Chapter Eighteen
SHAY
IWAKE UP naked, sheets tangled around my body—alone.
I feel for him through my sleepy haze, hands sliding across the cold cotton. But the bed is empty.
Cold.
No dent in the mattress.
No warm skin.
Just me.
I groan, rolling over into his pillow and dragging it to my face. I breathe him in—cedar, soap, and pepper.
I’ll never smell pepper again without thinking about him.
I open my eyes, and that’s when I see a note wedged under my hand and the pillow.
I wait until my morning vision clears.
Had a class. Didn’t want to wake you. You were so beautiful and peaceful. I left you a surprise in the kitchen. Xoxo Cash.
My chest does a stupid little flip.
It takes me a second to find my pajama shirt and shorts. I tug them on and wander through the time capsule.
The clock on the wall reads just past eight. Too early for whatever time we finally fell asleep last night.
I glance at the stairs. If the door didn’t lead to the kitchen where the class was taking place, I’d slip upstairs, change, and join them.
Unfortunately, that’s not an option for me.
I lift the lid off the tray on the dining room table, and underneath is the cinnamon bun from last night. Sticky glaze catches the light.
I laugh, folding my leg under me as I sit on the chair. I rip the edge off and take a bite. A low hum escapes me as the cinnamon melts on my tongue.
“You’re so good.” I tear off another piece.
Another note waits by the plate.
Enjoy breakfast. Brought your suitcase. I’ll get you when the coast’s clear. Also brought your cell phone.
My suitcase sits in the hallway. I hadn’t even noticed it. And I pick up my cell phone. The screen lights up with missed calls and texts from Tess.
“Shit.” I call her, and she answers on the first ring.
“You'd better be dead or lying in Cash Can Cook's bed naked and fully pleasured.”
“It’s not the first.”
There’s a pause, then Tess shrieks in my ear.
“Are you messing with me? Did you sleep with him? Tell me the truth. Don’t play me like this. Be honest. Did you sleep with Cash Can Cook?”
“His name is Cash.”
“But did you sleep with him?”
“We did a lot more than sleep.”
She screams so loud that I have to pull the phone from my ear.
“Holy shit! I think I’m jealous. I am. I am jealous. Is he there? Is he naked? Rate him on a scale of one to ten.”
“No to everything you just said.”
“He’s not there?”
I tear off a piece of the cinnamon bun—sticky icing strings between my fingers.
“He was gone when I woke up.”
“Oh.” She sounds as disappointed as I am.
“He had an early class, and he didn’t want to wake me.” She doesn’t say anything. “He left me notes and breakfast.”
“Aww, best weekend fling etiquette ever.”
Weekend fling.
The words land weird in my chest. Too casual. Too small.
“Tell me everything.”
“No.”
But we do talk about everything else before I hang up. Mostly, we talk about her and the business. What happened since yesterday? The sales, the videos, and her thoughts about opening a shop.
Then I grab the suitcase and head down the short hallway, the wheels bumping softly over the carpet.
The space is too quiet without him.
I straighten a frame on the wall beside where he pinned me last night.
I take a quick shower because I have time, steam fogging the mirror, washing the smell of sex from my skin.
Then I heave my suitcase onto the bed and unzip it.
And there’s the bag of goodies that started my weekend fling with Cash. I toss the bag of vibrators on the bed.
But is it a weekend fling? Or is it just last night?
Will he come get me, and we’ll part our separate ways? If he even comes and gets me at all.
I get dressed on autopilot—jeans, tee, brush through my hair—my heart doing this stupid, hopeful little flutter I refuse to name.
Then I pack up the suitcase, and when I reach for the vibrators, I pause, my fingers curled around the plastic.
He’s still not back. And I have some time to kill.
I open the bag.
Tess wasn’t kidding. There are big ones. Small ones. Neon pink. Matte black.
One shaped like a lipstick. One curved like a question mark. One that looks suspiciously like a tiny spaceship. Silicone. Sleek. Way too expensive-looking for something that hums.
I pick one and click it on. A low, steady buzz crawls up my palm. I test the different levels, each setting climbing higher until my fingers tingle.
No. I’m not doing this.
But my body is already ahead of me. Heat curls low. Imagining Cash bombards my mind. I swear I can feel his hands on my breasts.
A release would be nice.
No.
My traitor thumb bumps it to the highest setting when arms wrap around my middle.
I shriek—pure instinct. The vibrator goes flying, buzzing like an angry insect, disappearing under the bed.
I slap at the hands, and they jerk away. I pivot, and Cash stands there. Smirking.
“Hi.”
I slap his arm. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He catches my wrist and pulls me against him. “You were occupied.” His mouth covers mine. “You taste like cinnamon buns.”
“You taste like strawberries.” I pick my lips. “And the best whipped cream I’ve ever tried.” I gasp. “Did you have strawberries and whipped cream without me?”
“And waffles.”
I gasp again.
“But I missed every second I was away from you.”
My body relaxes in his arms. “Cheesy.”
He grins, lopsided. “It turns out I like cheesy.”
I laugh, and just as his lips brush mine, the buzzing intensifies.
He pauses. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“I don’t hear anything.” I try to kiss him, but he steps back. “Don’t you hear the buzzing?”
The sound rattles faintly against the carpet.
Bzzzzz. Bzzzz.
Like a trapped bee.
“Be right back.” I run to the side of the bed and drop to the floor, cheek to carpet.
Dust tickles my nose. That little buzzing demon buzzes just out of my reach.
Then I see Cash’s boots on the other side of the bed. He bends down on his hands and knees and looks at me under the bed.
“Whatcha doing?” His eyes find the vibrator, and then flick to mine. “Were you going to play without me?”
“I was going to think about you when I played.”
He hisses a breath as he lies on his stomach, reaches for it, and clicks it off.
“Sorry I interrupted.” His cheek rests on the carpet, and we stare at each other.
We are so far away, but I feel closer to him than anyone I've ever met.
“The real thing walked in, so I’ll forgive you.”
He chuckles.
“How did your class go?” I curl my hand under my head, not sure how long we’re going to stay here, but also feeling my hurry to rush.
“Long.”
“Long?”
“Because you weren’t there.”
I snort. “That’s how I felt when I woke up alone.”
“I didn’t want to leave. I even considered cancelling.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I’m glad it’s over.”
I smile. “Me too.”
“Wait there,” he instructs.
“Here?” I ask.
“Don’t move.” He rises and disappears.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling above me.
A second later, he’s standing above me like a Greek god. Lord, he’s gorgeous and perfect. Showered and changed into fresh jeans, and today he’s wearing a white T-shirt.
He kneels down, and his weight settles over mine, solid and warm.
“Hi.” He moves my hair back from my face.
“Hi.” My fingers slide over the material of his torso.
“I’ve been thinking about these lips all morning.” His mouth covers mine, and he kisses the floor like silly teenagers.
Mouths crashing clumsy.
Laughing, then not laughing at all.
We roll, limbs everywhere, hands everywhere.
I straddle him, and he helps me tug my shirt over my head.
His shirt is next. Then we’re rolling again.
He’s on top, leg grinding against my throbbing core.
Then I’m on top, straddling him while he gropes my breasts.
But it’s like he can’t get enough, and I’m on my back again, the carpet scraping my flesh.
“Wait.” He pauses mid-kiss.
“What?”
“Did you hear that?”
I smile. “I don’t hear anything.” I lift up and kiss him, but he pulls away.
“I heard a scuffle, or—”
I lick his chin when I hear exactly what he’s talking about.
A small putter-patter, rather than barking, explodes into the room.
A blur of teeth and black fur before the Chihuahua launches itself onto his leg.
“Holy shit, no!” Cash shouts, shaking his leg. “Bad Thumbelina!”
The dog growls and latches onto his leg like a fuzzy koala. Then she starts humping his calf with shocking determination and little grunts and growls like a possessed squeaky toy.
“Thumbelina?” My head snaps up at Faye’s voice calling down the hall. “Come here, girl.”
“No, no, no,” I mutter, reaching unquestioningly for a shirt—for anything to cover up.
But cash is heavy on top of Kyle, and I’m pinned with him waggling his leg to free it from the ready grips of the horny dog.
Then the hostess appears in the doorway and stops dead.
We stop too.
She looks at us. Looks at the floor. Looks at the bed.
“Well, I guess this is why my Diana Jenkins romance book, limited edition sprayed edge copy, was under the couch.”
Willa peeks over her shoulder. “Looks like we have visors.”