Chapter Eleven Saylor
Chapter Eleven
Saylor
“Yeah, not a big fan of you throwing me at Cash the way you did,” I said to Piper as the four of us—Piper Maxwell, Jamaica Winslow, Chessly Clarke, and I—met for our bi-monthly brunch date.
We used to meet every Sunday, but since the three of them were so “busy” these days (read: hanging out with certain football players), we hadn’t brunched for the entire month of May.
With only a week left until finals, we’d been in danger of not brunching again until fall semester, which would have been a tragedy.
Or not.
“I did not throw you at Cash,” my friend drawled.
“I made an executive decision to cheer for Wyatt, which turned out to be a good move for the outcome of the tournament.” She swirled a bite of poached eggs and English muffin through a puddle of hollandaise sauce on her plate and lifted her fork to her lips.
“I would have thought you’d be ecstatic at the outcome of Wyatt and Dalton’s win.
” Her eyes twinkled as she chewed her bite of breakfast.
“The way they were playing, they would have won even if you hadn’t been ‘cheering’ for them.” A grumpy tone accompanied my air quotes.
“Yeah, but Cash needed a partner, and the way he was looking at you, like you were a unicorn or something, gave me the idea his partner should be you.” My so-called friend was sweetly unapologetic.
My hands itched to mash her plate of hollandaise sauce onto the front of her floral Dior halter dress.
“Why are you so upset about it?” Jamaica asked. “Did he make you uncomfortable?” As the second question left her mouth, her smile dropped right off her face. “Callahan likes him, but if he said something—or did something—you didn’t like, say the word. He’ll take care of him.”
He did something, all right. He’d invaded my thoughts and refused to go away, especially after I made the monumental mistake of agreeing to go out with him.
“Cash was a gentleman all afternoon,” I said from behind my mimosa before downing a long drink of it.
“Then what’s the problem?” Chessly narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I get it. You like him,” she teased. “You’re interested in him.”
I snorted and downed more of my drink.
“But you don’t want to be.” Piper leaned back in her chair, her gaze speculative.
Jamaica let out a laugh. “Sounds like someone else I know.” When she tilted her head in Piper’s direction, a springy brunette curl slipped from the tie-dye band she’d tried to tame her hair with today.
Piper rolled her eyes.
“Sounds like everyone else at this table,” Chessly chimed in. “Each of us sitting here has made our men work for us because we didn’t want to be interested—even though we were.” She finished with a naughty grin.
“Fine,” I huffed. “Cash is gorgeous. And he knows his way around a kiss. But everything about him screams ‘serious,’ and as you well know, I don’t do serious.”
“He asked you out, didn’t he?” Piper said. “That’s what has you so riled up. He asked you out, and you said yes. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”
I never should have brought Cash up at all.
“He wouldn’t have had a chance to ask if you’d only done as we agreed and been my partner.”
The server saved me from more teasing when I slumped into my chair in a pout. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Yes,” I said from the depths of my chair. “I could use another mimosa. Heavy on the champagne.”
“Make that another round,” Piper said. When both Jamaica and Chessly started to protest, she added, “Put it on my bill. We’re celebrating.”
With a nod, the server moved off to take care of our request.
“What are we celebrating?” Chessly asked as she tipped back what was left of her first mimosa.
“The art gallery I interned with over spring break is showing three of Wyatt’s pen-and-ink drawings as part of their summer collection—under my art business imprint.”
“That’s fantastic, Piper!” Jamaica gushed. “You’re on your way to building your art sales empire.”
After Piper returned from her internship in Denver over spring break, something had happened between Bax and her.
Since then, all she’d been talking about was her goal of opening her own art gallery.
Based on some of our recent conversations, I knew her parents were pressuring her to join the family finance firm, as they had since she started at Mountain State.
Clearly, she wasn’t ready to cave in to their demands.
“Good for both of you,” Chessly said, grinning.
“Have you told your parents?” I asked.
“Nope.” Piper shot back the rest of her mimosa right as the server arrived with our second round.
“Not going to either. I’m working at a small gallery here in town this summer.
I saw what it takes to build a major gallery.
Now I need to learn what it takes to create that success from the ground up. ”
“How are you getting around your parents?” I asked, glad the spotlight had moved off me.
“I’m taking a finance class during the first section of summer school.
Corporate finance will help me with how to build a network, navigate business loans—that kind of thing.
It’s a smart choice for my goals, fulfills a general business credit requirement, and gets my parents off my case.
Win. Win. Win.” She raised her glass for a toast, and we all touched our flutes together then swigged back some yummy orange juice-infused champagne.
“Plus, you get to spend the summer here with Bax,” Jamaica added with a sly grin.
Piper reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. “I get to spend the summer with one of my besties, since the other two are going back home for summer jobs.”
Jamaica pushed an errant curl behind her colorful headband.
“Change of plans. I found a job working in one of the law firms in town. It pays about the same as waitressing, but I’ll be learning more about how the legal profession works.
” She cleared her throat. “Callahan talked to the other guys, and they’re okay with me sharing his room for the summer. ”
“How long before you were going to tell us about this turn of events, huh, girlfriend?” Chessly asked.
Jamaica shrugged. “It only came together in the past few days.”
Turning sideways in my chair, I stared Chessly down. “What big news do you have to share with the class?”
“Nothing. I’m headed back to Harlo to work in Dad’s store for the summer, and to study for the MCAT I’ll be taking in December.”
“What about Finn?” Jamaica asked.
“He’s spending the first half of the summer on his dad’s ranch before fall camp starts in July.” From the way Chess picked at her croissant, I could tell she wasn’t excited to be away from a certain defensive end this summer.
Interesting.
Chess changed the subject to finals, and we all groaned and commiserated over being college juniors who should be more experienced about the end of the semester than we apparently were. All while drinking far too many mimosas on a Sunday study day the week before finals.
I was sitting at my desk, my eyes crossing from staring at my computer monitors as I worked on color-correcting my group’s final project for Film Studies 301.
As the editor of our short film, color-correcting was part of my job.
The final edits were due to my director by noon tomorrow, and I was so close to finished.
It was also pushing midnight after I’d started the day drinking champagne, and I was wiped.
When my phone pinged a text, I almost ignored it, thinking it was my director being a pain. He’d already checked in on me twice today. But the number was one I didn’t recognize. The first words beneath it jolted me upright in my chair.
Unknown number: You free this Thursday night? I have the perfect first date planned.
Cash.
Wow. The man did not waste time.
Me: My last class finishes at six.
While the dots floated across the bottom of my screen, I tapped on his number to add it to my contacts under “TH,” (“Too Hot” for my peace of mind).
My little brother had a bad habit of hacking my passcode and snooping on my phone if I happened to leave it out whenever I was home.
I didn’t need Mason asking who “Cash” was if he managed to break into it while I was home the first week of summer.
Especially not if he managed to do it when my parents were around.
TH: Perfect. Meet me at the small screening room at the Union at 6:30.
Me: Why?
TH: I promised you an awesome first date, and I always deliver on my promises.
Me: I told you I’m on scholarship for making movies, right?
TH: Yep.
He followed that syllable with a winky-face emoji.
Me: Sort of not seeing the awesome here.
TH: You will. Bring your swimsuit and a towel.
Me: What does swimming have to do with movies?
The dots floated again, then TH: Good night Saylor. Dream well.
Dream well? What the heck did that mean?
TH: No doubt you will if you’re dreaming of me.
He followed that up with a another winky-face, kiss-blowing emoji.
His flirting made me laugh.
Me: You’re full of yourself, you know that?
TH: Looking forward to Thursday night, Saylor.
Me: Good night, Cash.
Well, now I was awake again. At least enough to finish my project before I turned into a pumpkin.
Yet when I finally turned off my monitors for the night and slipped beneath the blankets on my bed, my head swirled with thoughts of Cash Donovan—specifically his lips and the way a single kisse from him could light my body on fire.
I don’t know that I dreamed “well,” but I woke up in the same headspace as when I fell asleep: with Cash on my mind and an intense throbbing between my legs.
“WTF?” I growled at the ceiling of my bedroom.
Throwing off the covers, I stomped into my en-suite bathroom, shucked my favorite Pink T-shirt that doubled as a sleep shirt, and stepped into a freezing-cold shower.