Wicked Game by Mercy Celeste

wonder where we go from here.”
    “Hell, Cass, I’m not marrying you, if that’s what you’re looking for. Just because I’ve seen you naked and sampled your goodies doesn’t mean I want to set up house.”
    “Well, I don’t like playing house with you either. This makes me tense. My stress level is through the roof. Living with you, doing everything for you. While you move my things around and rearrange the kitchen, which I don’t appreciate, by the way. I might not be the best cook, but I like things to stay where I put them.”
    “Well, damn, Cass, get a hobby, because this is pretty much it. And for the last time, I’m not messing with your things.”
    “I have about fifty hobbies. And you’re an ass.”
    “Gee, I think I preferred when you called me jerk.”
    “Oh fuck you.”
    “Fine, go get the jump rope.”
    “Weren’t you late for something? Like your hanging.”
    “Now that’s the Pepper I know and love.” He smiled that smile, the one that told her he was back to normal, then he glanced at the clock over the stove. “Oh fuck, I really am late. See you tonight, Pepper. And wear something sexy, I’m taking you out to dinner; maybe we’ll get in a little dancing.”
    His laughter echoed from the garage, and then he was gone. Well, at least he’d forgotten about asking her to do things to him in public. She hoped.
    * * * *
    Over the next two weeks, Jaime watched her from as far away as he could. Pepper really did have too many hobbies. Besides going to the school every afternoon to read stories and volunteer as an English tutor, she went to a book club, a cooking class, and even though she had finished painting all the rooms in his house, she still liked to collect and refinish old furniture. He had to admit that a few of the pieces were beautiful when she found the perfect place for them. Her current obsession was the dining room, or rather the lack thereof. She seemed determined to find pieces from the same era the house was built. After reading up on the history of the place and of that time period in Miami, even he had to admit more than just a passing interest.
    She’d stopped talking of moving out, and after that one morning, she didn’t seem interested in pursuing the topic of whatever this thing between them was or wasn’t. Right now, he didn’t have time for a thing with Cassandra Pendleton. He didn’t want a thing with Cassandra Pendleton, but damned if he wanted Cassandra Pendleton to move into an apartment.
    He liked the way she hummed when she cooked his eggs. He liked coming home at night to find her puttering in the garage, or the kitchen, or sitting out by the pool reading a book. He liked talking with her. About whatever she was doing, and answering her questions about his life and what exactly he did on the field. She had to be the single most disinterested woman in the history of football groupies. She knew nothing, not even what a quarterback did. Most people at least knew that much, but not Pepper. Of course, she never tuned him out when he wanted to talk about his day, as if his constant workouts and meal schedule was all that interesting. She listened, and that was more than he could remember anyone besides his parents doing.
    After that morning, things got back to normal. She sniped at him. He sniped at her. They went about their business and slept in their separate beds, just as it was meant to be. Sometimes, especially when she wore a dress, he wondered what color her panties were. He thought about those back to school essays they used to write on the first day of school. Well, he’d certainly shock some poor teacher if he had to sum up how he spent his summer vacation. Not only did he spend the bulk of his days thinking about the color of Cassandra Pendleton’s cheeky panties; there were the off days when he spent his free time coming up with ingenious ways to get into her panties. Only to turn chickenshit at the last moment, all because Cassandra Pendleton