Chapter Four
SHAY
THE WOMEN WERE right.
Cash Can Cook is a naked baker.
He fills the doorway when he pulls the door shut. Shirtless.
Again.
Light from the windows spills over his bare chest. My eyes drop before I can stop them to where denim sits low on his hips. The jeans are broken in by motion, by habit—by muscle.
My fingers warm.
My heart skips a beat.
If I’m honest, my fingers aren’t the only place that warms.
Good lord, what is wrong with me?
He smiles at me. “Hey.” The one word is liquid sweetness and desire all wrapped into a sound that tickles my insides.
With anger. Obviously.
“Change your mind?” His dark hair has dried into its natural defiance, like it refuses to be tamed. “Gonna join us after all?”
I hold up my tray. “No.”
There’s an awkward silence. It’s just a few seconds, but it feels like the longest seconds of my life, loud with everything I’m trying not to think about.
Maybe that’s because every image those ladies said comes rushing back, uninvited.
Licking the spoon.
Spanking the dough.
“Have a good night, though.” I try to rush past him, but his suitcase takes up one side of the hallway, and he takes up the other side.
There is no graceful way around it.
Or around him.
“Sorry.” I angle my body sideways, careful to keep the tray level.
My knee knocks the edge of the suitcase. I shift again and misjudge the distance.
I bump straight into him.
All bare torso and all solid heat.
The tray tilts.
My brain tilts.
Everything inside of me warms.
I gasp.
Honestly, because of all three.
His hands steady the tray from underneath, and I feel his hot, rough palms cover my fingers.
I gasp again.
Or do I?
I’m not sure.
I know I swallow hard as I lift my head to meet his burning gaze.
“Let me help you.” His voice has lost its earlier arrogance.
It’s gentle, sincere, and unguarded. No trace of the defense he’d tried to hide inside his room.
“I’ve got it.” But I don’t pull away.
Neither does he.
For a second, the hallway shrinks.
His suitcase digs into my calf. The tray wobbles between us. And our hands stay locked beneath it.
“I, um...” He clears his throat, and the sound is rough. “I owe you an apology. For earlier. I jumped to conclusions.”
His words hit me sharply and unexpectedly.
“I owe you one, too.” I can admit when I’m wrong—and yes, I misjudged him, though he gave me plenty of reasons to do just that. “I jumped to conclusions. The name-calling wasn’t my finest moment.”
Another beat passes. Long enough to notice how close we are. Close enough, I catch the faint warmth of him and smell his distinct scent of smoked cedar with a bite of black pepper.
His eyebrows draw together. “Was there name-calling?”
My lips twitch into a small, hesitant smile. “I called you names in my head.”
He cocks his head, and his Stetson moves along with the ride.
I’m not jealous of that ride.
Lies.
My chest tightens in ways I’m definitely not admiring.
“For the record, I didn’t think one bad thing about you.” His smile is teasing.
“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful.”
He shrugs. “I don’t lie.”
He releases my hand and clasps his suitcase. It’s the same charcoal shade as mine. He steps away, giving me the space to make it to my room.
But I don’t move.
Of course, I don’t.
He must catch me staring because he pats the side. “Little thank-yous for the lovely ladies who support my work.”
Little thank-yous? Are we talking measuring cups and rolling pins? Or coffee mugs and pens? Or are they edible like cookies or chocolate truffles?
None of my business what he hands out at his little cult baking class.
“Looks like you’ve got it all covered.”
He flashes a quick smile. “Maybe once you’ve unpacked, you’ll change your mind.” He glances down for a fraction of a second. “Cute socks.”
Cute socks?
I’d be mortified if I cared what he thought of me.
Which I don’t.
But couldn’t I at least try not to look peak gremlin mode?
Without another word, he turns and struts away.
It takes me a second to pull my gaze away from him, striding down the hall—jeans hugging his ass perfectly, back muscles flexing with each step—to slip into my room.
I set the tray half on the table, and my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“You were supposed to text me when you got back.” Tess’s face fills the screen again, just like she fills all the spaces she steps into. “Are you good?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. I’m back in the room, and look—”
I flip the camera and lift the lid off the food. Steam rises, carrying the scent of garlic and thyme, and ridding the last traces of him.
Good.
The last thing I need is him invading my dreams.
“I got room service.”
“That looks old school delicious.”
“I’m sure it is.” I sit on the chair and set my phone against the lamp.
The screen tilts, catching my half-unpacked bed.
“Now that you’re in for the night. Two things.” Two fingers rise from where Tess is cupping her pink coffee mug embedded in rhinestones.
I rip a biscuit in half and drag the knife through the butter.
“How are you this bossy even with miles between us?” I tease.
“One. Have you looked up Cash Can Cook?”
My body warms.
Part irritation.
Part hunger.
Part something I don’t want to name.
“No.”
“But he’s—”
“Famous. So you’ve said. Multiple times.” The butter melts on contact.
“I think you two got off on the wrong foot.” Her fingers tap her mug. “If you just understood his cooking channel—”
“I’m pretty sure I understand it very clearly.”
“You do, do you?” She leans back, eyebrows climbing. “Please, do share how?”
Why is everything so dramatic with her?
“I met his cult following.”
“Cult following?” She laughs, leaning forward, then straightens and stills. “I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be. It’s just a bunch of ladies swooning over him like he’s the last piece of chocolate on earth.”
Like me in the hallway not five minutes ago. I don’t mention that.
“But, did you see his cock?”
“Tess!”
“What? It was right there. He wasn’t hiding it.”
“I’m not here for a guy. In fact, it’s the opposite.”
It’s been a year since my breakup. Took that long to realize I’d only stayed for safety and familiarity. Not love. I mean, I cared about him, but I was never in love.
Now I know that I’m here to figure out the rest of me—what I actually want, and where I want to go. And I’m not about to let some guy mix it all up.
“It was huge—”
“One more word about naked Cash and I’m hanging you up.”
Her rosy mauve lips press together. Not in anger, but restraint. I know she has so much more to say.
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
She smirks, and I know her head has dipped into the pit of her dirtiest thoughts.
“Stay right here. I've got a new addition to my collection to show you.” She jumps off the oversized chair in her cozy apartment.
The pile of mismatched throw pillows and half-burned candles lights the room.
“The notable word here was ‘my’,” I shout at her. “As in personal and no need to share with me.”
I don’t even want to imagine which one of her many collections she’s referring to.
Objects she hides when company comes over—sometimes.
Decorative paddles, not for decoration.
Her trove of smutty mafia novels with shamelessly bent spines.
Not when I’m still heated up from my bump in. My thoughts kept drifting back to him. Even when I know they shouldn’t.
But every inch of him that brushed against me is still stamped into my skin. Hot and heavy like a brand I can’t erase.
And the scent of him lingers. It’s faint but intoxicating. I’d washed it off me the first time, but it’s back again.
“You’ll really want to see this one. Trust me.” She’s still not in sight.
“I doubt it.”
“I’ll show you how it works.”
I rip a chunk of buttered bread. “I don’t need to know how.” I slip the warm piece in my mouth.
It melts into soft, flaky, warm goodness.
“You do. Trust me.” A bright-colored vibrator fills the screen. “It’s called the 'Twist it’s like she’s just orgasmed from the Twist & Shout.
There’s an image I won’t be able to rid myself of.
“And you’re welcome.” She strokes it. “I left a surprise in your suitcase.”
Of course she did.
“Tess—”
“You can use it tonight, envisioning all the goodies you don’t realize you packed in your clit closet.”
I groan.
“Go look.”
“I’m eating.”
“Come on. I gave you a bag full.”
“A bag full?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do I need a bagful for?”
“If you have to ask, you’re not experimenting enough with the joys of my line. Some are tiny and discreet so that you can carry them anywhere.”
Let the details continue.
“Others are big and powerful. Perfect when you really want to feel it. Some have different vibration patterns, and you can switch it up depending on your mood. Curved ones hit exactly the right spots, which is sooo satisfying.”
I’m aware of every detail. I shoot and edit her videos.
“Some are waterproof so that you can take them in the shower or bath. Rechargeable ones are great because you don’t have to worry about batteries dying.”
Does she think I really don’t know?
“Then there are quiet ones for thin walls, and louder ones when you’re all alone and want all the intensity. The materials make a big difference—”
“Alright!” I snatch the phone. “If I look, can we stop this conversation?”
She smiles. “Yes. Promise.”
I pick up the only suitcase I haven’t opened yet and toss it on the mattress. It sags just enough to remind me I’m not at home.
I unzip it and flip it open.
But instead of the cute, comfy clothes I’d packed, I find men’s clothing.
Not just any man's clothing.
The scent hits me hard.
Smokey cedar and black pepper.
“What’s wrong?” Tess asks.
“It’s not my bag.” As I say the words, I remember the suitcase we danced around just fifteen minutes earlier.
His suitcase of goodies.
Only, it’s my suitcase. Full of vibrators.
That he’s about to share with a room full of women.
“Tess, I gotta go.”
“Are you going to go sleep with him?”
“What? No.”
“Don’t say no. If he hits on you, remember you’re stepping out of your comfy zone.”
Now she remembers.
“I’m not sleeping with him.”
I’m just trying to get my dildos from him.