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Ten
Cash
“Cash?Hello? It’s me, Jodie. Listen, you need to get to Midsummer Nights right now. Like, right now. She’s here.”
I groan, my head trying to process the female voice, trying to push through the grogginess to piece together the meaning of the statement.
I roll over in bed, the phone still to my ear. “Who? Who is where?” I ask.
“Cash, get it together. That woman you were with, Sage. She’s here for breakfast at Midsummer Nights. Lysander and Reed told me to call you. This could be your chance.”
I take a deep breath, sitting up and running my free hand through my hair. “Chance for what?”
“A chance to talk to her again, to see her. Come on, Cash. We all know you were crazy about her. You can feed that player crap to Levi, but we all see it. You’re into her. So get your ass over here and talk to her again.”
I stagger out of bed, last night’s drinks still weighing heavily on my body. I glance in the mirror. I’m a wreck. If I’m going anywhere, I need to get myself together.
“Okay,” I say, mostly to placate the woman on the other end of the phone, but also because I really don’t know what to say.
Do I want to see Sage Everling again? And what will I say?
This isn’t like me. One and done, even if it sounds prickish—which it unarguably is—that’s it. I don’t pursue women. I don’t chase them down for another night of fun, and if I do, it’s only because I know they’re only in it for one thing. I don’t ever risk them thinking I’m in it for a relationship. But as I slap on some cologne and toss on some jeans, I think about how this feels different. Uncomfortably different.
Because as I head to Midsummer Nights, I’m thinking about all the right things to say and wondering what she’ll be wearing. I’m wondering if I could snag another date with the current queen of fashion design, and if I do, where we’ll go. I’m thinking not like Cash Creed, the ultimate lone heart. I’m thinking like Cash Creed, a man falling for a woman he barely knows.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. This is going to be an epic disaster, and I’m going to head back to Texas with my tail between my legs, wishing I’d just stayed home. Love never brings anything good, I’ve learned, and lonely hearts are better off. But this damn woman has me forgetting rational and forgetting sexual. She’s got me thinking like a man in love—and I hate every second of it.
Still, despite my brain screaming at me to turn around and let it go, I find myself sauntering through Midsummer Night’s doorway within fifteen minutes of Jodie’s call, the bells ringing to announce the presence of a soon-to-be broken man.
“Oh my goodness, look who it is,” Lysander announces loudly from the register as the woman he’s talking to turns.
And when she turns, shooting a look at me from those icy blue eyes, I mutter, “Shit” again.
Because when I see her in front of me in the middle of the day, I know without a doubt the fluttering in my chest isn’t a heart attack—heart attacks can be treated, but this disastrous thing can’t.
“Hey,” I mumble, the usually suave words that aimlessly fly out of my mouth choking up in my throat. I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to play it cool, trying not to show her how much those tight black pants and hot pink blouse are getting to me.
“Hi,” she says, offering a weak smile.
“Oh, look, seems like your card is working after all, Ms. Everling. Sorry for the hold up,” Lysander says, handing Sage her Visa over the register as he shoots me a wink. She mechanically takes the card, putting it away in her wallet.
“So, how’ve you been?” I ask, still not sure what to say. Lysander shakes his head, making a hand motion that says I need to say more before walking away.
“Fine, thanks. How about you?” she asks, looking up at me as she switches her bag from her right to left hand.
We stand near the cash register, staring at each other. “Fine. Other than being a front-page celebrity for a day,” I murmur. “I had no idea.”
“Who I was, or that you’d end up on the front page?” she asks, smiling a little now.
“Both.”
“I’m sorry. I guess with the line picking up and the press more interested, nothing’s private anymore. I’m truly sorry. I would’ve warned you if I’d known, but I just, I don’t like flaunting that part of who I am, you know? I like to keep it separate.”
I nod, understanding and even respecting that. I can imagine she’s had issues with men who know who she is only wanting one thing. I’m sort of glad I didn’t know who she was because then she knows I wasn’t after that one thing. Then again, I’m pretty sure few men look at Sage Everling with her amazing blonde hair and perfect figure and think about money. Not any man with a working cock, that is.
“So, are you following me? Did the press pay you off to get another picture?” she asks pointedly.
“Uh, no. My brother is friends with the owners here. His girlfriend works here.”
