15. Halle
HALLE
Ithink I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
I have a million-and-a-half projects around this old house and for some reason, instead of asking my dad to help me paint my cabinets, I’ve decided to hot girl handywoman this shit and do it myself.
So I’ve been standing in this Home Depot aisle for the better half of an hour, trying to figure out what the fuck all these different kinds of primers do.
Among the other things I’ve already put in my cart—wood filler, sandpaper in three different grits, new cabinet pulls, painter’s tape, and the paint itself.
But I can’t figure out what damn primer I need for this.
Mainly because the only thing on my mind is that annoyingly handsome redhead named Cash Thornwood.
I definitely haven’t been spiraling over the fact that I let him fuck me senseless last night.
No, I would consider that behavior normal at this point—a rebound fuck to get it out of my system. Yeah … that’s what it was.
It doesn’t explain this stupid grin on my face every time I think about the way he says Darlin’, his out-of-this-world confidence, his green eyes that catch even the slightest hesitation in me, or the way he says my name.
Just … everything.
I groan, tilting my head up toward the fluorescent lights and let my arm holding the small primer can fall by my side.
“This is embarrassing,” I mutter, and fortunately, there isn’t anyone around to hear me.
It’s not a thing.
It’s absolutely a thing.
It’s not.
Then why are you smiling right now?
I immediately stop smiling. Traitor.
By the time I’ve narrowed it down to two options for primers, I am no closer to making a decision than I was when I walked in.
“Need help finding anything, miss?”
The voice catches me off guard as I glance up from the two cans in my hands.
“Ryan?”
His grin appears instantly. “Well damn, Halle. I was wondering if that was you. Long time no see!”
I chuckle. “You could say that. What’s it been … since senior year? How have you been?”
“Pretty good—just working here. What about you?”
He has no fucking clue.
We weren’t exactly friends in high school, but ran in enough of the same circles that being sarcastic is probably the bad option here.
“I’m just doing lots of house renovations lately. It’s time to take on the kitchen cabinets, which is why I’ve been standing here.” I gesture to the rows of cans and two in my hands.
His gaze drops to my fingers on my left hand briefly, expression shifting just enough.
“Well, if you’re doing cabinets, neither of those are good for that.” He takes them both from my hands, fingers brushing mine, before placing them on the shelf and grabbing a new one. “You need this instead—works the best and keeps a good even base.”
He sets the can into my cart.
“Awesome. Thank you so much!”
“Anytime, Halle. Also, not to be too forward, but if you ever need a hand, or want some company, I’d love to come see you,” he says bashfully.
In an almost failed attempt, I keep my tone even and don’t roll my eyes. “Thanks but no thanks, Ryan. It was nice seeing you, though!”
Before he can say another word, I turn and take off down the aisle to the register out front to purchase it all.
That was almost awkward as fuck.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I make my way to the front, the sound shooting straight through me. I don’t have to look to know who it is, which is a little ridiculous.
I get in line and pull my phone out, seeing I’m right, and my stomach immediately does something embarrassing.
Cash:
*A photo of himself beside a black and white cow*
he second it loads, I feel my cheeks turn pink.
It’s cute, I’ll give him that. However, I can’t keep myself from also noticing how the sleeves of his shirt are pushed up his forearms, and he’s got a smearing of dirt across his cheek. The smug bastard is grinning directly at the camera.
Cash:
Just in case you forgot what my face looked like.
Cash:
You should send me a photo too…you know, for your contact photo.
Cash:
But don’t worry. I’d never forget what that gorgeous face looks like. I see that shit in my dreams, Darlin’.
I shake my head. Unbelievable.
Cash:
I made plans for us tomorrow for dinner. Wear that denim vest and the pink skirt you wear at The Bar sometimes. It’s cute.
Warmth blooms low in my chest, but I lock my phone before I can do something foolish like immediately agree.
The cashier clears her throat, and I put the phone away and check out.
Heading back to the house, I can’t help but to appreciate that he just made plans … down to my outfit.
Most men I’ve been with, especially Zach, would have me pick what I wanted to eat or do and then plan. The difference is stark and I enjoy that.
Thinking about dating again so soon makes me want to find the nearest bridge … but being able to dress up and have fun with Cash is refreshing.
On top of that, the sex is top tier.
The next few hours fly by, although removing all the cabinet doors off their hinges to put them in the garage is more of a challenge than I thought it would be. Once they’re all stacked neatly, I set up the table so that I have space to sand them down and paint them.
I finally take a small break. Giving in, I check my phone again. Still no new messages.
Which shouldn’t matter.
Except, it does … a little. Because I know he’s out there somewhere, doing whatever Cash does all day. Working … probably.
I hate how easy this is becoming. For years, Zach and my relationship felt like work—something to carefully navigate. Cash somehow feels different.
Easy. Though not because everything is perfect.
Being around him feels like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans.
It helps that the man is hotter than hell and can do the tongue thing.
On top of that, Cash is known as someone who only does fun.
So there isn’t an expectation to be a certain way or worry about things I would in a real relationship.
Around three, my phone buzzes again. I grab it immediately.
Cash:
You alive over there?
Cash:
Or have you forgotten all about me?
Cash:
You’re making me seem pretty desperate.
I laugh under my breath.
Me:
You’ve made yourself look desperate, Thornwood.
Cash:
There’s my girl.
Cash:
Thought maybe you were ignoring me.
Me:
Maybe I was.
Cash:
You definitely were. Your read receipts are on.
Me:
Fuck you.
Cash:
Come to dinner, and afterwards, I can fuck you real good, Darlin’.
Cash:
Stop just reading my texts. You’re killing me.
What a drama queen.
Me:
If I was successful then you’d stop texting me.
Cash:
*dies*
Me:
At least now I don’t have to go to dinner with you.
The annoying thing? The idea of him fucking me again makes any amount of time at dinner with him worth it.
No new messages.
I check anyway.
Trying to not watch the clock, I start sanding the cabinets. The orbital sander hums beneath my hand, removing years of interesting color choices that Grandma used to decorate that kitchen.
Fine dust coats me and everything in the general vicinity. Moving in circles all over the wood, I finally finish the first one. Switching off the sander, I run my palm over the wood, checking for any rough spots I might have missed.
Looks good enough.
Losing myself in the rhythm, I knock the rest of the cabinet doors out in no time.
Left with nothing but my thoughts, my mind drifts back to last night.
The way his hands felt all over me … made me feel alive in a way I don’t think I ever have with someone. It sends a thrill down my spine.
I check the time on my phone once I finish sanding the last one down, seeing it’s about 4:30.
I can maybe get a couple doors coated in primer.
Wiping everything down to get the dust off of it, and prepping to start painting the cabinets with primer, my phone buzzes again.
Cash:
Meet me at the ranch tomorrow at 6.
Me:
Do I have to pick you up for our date? I knew you were young but damn.
Cash:
No. But my plans involve the ranch.
Me:
I’m not going there. Rhett and Colt will see my car.
Cash:
Bring the bike. We can hide it in Dawson’s barn.
Me:
Fine. I’ll be there tomorrow at 6.