Chapter 8 – GLENNA
GLENNA
T he rest of the evening was fine. I ate red velvet cupcakes with Cash’s family, and everyone was very polite and careful not to talk about anything remotely charged.
When we left, Dina asked for my email. She said she’s gonna invite me to play a game called Elfin Odyssey, and that I’d make a good Cipher. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but I miss having a friend, and I’m excited. And nervous.
Cash dropped me home and walked me up to my door. He said, “If I kiss you, we’ll bang, and I gotta nail this thing down first.” Then he slapped my ass and headed off down the hall, whistling.
I had trouble falling asleep, but not because of my usual anxiety. I was stirred up, and it took a long time to settle down.
It wasn’t a bad feeling.
Now it’s Monday. I’m on the schedule to open Peace, Love, and Beans, and when I get to work, I have to walk all the way back to my apartment because I forgot the keys .
My brain is definitely fuzzy.
I’m overthinking things.
I just got out of a long-term relationship. It’s way too soon to get involved with someone again.
But who says that’s what’s on the table? Cash and I have an arrangement that’s developing benefits.
Why label it?
Especially ‘cause how would you label what we’ve got going on? Enemies who talk? Former friends shipped for convenience?
And then there’s the whole “he used to bully me” thing. How low is my self-esteem anyway? Pretty low to hear Toby tell it, but—
To be brutally honest, the fact Cash can be a massive prick actually turns me on.
It’s like watching a monster truck demolish everything in its path. If it’s not running you down, it’s kind of exciting.
And that’s not a sign of good mental health, right? That I like that?
Before, Cash just sucked. He was like the rain cloud that follows the sad lady around in the commercial. But now? I see what I do to him. I make him hard. I make his breath hitch.
Maybe he did pick on me ‘cause he liked me. Which is so, so, so wrong.
And I thought about it when I touched myself last night.
Even if I had a friend to confide in, I couldn’t. It’s too messed up. And I don’t want to have sense talked into me. I want to make a bad decision. Isn’t that what rebounding is all about?
I’m so stuck in my head that I don’t realize until Toby comes in at eight that we’ve been open since seven, and we’ve only had three or four customers. I check the sign, but I flipped it to “Open.”
“Where is everyone?” Toby asks, twisting his hair into a man bun.
“I don’t know.” This is strange. I go to the door. There’s traffic as usual. The only time I remember business being this light on a Monday morning was when the water main broke at the intersection.
“Well, good. Since no one’s here, we can talk.” Toby ducks under the counter and pours himself a coffee.
I instantly feel like a kid called to the principal’s office.
Toby’s “we need to talks” were my least favorite thing about our relationship.
He’d invite me to sit at the kitchen table, and then he’d let me know what he needed from me that he wasn’t getting and how I needed to improve.
I’d cry. He’d say I was making myself into the victim. I’d try to stop crying.
And it was always shit I could never possibly change. Like one time, he had an issue with the fact that I wasn’t open enough to the possibility of change. Or another time, I cared too much what other people thought, and how did I think that made him feel?
It was always a mindfuck.
I grab a dish rag and duck into the dining area. “Can’t. I’m busy.”
Toby lets out his long-suffering sigh and leans on the counter. I start wiping down clean tables.
“Glen—”
“Pass.”
“Glen—” He ups the note of disapproval. That used to stop me in my tracks.
“Not interested.”
He sighs again. “Fine. I’ll talk, and you can listen.”
That is literally always how this crap went.
“I know you’re angry with me now, and you think I’m not your friend, but I am. And I don’t want you getting yourself hurt to spite me. It hurts me to see it, Glen.”
“My choices have nothing to do with you.” I scrub at a stubborn creamer stain.
“Glen, you don’t have to be with someone to be happy. I mean, I feel partially responsible here. You clung to me like a life raft, and I did honestly love you, so I let you. But maybe I was doing you a disservice. You gotta learn to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else.”
He stares at me soulfully, and I know he one hundred percent means what he says.
I want to hurl. Or hurl something at him.
“Is that what you’re doing with Samantha? Learning to be happy with yourself?”
Before it’s all the way out of my mouth, I know I stepped in it. That’s not what I wanted to say, anyway.
He exhales, oozing smug sympathy. “I knew this was about Samantha. Listen, Glen—what Samantha and I have doesn’t take away from what we had . You don’t need to prove anything by messing around with Cash Wall. You gotta find your worth inside yourself, you know?”
He sounds so goddamn condescending.
And what a shitty mirror to hold up to someone.
Look at yourself, you stage-five clinger.
No one could possibly love you or want you, so my best advice to you is fix yourself.
And also, I would like credit for loving you when you so clearly suck as evidenced by your low-ass self-esteem—which is really an accurate assessment of your sad, clingy, unactualized self.
I’m the good guy.
You’re the mess.
And I’m only trying to help.
I want to say all that, but I’d never get the words in the right order, and I also want to pitch the metal creamer carafe at his head, and put a dent in that furrowed patronizing forehead.
Mostly, though, I want him gone. I want his voice out of my head. I want to never hear his twisted way of looking at me again. He might see me that way, but not everyone does.
I don’t.
The front door jingles.
Cash strolls in, a big ol’ smile on his face.
“Hey, Glenna.”
He’s happy to see me. It’s in the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. How after the first look of disdain, he doesn’t spare Toby a glance. How I feel like a spotlight was turned on in a dark auditorium and centered on me. My heart kicks.
He wipes his palms on his thighs. He’s dressed for hunting—camo bib over an Army green T-shirt, brown hunting boots with camo detail, bright orange trucker cap.
“I’m driving down to Pyle to pick up clients, and I—” The smile still plastered on his face hasn’t lost a bit of wattage. He likes me.
You know what? Perfect timing.
I drop the dish rag, stride across the room, and grab his hand.
Toby’s risen to his feet. He crosses his arms in disapproval. I flash him a smirk.
“I’m going on break,” I say. “I’m gonna go make myself happy.” And I pull Cash behind me, under the counter, through the swinging door and kitchen into the small office.
“Glenna, what—?”
Nope. No talking. I’m mad, and also weirdly glad to see him for reasons having nothing to do with my ex that I definitely don’t want to examine too closely. And I’m making a point.
I grab the straps of Cash’s bib and tug him down so I can reach his lips. And I kiss him.
He groans. Immediately.
His arms wrap around me, and he lifts me, his tongue already plundering my mouth. He backs me into the desk, props me on the edge, and settles himself between my thighs, not missing a beat.
He kisses me like he’s been waiting to do it forever.
The excited, nervous feeling rises inside me again, and I forget about Toby and whatever I’m trying to prove.
Cash tastes like butterscotch. There’s a sliver of candy in his mouth, and I chase it with my tongue, and he goes wild, dragging me closer with an arm around my butt, pressing his hard cock into the seam of my jeans.
It’s not nearly enough pressure between the denim and whatever his bibs are made out of, but the pleasure comes from knowing that I did that to him, in a second.
He’s crazy for me.
He shoves a desk calendar and pencil cup onto the floor, pens scattering and rolling, and then he eases me back so I’m braced on my elbows, my legs dangling over the side.
He flips his hat backwards and sinks to his knees.
“Cash!” I hiss.
“You started it, baby. No take backs.” He pops my button, yanks down the zipper, and peels my jeans and panties down as one until they’re hanging from one ankle. Cool air hits my hot pussy.
“Toby could come in.”
“That’s why you did it, baby.” He slaps my swollen lips and then slips a calloused finger between the wet folds. Is this happening?
“Lock the door,” I gasp.
“No.” He slaps my pussy again. “That fucker walks back here, he’s gonna see your knees around my neck.” He slaps me again a few more times in rapid succession, and my clit throbs. I didn’t know this was a thing. I didn’t know it’d feel so damn good.
I buck and wriggle. He throws my leg over his shoulder, grabs my thigh in a rough grip, and jiggles it. “Behave. You wanted to show toxic masculinity out there that you’ve got a real man now. Let me do my job.”
“But—”
“Shut up, Glenna. Or don’t.” He smirks up at me. “I’d like it just fine if you screamed.”
And he dives between my legs, lapping my slit, sucking my clit, swirling, plunging his stiffened tongue into me, trying everything, and when he does something I love, and I lift my hips to chase more, he tries something else, driving me higher and higher.
I watch, propped on my elbows, as his neon orange cap ducks and bobs between my knees. His nose is in my slit. My cream must be all over his face. In his beard.
“Cash,” I moan. I want it now. My abs are clenched so hard they ache, and I’m hot and needy and out of control. I started it, but I did not know I was playing with fire—I didn’t know I could burn this hot—and now I’m hurtling toward an edge, and I don’t know what I’m doing.
He nips my clit, not hard, but a tiny orgasm rips through me. It’s not all. Not by a long shot. Still, my thighs quiver.
“That’s right, baby. Say my name.”
“Cash.” It’s a gasp.