable. I was out of the house, among adults, and about to have a drink with a cooler-than-cool friend who'd always had a knack for making me laugh.

“Everyone in here is going to think we're on a date.” I laughed before taking the first sip of beer I'd had since I couldn't remember when. The moan at the flavors exploding on my tongue was nearly X-rated. “Oh, that is
so
good!”

“No, everyone is going to think you and that mug are here on a date.” Chaz looked around, presumably to see if anyone else had heard me, though his chuckle was deep and hardy. “Damn…Keep it in your pants, Cass. You pervs and your weird fetishes, jeez!”

“Speaking of pervs…,” I said, arching a brow at him. “You and Demi getting it on behind the bar with everyone watching?”

“She told you about that?”

“Nope! Quinn did.” I took another swig of my beer.

“Yeah, well, it seems the details have been skewed. First of all, it was
on top
of the bar, not behind it,” he corrected. “Second, it was after hours, so she and I were here alone and the only one getting a free show was Demi. She wanted to use the mirror to watch me go down on her. Was I supposed to say no to that? I mean, because, come on, what man in his right mind would? Besides, you know your girl as well as I do; what Demi wants…”

“Demi sure as hell is going to get,” I finished for him.

Chaz raised his bottle, tilting the neck toward me for a toast before taking a long pull from it. “Your friend is corrupting me,” he said with another chuckle.

I shook my head, swallowing my own gulp. “She's not corrupting you. She's encouraging you to be more adventurous. And judging by the
billion years
it took you to get up the nerve to ask her out in the first place, I'd say you need all the encouragement she's willing to give.”

“Ah, shit. Can we not go there?” He sat back, his very large body sagging in the chair.

I loved riding him about dragging his feet in the beginning where she was concerned. It wasn't that he hadn't been attracted to Demi; it was just that he hadn't thought he was good enough for her. Forget about their opposite-side-of-the-tracks upbringing. His hang-up had largely been due to the significant difference in their pay grades. Probably still was.

“So when are you two going to tie the knot?” I asked.

Chaz choked on his beer. It took him a moment to recover, and when he did, he shook his head. “Not until I can be the man she deserves.”

“But you're already the man she wants,” I pointed out. “And if you're willing to act out her fantasies, you're also what she needs.”

“Are we back to the bar top thing again?” he asked with another laugh. “You women always complain about us men having a one-track mind, but you're even worse than we are. Moving on…”

“Yeah, this conversation is all kinds of TMI, isn't it?”

“No such thing as TMI between good friends,” he said with a genuine smile. And then he changed the subject. Or rather, redirected the spotlight. “So what's up with you and my boy? How's the counseling going?”

I shrugged, not really sure if I wanted to ruin my drastically improved mood. “It's going. We've only had one so far, but, man, was it a doozy.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Not really, but I supposed it couldn't make matters worse. I was actually glad to have a neutral party to talk to. Like every good bartender, Chaz was an excellent listener who gave pretty sound advice. Besides that, he had always claimed he was Switzerland when it came to Shaw and me back when we were at each other's throat all the time, so I knew he wouldn't take sides. The fact that he was a man meant I could get a solid male point of view on things.

“He's bucking it, of course,” I told him with a roll of my eyes.

“You get why, though, right?”

“Yeah, he told our therapist he wasn't crazy about discussing personal issues with a stranger. I think it's more than that, though.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Like maybe he simply doesn't want to hear that he's wrong. You know Shaw. He thinks he's perfect and has the right answer for everything.”

“Hi, pot! Meet kettle,” he said sarcastically.

My eyes widened at his insinuation. “I do not think I have the right answer to everything! And I might be a perfectionist, but I don't think I'm perfect in the least bit. I'm full of doubts! Constantly questioning everything I do as a partner to him, a mother to Abe…”

“And you don't think Shaw has any doubts?”

“Not before today, but I'm pretty sure he does now,” I mumbled, taking a swig.

“Yeah? Why's that?”

Before I knew it, I'd blurted out the words. “I told him and the therapist that I fake my orgasms.”

And we were right back to the TMI stuff.

Chaz sputtered, all wide-eyed with brows reaching for his hairline. “You
what
?”

“Oh, God. Please don't make me say it again,” I half-whined with a slump of my shoulders. I'd talked about it enough, thought about it enough, and knew all of that was only the beginning because Shaw and I had yet to really discuss it, what with his needing a
fucking moment
.

“Damn, Cass! I joke all the time about Demi carrying my balls around in her purse, but that? You castrated the man, for real.” His hand disappeared beneath the table like he was making sure his own junk was still there, and then he made a show of checking out my neck. “You wearing 'em around your neck now? Because
duuude
…,” he said, exaggerating a shiver down his back.

Propping my elbows on the table, I put my head in my hands, feeling like absolute doo-doo that I'd revealed something so embarrassing to Shaw's best friend. In fact, Chaz was the only one of our friends who even knew we were going to counseling in the first place.

“It wasn't like I intentionally set out to do that. I was just being honest.” I forced myself to look up at him, though I really wanted to get my ostrich on and hide my head in the sand again.

Chaz's head bobbed as he sat forward to rest his forearms on the table. “See, I can dig the whole honesty bit, but what's harder to understand is why you chose to come clean in front of someone else. Shit like that's way personal, you know? Why didn't you just talk to him about it?”

“Because I didn't feel like I could. I'd tried to talk to him about other things and he'd only blow me off, saying he didn't have the time.”