Page 115 of Hot Shot

But I did this.

So I have to make it right.

Witnessing her cry like that fucked me up in ways I didn’t know were possible. The fact that those tears were because of a situation I selfishly strong-armed her into gutted me. Ruined me. She agreed to carry a responsibility I never should have asked of her, despite how grateful I am. I wouldn’t have Cricket if she hadn’t. I don’t know if I would have had Cass either, but my best guess is no.

That fucker Davis spoiled her with money and easy-going persuasion. I’ve tried to spoil her with respect and the love I have for her. But she’s paying a price just like she did with him.

It feels like it’s different.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s not.

The boundaries are about as clear as advanced math, and I’m too fucking dumb to figure them out. I hate that that’s another thing she has to do.

A sigh slides out of me, heavy and low. At least I can feed her body, soul, and pussy from the all-you-can-eat buffet I have to offer. I can take care of her in the simpler ways, like making sure she gets enough rest, which she definitely has not had enough of.

I’ll ask her what she wants. God, I hope she’ll let me help. It breaks my soul to see her like this. Everything about her feels heavy, like she’s weighted down and dragging herself through it all in the hopes she can lay down at the end.

It’s been coming on for weeks, I realize. Honestly, it might have started on day one of the whole ordeal, the flurry of new shit to deal with eating at her like a parasite. And with a new job that’s so demanding? Her dream job that she can’t devote herself to because she’s too busy dealing with my shit?

Fucking asshole.

I’ll make it up to her,I vow.

That is the thought that fuels me as I pull into the driveway and park, grabbing that hot pizza and heading inside with a little spring in my step.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call, kicking the door shut behind me.

She waves at me from the couch, smiling with teeth and everything. She looks softer, relaxed. It could be that she has on her troll clothes, as she lovingly calls them, or that her hair’s in that wild knot on top of her head. She has on one of my old tees from high school baseball I’m certain she wore once a long time ago with the number thirteen on the back. The sight of her in it does something unholy to my cock. When she stretches with her fists in the air and arches her back, I note that she’s braless, her breasts soft and jiggling a little, her nipples hard against the stretched fabric. The effect allthathas on my cock is profane.

I take an extra second hanging up my keys and setting the pizza on the island to adjust my raging dick before wandering into the living room.

“How’d it go?” I ask, still standing. Mostly because the couch is covered in school shit.

“Really well. I finished the math sheets and I’m halfway through the spelling. I honestly did not think it was possible. Turns out I just needed a couple hours to myself.” She leans forward, tipping her chin with her lips puckered. I give her what she wants. “How was the drive?”

“Easy peasy. I heard about the entire plot of the Ramona Quinley series, feeling very well-read.”

She laughs. “Quimby. Her name is Ramona Quimby. Hey, wait!” she says, still laughing when I take the papers and shit in her lap and set them on the coffee table.

“And Beezus. Right?” I intercept her arms when she tries reaching around me to get to them.

“Yes, now gimme my stuff. I have to?—”

“Hang on, I need to talk to you.”

She softens. “Okay.”

I squat in front of her and take one of her hands. “Cass, I want to tell you again how sorry I am. I can’t stop thinking about it, and how to make it right. But to make it right, I have to fix things. I don’t know where the lines are—I don’t want to roll over some boundary you have by accident, especially if you can’t tell me I did it. So I have some questions.”

She lays her hand over mine, thumbing my wedding band. “Alright.”

“Okay. First—can I fix things that involve Cricket? I want to see about having Dad help out with her practices and games and stuff. He did it for me and Shelbs our whole lives, so he’s a true professional.”

She chuckles. “That would be really helpful. Yes, you can fix things that involve Cricket.”

Relief triggers a sigh, and the twist in my chest eases a little. “Good. Okay. Second—I have a couple ideas for gray areas. Like, if I get a maid to come weekly. Or figure out dinner when I’m not here. Is that okay?”

Cass is moved and sad and apologetic, but she only squeezes my hand and says, “I’d like that.”

---