Chapter 15
fifteen
Georgia
“Georgia?”
My name is a gentle whisper, yet it jolts me awake. Dread snakes its way from my belly to my chest when I find Maisy perched on the edge of my bed, her brows drawn in concern.
She knows. My brain’s too fuzzy to remember what she knows, but she does.
And then the details come flooding back—Cash’s fingers making me gasp, my hands twisted in his hair, his strong arms holding me while I recovered from the most intense orgasm of my life—and all I can do is croak out a weak “Hi.”
“Are you okay?” Maisy touches the back of her hand to my forehead, gentle and motherly, and in spite of my fear, it soothes me. “You’re sweating. Are you sick?”
I consider the possibility. My skin is damp between my breasts, my hair sticks to my neck, and my pulse races uncomfortably, but with no sign of anger in Maisy’s expression, I force myself to breathe slowly.
“I think I had a bad dream.” I turn and reach for the water glass on my bedside table but find it empty.
“Let me.” She grabs the glass. “Just relax.” Her forehead’s still creased with concern as she crosses the room to my little bathroom.
Guilt replaces my fear as she fills the glass at the sink.
Why, now that I’ve betrayed her, does she have to be so sweet to me?
I wish it didn’t feel so good. I’m not used to wanting to be taken care of.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time and quickly swipe Cash’s text messages off my home screen when I see he sent three of them.
As I do, though, I spot something red on the floor below me.
Cash’s beanie.
With a secondary surge of panic and a glance at Maisy, who’s turning off the tap, I throw myself over the edge and shove the hat out of sight. But in the process, I nearly fall out of bed, and Maisy lets out a surprised laugh as my legs flail in a sad attempt to regain my balance.
“Oh my god, Georgia, are you okay?” She’s at my side, her hand on my shoulder as I gracelessly right myself, amusement warring with worry on her face. “I’ll get it.”
“Get what?” I ask, taking the glass of water she’s holding out.
“Whatever you dropped. What was it?”
“Nothing,” I blurt out, my heart thumping madly. “No, I just…lost my balance reaching for my phone.”
She presses her lips together, suppressing a smile. “Are you still drunk from last night? I don’t know if that means it was a good date or a bad one.”
I sigh in relief as she lowers herself onto the bed again, the dropped object forgotten. “No, just tired. Weird dreams, I guess.”
“And your date with Aaron?”
“Totally unremarkable.” Which is true—at least until Cash walked in.
“Really?” Her shoulders sag. “So no second date?”
“I doubt it. Anyway, how are you?” I ask, eager to move on from the topic of my night, afraid my eyes will give me away. “How was your night?”
“Also unremarkable. You’re sure you feel okay? If you’re not up for spending the weekend with Ma and Pa Hartnell, it’s okay.”
Right. Shit. Spending the weekend at Maisy’s childhood home after getting finger-fucked by her brother. Perfect timing. “I’m okay.” I give her a reassuring smile, wanting that scrutinizing look of hers to go away. “Let me take a quick shower and I’ll be down. We can make breakfast.”
Enveloped in hot water and swirling steam, I try to pull myself together and make a plan for how to proceed.
There’s no going back, no pretending I haven’t stomped all over Maisy’s rule.
But all I can think of as I rinse soapy lather off my body is the way Cash touched the same swaths of skin mere hours ago, and how no shower will ever wash away the memory of it.
If only I could think clearly about the predicament we’re in.
Unfortunately, when it comes to Cash, there’s no thinking without feeling the heat when I’m in his presence, the swirl of nervous excitement when our eyes meet, and now the intoxicating sensation of his skin against mine.
After taking inventory of the contents of the fridge, Maisy and I fix breakfast sandwiches: hash brown patties, bacon, egg, and spicy mayo slathered on a biscuit. They’re phenomenal, and I eat two, my own voracious appetite taking me by surprise.
“Feel better?” Maisy asks while we clean up. “I’m still waiting for a play-by-play of last night.”
“I’m fine, but sadly, nothing to report. What about you? Are you going to see Willow again?”
Maisy’s smile is adorable. “Yup. The way that girl kisses? It’s addicting. I don’t even want to do anything else with her.”
“Sounds like a keeper.”
“I don’t want to jinx it, but…she totally is.” Maisy’s phone vibrates on the counter, and she leans over to read the text. “Oh yeah. Cash is coming over to fix the kitchen faucet. Do you have any other handyman jobs for him while he’s here?”
Handyman jobs? My mind runs straight for the gutter. “Nope.”
As soon as the kitchen is clean, I hurry to my room.
Half of me wants to hide until Cash has come and gone, while the other half is dying to brush my hair, throw on some makeup, and spritz my signature perfume on my neck.
I don’t like how badly I want to look good for him any more than I like the sickening rush of anxiety that hits me whenever I think of having to face him after what happened last night.
I compromise by telling myself I’ll pull myself together, but as soon as I hear him walk in downstairs, I’ll stop my preparations, even if that means I’m left with a bare face and bedhead.
In the end, I only have time to brush my teeth and throw on leggings and a cozy top before the doorbell rings.
He’s standing at the foot of the steps when I walk into the upstairs hallway.
I’d shoot him a glare for the way he openly watches me descend the stairs if not for the fact it’s so irresistibly intoxicating that I can’t take my eyes off him either.
His body is rigid and still, and my fingers tingle at the memory of how it feels to cling to him.
One look at his hungry gaze tells me he has no intention of pretending he hasn’t seen my pussy.
Flames dance up and down my body, and I’m now hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.
I look around for Maisy, but she’s not in sight, and only then do I give him the smile I’ve been holding back.
“Hey,” he whispers, making this innocent greeting feel intensely private.
“Hi.” Shyness, embarrassment, and pleasure converge on me, stealing any further words right off my tongue.
“Cash,” Maisy hollers, exiting the kitchen. “I like that you’re finally ringing before busting in like you own the place. Next step will be you waiting outside until we can come to the door.”
“Uh-huh.” Cash pulls his eyes away from me and gives his sister an unusually cool look. “Show me what’s going on with the faucet.”
“Right this way,” Maisy says.
While Cash sets to work and Maisy hovers nearby, critiquing his troubleshooting methods, I busy myself wiping the counter.
I’m not needed, but hiding in my room feels like it would be more of a giveaway, and anyway, the Hartnell twins’ love-hate-bicker dynamic has become strangely comforting.
Then there’s the fact I’m drawn to Cash like a magnet.
“You’re quiet over there, Georgia,” Cash says once he’s discovered the problem—worn-out O ring—and Maisy has backed off and taken a seat on the counter a few feet from him.
“She’s always quiet,” Maisy says fondly. “If only more people would take their cues from her.”
With every inch of countertop sparkling, I take a seat next to Maisy to watch Cash work.
I’m not much for conversation, my thoughts consumed with Cash’s hands, the expert way his fingers work the wrench, the fluid way they shift from rough and insistent to delicate and careful.
Pulsing hot liquid flows through my veins at remembering his hands moving against my skin.
For the first time in my life, I wish I was a faucet.
When Cash wraps up and Maisy excuses herself to the bathroom, I hop off my stool and scurry over to him, turning the faucet on full blast in the hopes it might muffle our conversation. Before I can say anything, he asks, without even attempting to be quiet, “Did you tell her?”
“Shh!” I cover his lips with my hand, but he only smiles against my fingers. “Do you think she’d be this pleasant?”
Cash takes my wrist and lowers my hand, shaking his head at me. “Tsk tsk, Georgia. What happened to ‘I’ll tell her’?”
“When the time is right.”
“Having second thoughts?”
I swallow. “No.” I don’t know it’s a lie until it’s out. “But we’re not going to tell her right before we spend the weekend with your parents.”
Cash studies me. “What is it you need, Georgia?” he asks, like he sees right through me.
“I just need the weekend. We’ll tell her once it’s over.”
“Fine.”
“And meanwhile, we keep our distance from each other. No ducking into bathrooms and dark corners. No kissing, no pushing my underwear aside and putting your fingers inside me.” By the time I finish, my voice has gone weak.
“So you’ve thought about it.” His eyes lower to my lips. “Good.”
“I’m just remembering what happened last night,” I lie.
“Last night I pushed your panties down your legs, not aside.” A triumphant grin stretches his lips wide.
Okay, so I’ve thought about it—how hot it would be to duck into a bathroom and spread my thighs and let him cup his hand over my mouth so no one—
I pause at the sound of a toilet flushing, then step back to put some distance between us.
“Cash—”
“I said I’d give you the weekend. I didn’t say I’d leave you alone.”
Maisy’s footsteps sound in the hall, and he takes my hand between his. My pulse pounds, and I hope to hell he’ll pull away in time because I don’t have the will to. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”