Hating Cain Page 8

  Cain led me to the living room, where a huge flat screen TV hung on the wall and luxurious leather sectionals curled around it. There were framed famous quotes on the walls, and a few healthy houseplants in neat white ceramic pots. Despite the overall tidiness, it didn’t look entirely like a model home. There was a worn old dog bed on the couch, along with a plaid shirt thrown lazily over the back cushion.

  Is this what Ms. Walker meant by personal touches? I thought suddenly. Cain’s house looked like somebody lived comfortably here, and mine didn’t.

  “Do you want a drink or something?” Cain called from the kitchen, his voice carrying easily through the open-concept space.

  “Just water is fine.”

  “You’re allowed to ask for something more than that, you know,” he remarked dryly. “Juice? Alcohol? Both?”

  I raised a brow at him. “I thought you were doing the thing where you don’t push me into things I don’t want to do.”

  He looked sheepish. “Right. My bad. Water it is.”

  He brought over my glass, then sat a few feet away on the other end of the couch, putting a healthy distance between us. Roxy hopped into his lap, but kept looking in my direction like she wanted something from me. Actually, Cain was looking at me the same way, too.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said wryly. “You just look so stiff and uncomfortable. You’re gripping that glass so hard I’m afraid it’s gonna shatter.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, consciously loosening my grip.

  He stretched out his legs and put them on the coffee table. “Make yourself at home. Relax a little.” He stroked Roxy’s back. “It’s funny. This house has been next to you your whole life until you left, so it’s technically part of your childhood too. Not that you ever came over or anything, but…”

  There was a slight tinge of disappointment in his voice. I took a polite sip of water.

  “Do your parents still live here, too?” I asked, wanting to nudge the subject in a different direction. Namely, away from me.

  “No. When my business started taking off, they sold me the place at a discount and bought a new house of their own nearby.”

  “Oh.” I tried to squash the bitter thoughts worming into my mind. “That’s nice of them.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “It’s okay. You can be annoyed. Even though I paid for it, it was still a big privilege.”

  “In that case, I might be a little annoyed.”

  He chuckled. “Fair.”

  He was cute when he laughed. Still douchey, but cute. I could admit that much.

  “You know,” I began, “I got the impression you didn’t really like living in Rosecreek.”

  The corner of his lip twitched. “I don’t, really.”

  “Then why buy this house?”

  He sank deeper into the leather cushions with a sigh. “At the time, I’d only just started focusing on my business seriously. I didn’t know how long my success would last. I thought maybe I was a one-hit wonder and the money would fizzle out. So I guess the real reason is that I was scared. I wanted to be close to home. To my parents. I wanted a soft place to land in case I fucked up, you know?”

  I winced without meaning to, and Cain’s expression softened. He must have realized he accidentally touched a nerve.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”

  I cut him off. “It’s okay. That’s what parents should be. A safety net, right?”

  His brow furrowed sympathetically, and he nodded.

  The conversation had stirred up those bad feelings again, but they didn’t sting as badly this time. Now it felt like a dull, throbbing ache.

  “The will they left me was conditional,” I said.

  Cain stared at me for a moment. I didn’t know what compelled me to tell him. Maybe I just needed to get the poison out of my system.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “I don’t know the details. Lawyer wouldn’t tell me.”

  My gaze drifted to the window, where grey clouds let out rain that pattered against the glass. Maybe watering the plants earlier was a waste of time if it was going to rain anyway, but strangely, I didn’t regret it. For some reason, it felt good to tell Cain I liked the defiant phlox flowers and have him understand that.

  Cain’s demanding questions broke into my thoughts. “Are you saying there’s more to the will? And they’re gatekeeping it from you?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “So much for a soft place to fall.”

  “That’s ridiculous! And you don’t know anything about it?”

  I turned back towards him in surprise. His expression was indignant, genuinely pissed at my circumstances.

  “All the lawyer told me was that my parents didn’t want me selling the house,” I said with a shrug. “There’s also a locked door I’m not allowed in. Apparently I haven’t earned that right yet, either. I don’t know.”

  Cain’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me. They’ve always been this way.” Bitterness crept into my voice. “Controlling and tyrannical.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe that. There must be some mistake.”

  “There isn’t one,” I said firmly. “Cain, you didn’t know my parents like I did. It sucks, but this isn’t something unusual for them.”

  “It’s unusual for parents to leave their only child a conditional will,” Cain barked, then let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Johnny, why do they hate you so much?”

  I didn’t laugh back when I faced him. Was he serious? Did he really not know?

  I searched Cain’s eyes, trying to find the emotions I expected to see–that part of me wanted to see. The cold, calculating, vengeful villain I hoped would be there.

  But it wasn’t.

  Instead I was met with sympathy and anguish, with warmth and sensitivity I hadn’t bargained for. It felt like reaching into a pit of snakes and pulling out a rabbit by the scruff.

  Cain was genuinely upset for me. But why?

  The question echoed in my head. Why did he care? After what he’d done, why did he think he had the right to care? To feel sorry for me?

  I bristled, feeling my walls go up again, and I turned away from him.

  “Sorry,” Cain said when I didn’t respond. “That was rude of me. It’s just… I can’t believe they would do something like this. It’s not fair. It’s not right.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agreed. “But life isn’t fair.”

  A flash of lightning lit the dim room, followed by a crack of booming thunder. Roxy let out a yelp and shot across the couch, barreling into my lap and hiding her head in the crook of my arm. I stared in surprise at the trembling little dog.

  “Sorry, she’s afraid of thunder,” Cain murmured. “She’s been this way since I adopted her. Summer storms are the worst.”

  “She’s adopted?”

  He smiled. “She’s from a rescue that deals with ugly dogs. Dogs with bad teeth, bald patches, that sort of thing.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. His love for his dog was obvious, and weirdly infectious.

  Cain shuffled closer to take her, but I said, “It’s okay. She can stay with me.”

  “You sure?” he asked with a slight pout, as if he was afraid his pathetic little dog was a bother.

  “Yeah.”

  I stroked her in calming rhythmic motions. As I felt the bones beneath her skin while she vibrated with fear, it struck me how small and vulnerable she was. Despite not being a huge fan of dogs, I was overcome with the urge to protect her. I held her close and soon her trembling faded to a few intermittent shivers.

  Cain watched me the entire time, an unusual gleam in his eyes. Part of me thought he almost seemed jealous.

  But was he jealous of his dog preferring me, or the fact that she got to snuggle in my lap?

  That’s stupid. What a ridiculous idea.

  “She likes you,” Cain remarked with a smile.

  “I like her too.”

&
nbsp; As I said that, Roxy lifted her head to stare at me with big brown eyes. She wagged her feathery white tail and licked her lips, then leapt up with a burst of speed to lick my chin. I laughed and pulled her down.

  “Hey, cut that out!” I said, unable to stop grinning.

  “Okay, Roxy, c’mon, leave him alone,” Cain said.

  He reached to take her from my hands, but as he did that, our fingers accidentally brushed.

  Before I could stop it, I let out a tiny noise of surprise. Cain froze. Our fingers lingered against each other for what seemed like an endless moment before he quickly scooped Roxy out of my grip and pressed her against his chest like a defensive ward. I noticed the way pink tinged his cheeks, but I couldn’t say I didn’t feel the same warmth crawling across my face.

  That was probably embarrassing for him, I thought. Straight guys hate that kind of shit.

  I got up off the couch, suddenly feeling restless.

  “I think I’m gonna head back,” I said.

  The pink in Cain’s cheeks began to fade. “Oh. Already?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I feel better now. Thanks.”

  “But it’s still raining. Wait ‘til it lets up.” He paused, then said, “But if you really wanna go, at least let me drive you back. You’re still my guest.”

  I wasn’t too proud to admit that walking home in the pouring rain didn’t seem like a fun idea. “Okay.”

  Cain beamed. “All right. The garage is this way.”

  As I followed him, the rush of air sent an envelope flying off the counter. I caught it before it fell on the floor. I recognized it as Cherry’s party invitation and handed it awkwardly back to Cain.

  He took it, his brow knitting together in thought. “Er, sorry about that.”

  “About what?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Causing a scene with you and Cherry. It was shitty of me.”

  I shrugged, surprised at his apology. “It’s okay.”

  Cain’s eyes flickered down, then back up at me. His lip quirked upwards. “Again, I’m not trying to force you, but uh… I just found out it’s gonna be a women-only party. So it might be a little less awkward if I had another guy to tag along.”

  Why did Cain get invited to a women-only party? I shook the thought off as some weird Rosecreek thing. Who knew what kind of schemes these people got into.

  “I got the feeling she didn’t really want me there,” I said. “And honestly, I get that feeling from most of the people in this neighborhood.”

  He hesitated, like he was distracted by a memory, then spoke slowly. “I don’t think they’re as judgmental as we thought.”

  We?

  Cain went on. “Anyway, I have a friend who can pull some strings. If you don’t want to, it’s fine. Really. But it might be a good distraction from everything, you know?”

  I considered that. A party with real people would probably be better for my sanity than sitting around in an empty mansion with nothing but work to occupy me.

  “I don’t have anything nice to wear to a party,” I admitted.

  Cain’s eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, but I cut him off.

  “And if you offer to take me on a shopping spree, I’m going to kill you,” I warned. “I don’t want to take your money anymore.”

  Cain rolled his eyes. “How much can you spare?”

  “Not enough for a nice suit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It’s party casual,” he said. “Will you at least let me pitch in?”

  I wanted to argue with him, but by agreeing to the party, I’d already walked into a ditch. Now I had no choice but to agree. I groaned. “Fine.”

  “Great! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon.”

  “Don’t you have a job?” I asked, arching a brow.

  “Don’t you?” he countered with a sly look.

  “Fuck off.”

  He laughed, the sound curiously pleasant to my ears. “Tomorrow at noon it is, then.”

  12

  Cain

  The best part of my job was being able to set my own schedule, so I was able to take impromptu days off for important situations.

  Like taking my surly neighbor/childhood crush on a shopping spree.

  I arrived at noon sharp. I thought it was silly we hadn’t exchanged cell numbers yet, and I had to knock on his door the old-fashioned way.

  But then again, up until last night, we haven’t exactly been on the best terms…

  I heard Johnny’s rushed footsteps on the other side of the door before he threw it open.

  “Shorry, I’m shtill getting ready,” he said before running off again with a toothbrush sticking out through his teeth.

  But it wasn’t the toothbrush I was focusing on.

  Johnny’s hair was damp, and he wore a towel knotted tightly around his waist. Thin rivulets of water still trailed down his back. He smelled clean, like soap, with the most tantalizing hint of cologne.

  Tantalizing? What the hell?

  I shook my head and forced my eyes somewhere else.

  “Uh, I guess that means I’m coming in,” I called out.

  “Give me five.”

  I nodded absentmindedly, then walked down the foyer towards the kitchen. The walls were empty, and a thin layer of dust covered every object. Despite the presence of tables and chairs in the dining room, the whole house had a strange aura of seeming unfurnished. I frowned as I walked into the kitchen and found the counter empty. No keys, no unopened mail, no stray utensils.

  I recalled what he’d told me the lawyer said, about his parents not wanting him to sell the house.

  That’s what it is, I realized. It feels like the home of someone about to move out, not someone who's just moved in.

  Was Johnny just having a hard time settling in? I thought about being in his shoes–moving back into his childhood home that his dead parents left behind. Having some uneasiness about that would be natural, but I didn’t feel like that was the case.

  As I drifted into the kitchen, a familiar pink-and-white pattern caught my eye. I stopped to peer at the phlox flowers sitting in a glass full of water on the counter. The flowers were the only thing that indicated somebody lived here at all.

  I smiled a bit, thinking back to how he’d scolded me for calling them ‘just’ weeds. Only Johnny would get defensive over flowers, but somehow it was endearing instead of annoying.

  Johnny huffed as he jogged in behind me. He wore a simple white t-shirt, jeans that were slightly too big for him, and a pair of scuffed sneakers. But as I looked him up and down, all I could think about was the sight of him earlier–half-naked and dripping wet with only a towel to leave things up to the imagination.

  I pushed those thoughts away as Johnny spoke up.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I had a bad time sleeping last night, so I must’ve slept in this morning…”

  “Nightmares?” I offered sympathetically.

  He nodded, but looked distracted, like he didn’t want to address them. “Anyway, let’s hit the road.”

  He’s still wary of me, for whatever reason, I thought. But that’s okay. This is good enough.

  I smiled brightly at him. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  The mall was busier than I expected, full of students on their summer vacation and folks with nothing better to do than wander through an air-conditioned building and flash their credit cards.

  “Ugh, I remember this place,” Johnny said. “My mom used to drag me here to buy clothes. I hated it.”

  “Well, I’m not your mom, so hopefully it’s not as torturous,” I replied.

  He smirked in a way that made my chest tighten. I hurried ahead towards a men’s clothing store, gesturing for him to follow.

  But Johnny balked at the threshold. “Er, this place looks out of my price range,” he mumbled. He nodded down towards a cheaper store geared towards skater teens. “What about that place?”

  I raised a sharp brow at him. “No. You’re not going to a party dressed lik
e a twelve-year-old. Come on.”

  I grabbed his wrist and urged him inside. I felt the muscles in his forearm tense before he sighed and obediently followed. When he was by my side, I dropped his arm.

  A salesperson greeted us with a smile and offered his assistance if we needed help. Johnny almost went pale. I wondered why he looked so uncomfortable. The store carried good quality business casual clothes, no suits or anything too fancy, but Johnny frowned like the store’s walls were closing in on him.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I just feel out of place here,” he mumbled.

  I began picking through the button-up shirts on the rack. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t explain.”

  “Try.”

  He let out a low huff. “You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.” I produced a crisp white shirt from the rack in what I assumed was his size and held it up to him. “See? This suits you.”

  Johnny glanced down at it, unconvinced.

  “I agree,” a salesman chimed in as he walked by with a stack of pants in his arms. His eyes briefly roamed across Johnny’s arms and waist.

  Is it just me, or was he checking Johnny out? I felt a brief flash of jealousy, which was ridiculous.

  “If you really want, I’ll try it on,” Johnny said with the lacklustre conviction of someone being forced to do something.

  “Yes, I do really want,” I agreed. “Hang on. At least let me find you a full outfit.”

  He sighed but followed me towards the pants section. Now his eyes roamed the shelves with the slightest hint of interest, which I took as a good sign–it was a step up from brooding teenager shopping with his mother.

  “I like this color,” Johnny said.

  He hesitantly pulled out a pair of nice black slacks, running his thumbs over the fabric. A smile broke out across my face.

  “Great,” I said. “Go try those on while I grab a pair of shoes for you.”

  He groaned. “Do I really need shoes, too?”

  I shot his worn sneakers a foul glance. “Yes. Now, what’s your shoe size?”

  “Twelve,” he mumbled.