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Twenty-Four
Cash
After a long dayat the apartment office dealing with all sorts of renter debacles, it feels good to sink into the sofa. Dammit, I must be getting old or losing my touch because usually on a Friday night, I’d be going out. Yet, here I am thinking about nothing but drinking beer and falling asleep. Shit, I’ve lost my touch. I’ve lost my sense of game.
Of course, I know it isn’t just about energy levels. It’s about a sexy, infuriatingly smart woman who won’t let go of her grasp on me.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen her, but she still lays claim to all of my thoughts. God, it’s like I’m under some freaky spell of hers, one that makes me simultaneously yearn for her and fear her and her witchcraft-like ways. I feel like a lovesick teenager, and it’s not a feeling familiar to me.
I’ve tried calling her, tried to make plans to see her, but she’s busy with her upcoming line. While I find her workaholic drive sexy, I also find it worrisome. Maybe she’s having second thoughts. Maybe this whole “let’s get to know each other” vibe was just a trick, another one of her love traps. Falling in love with a player isn’t advisable because you just never know when her heart can be trusted.
Still, I have to admit there’s a rush there too, of knowing she’s not easy to tame but trying my hardest anyway. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, so why let this get the best of me?
I flip on the television as Killer jumps on my lap, ready to tuck in for the night. I’m starting to let my explicit thoughts of Sage take me off to dreamland, when there’s a knock at the door. Killer emits a growl, and I sigh as I stand up, wondering who the hell it could be. When I fling open the door, though, confusion and excitement set in.
“Can I come in?” Sage says, her sultry voice reigniting the life in me.
“Sure,” I murmur, rubbing a hand over my two-day stubble, wishing I’d have known she was coming over. She’s in jeans and a simple T-shirt, but she still looks phenomenal as she struts into the kitchen, a six-pack of beer in her hand.
“So, I know flowers are typically the protocol, at least from what I’ve seen in movies, but I thought you’d appreciate this more,” she says, handing the beer over to me. I set it on the counter and raise an eyebrow.
“Protocol for what?”
“A date,” she says, her bright lips curving into a nervous smile. “I know, I know, dates are against your rules. Mine too. But, you know, with this whole getting to know you thing, we’ve kept it so informal and all of that. We haven’t used labels or whatever. So Cash Creed, I want to shake it up. I want to officially take you on an honest date, you know food, small talk, the whole thing.”
I stare at her, shaking my head.
“Is that a no?” she asks, concern creeping in.
I cross the floor, closing the gap between us, and take her into my arms. I plant a kiss hard and fast on those bright red lips, silencing any doubt. It feels good to have her in my arms again, to be close, to feel her. I’ve been starving for her, in truth.
“I’ve missed you,” I reply simply.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she says. “Which is why I thought it was time for a date. No bars or hot sex or any of the stuff we’re used to. Just you and me, some food, and some real date-like behaviors.”
“I’m in. Let me change,” I say, looking at my scuffed-up jeans and T-shirt.
“No, don’t. Let’s keep it simple,” she replies, and I can’t resist agreeing. This woman’s got me hooked so bad, I’d do anything. Almost anything she wanted.
“So where to?” I ask.
“I have a plan,” she says, leaving it at that.
“Whoa, hold up. I don’t like surprises,” I respond honestly.
“Is that because you have power issues?” she asks coyly as I follow her out into the sticky night air.
“No, it’s because I like to be prepared.”
“Well, Cash Creed, tonight, I’ve got the reins. I’m taking the lead. Can you be okay with that?”
And for once, I think I can.
* * *
The sun is settingwhen we get to the sand, both of us loaded up like pack mules with chairs, the picnic basket, and the blanket. We get organized, plopping the blanket down as I weight it with the chairs, the night breeze from the ocean threatening to lift it away.
“Nice night,” I say, honestly, as Sage sits down and begins to unpack the basket. It’s filled with takeout from different local haunts—seafood, cheeses, crackers, cheesecake from the little bakery down the street.
