3
EVERLY
I CAN’T BELIEVE THE AUDACITY of this man. We’ve only spent five minutes together, and he’s already trying to get me to have sex with him—unbelievable. I’ve heard the rumors about him, but I didn’t think he’d be this brazen, and with me no less.
“That line may have worked on the roster of women you’ve been with in the past, but it will absolutely not work on me.” I scowl, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “If Theo heard that you just tried to proposition me in a hotel bar, he would be appalled.”
Cash presses his lips together, attempting to hold back from laughing. “Ev, if I were asking you to sleep with me, I’d come right out and say it.”
I sigh in relief, but a part of me feels dejected at his apparent indifference.
“You’re not?” I ask, giving him side-eye.
“Don’t think for a second that it means I’m not interested,” he says, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “A friend of mine owns a nightclub next to Premiere, and I always stop by when I’m in town. They serve top-shelf alcohol, which is loads better than the watered-down shit they serve here.” He gestures toward the liquor display behind the bar. “What do you say? Get a real drink with me?”
He thinks that’s more convincing.
“No thank you,” I say without hesitation.
Men spell trouble, and I can’t forget it. Although August’s notion of embracing one night of making bad decisions plays in my mind. Getting a drink with Cash would undeniably qualify as a bad decision.
“Why not? It’s just one drink,” he urges.
I rub my temples, trying to keep calm despite his persistence. “Because I have a hunch one drink would turn into two with you,” I say bluntly.
The adult version of Cash exudes sex appeal and confidence and cannot be trusted. He’s the type of man I avoid like the plague. They lure you in with pretty words, lavish gifts, and empty promises—leaving you to pick up the broken pieces once they’re gone.
“Ev, it’s only a drink with a friend,” he assures me like he can read my mind. “It sounds like you’ve had a long week and could use a night out.”
“I have no interest in watching you get plastered and gyrate against every woman in the club. Now, why don’t you take a hint and disappear like Larry?” I regret my comment when a brief flash of hurt flashes across his face.
“Whoever caused you to become so distrusting deserves to suffer for what they did.” Cash places his hand on mine. “Word of advice. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just because I haven’t had a serious girlfriend since high school and like to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy.”
He leans in so his mouth brushes against my ear. “For the record, I was going to take you to a piano bar on the club’s second floor. You’re the only woman I have any interest in spending time with tonight,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand off mine.
I feel a pang of loss when he moves back, takes out his wallet, and places a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the counter. He didn’t order anything, so I assume it’s to cover my martini and leave a generous tip.
A sense of unease washes over me when he slides off his barstool without a word.
I’d let him walk out the door if I knew what was good for me. However, despite my pretense of indifference, the thought of not seeing him again for an undetermined amount of time doesn’t sit well with me.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
August’s advice from our earlier conversation pops into my head.
One drink with Cash Stafford can’t hurt, right? Like he said, it’s just a harmless night catching up between two childhood friends.
I must be a masochist because I have a habit of putting myself in situations with men who I think I can trust, only to end up hurt and alone. I shake my head in disgust. That line of thinking is exactly what Cash called me out for. I’m so cynical and quick to make assumptions. He has done nothing to deserve that.
When I look up, he’s halfway across the lobby. I toss my phone into my purse and chase after him.
“Stafford, wait,” I shout, disregarding the questioning looks from the other guests.
He spins around, searching my face for a moment, a grin lighting up his features when it seems he’s found whatever it was he was looking for.
His reaction sends another uncontrollable flutter through my stomach.
“Yes, Ev?” he asks, tapping his foot while he waits.
“I want to go to the piano bar with you if the invitation still stands.” I hold my hand up when he opens his mouth. “But I’m holding you to your promise about it only being one drink. We’ll catch up, and then I’ll be on my way.”
August would be so proud.
“If that’s what you want.” He opens the door before I can question him further, placing his hand on my lower back as we step out onto the street.
That was too easy.
So much for just one drink. I’m buzzed enough to feel more like the Everly that Cash used to know than I have in years.
When we arrived at the piano bar, the line to get in was wrapped around the block, but we were ushered inside and taken to the best seats in the place, offering the perfect view of the stage.
We’ve been here for over an hour and I’m still awestruck by the charm of the place.
Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the plush velvet couches and polished marble flows. The massive space is filled with the notes of a grand piano playing a lively jazz piece as servers hurry from table to table.
Our waitress appears and shoots Cash a flirtatious smile while checking him out. She set her sights on him as soon as we were seated at our table. The noticeable gap between us speaks volumes, indicating we’re not a couple. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“Yeah. Can we get another shot of tequila and another whiskey on the rocks?” he says as he taps his empty glass.
“Certainly,” the waitress coos, her voice dripping with honey.
I roll my eyes at her obvious display of interest. She couldn’t be more transparent if she tried.
“Thank you.” Cash gives her a grin before she walks away.
Our waitress isn’t the only one who has noticed him. Every woman in the piano bar steals glances in our direction, blatantly eye-fucking Cash every chance they get.
His wavy hair falls around his face, concealing most of his scar, except for a small section near his chin, adding a touch of mystery to his appeal. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his muscular forearms are visible with his rolled-up sleeves, making him irresistible eye candy.
I appear to be the only one immune to his charm.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
“You were glaring at the waitress again,” Cash observes. “Did you want something other than tequila?”
“I was guessing how long it’ll take you to invite her back to your room tonight. Just say the word, and I’m happy to make my exit so you two can have your privacy.”
“Somebody’s jealous.” He scoots closer and throws his arm over my shoulders.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
I attempt to move away, but he gently pulls me back into his embrace. “I’m making sure there’s no question that I’m here with you,” he says softly.
His words cause me to melt into his arms, reminiscent of our high school days when he would comfort me in the same way… I forgot how much I missed it.
The waitress reappears at our table with our drinks in hand. “Here you are—” She stops short when she notices Cash’s arm around me.
“Is there a problem?” Cash raises a brow.
“No, not at all,” she says as she collects our empty glasses.
“That’ll be all, thanks,” he says, effectively dismissing her.
I don’t miss her crestfallen expression at being rejected.
Cash has a way with women that draws them in. He has always been kind, genuine, and straightforward, qualities women appreciate. In contrast, my frosty demeanor turns most men off, but it hasn’t fazed Cash. Even when I told him off, he brushed it off like it never happened.
“Cheers.” He holds up his glass of whiskey, bringing it close to the shot of tequila I have in my hand.
“Cheers,” I echo as our glasses clink together, downing the shot in one swallow.
This is my fourth shot since we arrived. I’m not sure how I’ve allowed myself to get so tipsy. After my watered-down martini at the hotel bar, the tequila was a welcome improvement.
This has to be my last drink, or I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret, like kissing my brother’s insanely attractive best friend.
As Cash lifts his drink to his lips, I notice a flash of color on his wrist.
That can’t be what I think it is.
I grab his wrist to examine it closely, a splash of whiskey spilling onto my arm from jostling his glass. He’s wearing a blue and white corded bracelet on his right wrist that looks identical to the one I gave him when he was in the hospital recovering from his accident.
“Is this—”
“The bracelet you made?” He pauses, looking me in the eye. “Yeah, it is.”
In high school, I went through a phase where I learned to make macrame friendship bracelets. I made one for Theo and our friends. I had planned to give Cash the one I made for him at school, but he was hit by a car the night before.
When Theo and I went to visit him in the hospital after his accident, I brought the bracelet with me.
“Why do you still have it?” I ask breathlessly.
“It’s… special,” he states matter-of-factly. “When I was in the hospital, everyone who came to see me looked at me with pity. Even Theo treated me differently. But not you. When you stepped into the room, you cracked jokes about how pale I was and how you were convinced I had been turned into a vampire.” He stares into the distance as if he’s being drawn back into the memory. “I told you I was worried about what everyone would think of me when they removed the bandages on my face, and that’s when you gave me this.” He rubs the faded string between his fingers. “You told me whenever I felt discouraged, the bracelet would serve as a physical reminder to have courage and to remember that I’m stronger than I think. And you were right; it’s been my lucky charm ever since.”
I gaze at the visible part of his scar. It’s clear he views it in a negative light—a physical reminder that he’s different. I wish he could see it the way I do.
When I lock eyes with him, I confirm his sincerity.
The bracelet’s colors have faded, and the edges have frayed, and yet he’s continued to wear it all these years.
My breath hitches when he reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. If I were sober, I would swat his hand away and remind him that this is just drinks between friends. Tipsy me seems to have forgotten about boundaries, leaning into his hand like a kitten being stroked on the head.
Maybe I’m not so immune to his charms after all.
“I have a confession,” he murmurs so softly I have to strain to hear him. “There’s something else I kept.”
“What is it?” I don’t bother hiding my curiosity.
“The napkin that we used to sign our marriage pact on. Do you remember?”
I stare at him wide eyed. “I do.”
How could I forget the worst day of my life up to that point being turned around because of Cash’s thoughtfulness?
My boyfriend dumped me just hours before our senior prom. I was humiliated that I was na?ve enough to think that we were going to be together forever.
When Cash found me reading behind the old Miller house, he listened to me ramble on about soulmates and how worried I was that I’d never find mine. The joke is on me because I learned the hard way that there isn’t such a thing. Relationships never last, no matter how much you want them to.
Most friends would have laughed off my silly notions, but not Cash. He came up with the idea for us to sign a marriage pact as a backup plan, and despite my new perspective on love being a myth, I never forgot the sweet gesture.
“I figured you threw it away.”
“Never.” He gazes at me, and up close I can see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. “I liked the idea that in an alternate reality you’d be mine.” I feel lightheaded when he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles rubbing against my jaw.
The sober me would tell him he’s full of shit and remind him that a woman can’t be owned. Too bad the tipsy me is relishing the fact that Cash Stafford just confessed in a roundabout way that he kept the marriage pact we made in high school because he likes me… or at least he did.
“I have an important question to ask you,” he says.
“Which is?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
He leans in closer, like he has a secret to share, and trails his fingers along my arm, sending a course of electricity through me at the touch. “Please tell me you’re single,” he murmurs.
“That’s not a question,” I quip playfully.
“I can’t ask you to marry me if you’re with someone else,” he says with a mischievous, boyish grin.
An uncharacteristic giggle escapes my lips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It makes perfect sense.” He removes his arm from around my shoulder and clasps my hands in his. “We’re both single, in our thirties, and there’s a chapel right down the street. Marry me, Ev.”
I stare at him, trying to process his words. “We haven’t seen each other in fourteen years,” I remind him.
Thanks to the alcohol, it’s like my brain is on a coffee break, leaving me unable to come up with a better retort.
“So?” Cash murmurs. “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they? Some connections can’t be ignored, no matter how long you’ve been apart.”
I knit my eyebrows in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“Marry me,” he repeats, sidestepping my question. “Our pact still means something to me, just like this bracelet does,” he says, nodding to his wrist. “ You mean something to me.” Cash cradles my face, sending a shiver down my spine. “Haven’t you heard the best things in life are worth waiting for? Now that you’re finally here with me, I don’t ever want to let you go.”
I briefly close my eyes, wishing he’d stop saying all the right things.
After being engaged to a cheater with average looks, tying the knot with Cash would be a major upgrade. He’s devastatingly handsome and charismatic. Not to mention I’ve known him since we were kids.
“You’re serious about this?”
He nods his head. “I promise I’ll make you happy. You just have to give me a chance to prove it, Ev.” My heart skips a beat when he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Make me the luckiest man alive, and agree to be my wife.”
Nibbling on my lower lip, I feel the weight of his gaze.
Maybe this isn’t such a terrible idea after all. He has worn my bracelet for all these years and admitted that our silly marriage pact meant something to him. Plus, he punched Jacob Barlow in the face when he stood me up at our senior prom. That’s true loyalty.
Wait. Am I really considering this?
Warning bells ring loudly in the back of my mind, reminding me those aren’t valid reasons to marry someone, but one too many shots of tequila have drowned out my logical thinking.
“When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Be brave, Ev, and take this leap with me,” Cash urges.
“Stafford, are you daring me to marry you?”
“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Is it working?”
“Yes,” I say, a grin spreading across my face, reflecting his contagious excitement. “I think it is.”