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"Frank would never leave me."
Give it four years, Isla, and a dwindling sex life. Her answer might change then.
Honestly, how does she expect a relationship built on secret library sex to last once the newness has worn off?
Spoiler alert: it won't.
"Well, I'm so glad Frank and you are on the same page," I fake a smile.
"Thanks, Ing," she pouts playfully. "I appreciate that."
Ing. I hate that nickname almost as much as Blondie.
Isla stops in front of Cash's parents' house. "Call me if you need a ride. Frank's working late tonight, so I'll be home catching up on—"
But I don't hear the rest because I grab my bag, hop out quickly, and shut the door behind me.
As Isla drives off, I stare up at the imposing Allred mansion— a white, colonial-style home with navy shutters and massive columns. Every spring, Mrs. Allred has the red front door touched up for scuffs and dings. After she had it repainted last year, Wilder ran his car keys down it when Cash ditched us for dinner at the Country Club. I was Wilder's getaway driver. We laughed the whole way home.
Come to think of it, that's probably the only time Wilder and I have ever worked together instead of against each other. Kind of feels like Cash is ditching us again. I wonder what Wilder will do in retaliation this time.
I knock on the red, touched-up door with a heavy heart. This might be my final time at the Allred residence. Once Cash leaves for Johns Hopkins, he doesn't plan on returning. He's made it clear he'll be taking summer classes between semesters and building a life in Baltimore. Sometimes, I wonder if what he wants is to get away from his parents. They put too much pressure on him. Pressure that's made it hard for him to be a normal teenager. Then again, maybe he's trying to get away from me.
"Ah," Mr. Allred says as he opens the door and peers down at me over his glasses. "Cash is in his room."
"Thanks," I say quietly as I scurry past him and up the grand staircase. It's stunning, really. Mahogany steps and an ornate banister to match.
When I reach Cash's room, the door is propped open. I peer inside before making myself known. He's sitting at his desk, staring at his laptop screen. The Leaning Tower of Pisa stares back at him.
"Hey," I clear my throat as I step inside.
Cash closes his laptop. "Hey, babe."
I stand, awkwardly, by the door as he runs a hand through his blond hair. "You, okay?"
He shrugs. "Not sure."
I close the door behind me, toss my bag onto his bed, and slowly make my way over to him. I'm not going to lie, approaching Cash scares me. He's rejected me so much over the past two months that now I'm second-guessing something as natural as comforting him.
But when I reach him, he opens his arms and I fall into his lap like I used to. The moment he buries his face into my neck, all the worry melts away.
"Everything is going to be fine," I promise him.
He doesn't respond. Instead, he tightens his arms around me and kisses my shoulder softly. I close my eyes, savoring the moment. It's been a long time since he's touched me this way. Since he's let me in. Since he's held me. My heart wants to soar in my chest, but I think I've read enough books and watched enough TV shows to know that whatever we're doing is coming to an end. I mean, it has to, doesn't it?
How can we spend the summer apart, and then, four years apart? If we're barely connecting now, how are we going to survive being on different continents? Living in different states?
I should ask him. I should force him to make a plan—to figure things out. But I don't. Because Cash and I don't fight. We avoid confrontation and we sweep things under the rug. We look great on the outside just like the Allred mansion. But inside, we're cold and unemotional. We've talked about marriage and babies and building a house on a piece of land outside of town. The reality is that we've dreamed together but we've never built anything solid together. We can't. Wilder has always served as our third wheel—our buffer. We've never really been alone. Not long enough to truly know one another. We've never even had a hard conversation.
And because I know this is probably ending, I don't say anything when Cash slips his hand under my shirt. Because sex is the only thing Cash and I have ever done alone. The only thing we've ever figured out together. Without Wilder.
I don't stop Cash when he tugs my bra down and cups my breast in his hand. I don't turn my head away when his lips find mine. I don't think about how much this is going to hurt when we both accept the inevitable. This might be the last time.
"Can we?" he whispers against my lips.
No. I should say no. He's leaving me. He's spending our final two months together in Europe. But it's Cash. I love him. I always have. I always will.
So, I stand from his lap and pull my shirt over my head. He does the same as I fumble with the button on my jean shorts.
