Page 24 of Lucky Haven

“Jesus, woman,” he whispers. Then he turns me toward the hallway so fast the room spins again.

He puts me in the bathroom first, then closes the door to let me wash up in privacy. I stare at myself in the mirror, then quickly pee. Or maybe not quickly, who knows. Time has no meaning now.

I licked Cash’s thumb.

Drinking. Thinking about dancing. Being forward with my friend. None of this is like me.

My nightgown is on the back of the door. It’s long and frumpy, and⁠—

“I’m going to have a shower,” I say, lifting my voice.

And then I crank on the water before he can reply.

I need to wash off the night. Maybe sober up a little, or a lot.

I scrub the stickiness of Bar None off my skin and out of my hair. I try to ignore the kaleidoscope of images from the last hour spiralling through my mind. Cash buckling me into his truck. Helping me out. Telling him far too much.

I wish I were drunk enough that I won’t remember this in the morning, but every single second is going to be on a furious, confused replay for the rest of my life.

For the second time in a week, Cash Kincaid has swept into my apartment and made himself at home, taking up far too much space.

Chapter Seven

Cash

When Haven opens the bathroom door again, she’s clad in soft, faded flannel from her shoulders down to her pretty painted toenails.

Her hair hangs damp and loose around her face, and her skin is scrubbed free of makeup, revealing a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She also looks way more sober than she did when I helped her into the house.

Which means it’s past time for me to leave.

“I left another glass of water for you on the bedside table.”

“How full do you want my bladder to be?”

I laugh. “Just in case you need it in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I think I can put myself to bed.”

I should let her do that. I should get the hell out of her apartment.

But she told me she liked kissing me. She told me she’s a fucking virgin, and then she licked my fucking thumb. “I know you can. But do you want me to⁠—”

“It’s not like that, remember?”

Even drunk, Haven Bingham is ten times smarter than me.

I swallow around gravelly regret and nod, stepping back. “Lock up behind me?”

She follows me to the door, still tipsy enough that she gets closer than she would if she were sober. She smells so fucking good straight out of the shower, like flowers and sweet soap. It wafts around us, working its way under my skin. Strangling the base of my brainstem, I swear, because there’s no good reason for me to pull her into my arms.

It’s. Not. Like. That.

But I can’t let her go to bed without letting her know just how much I like her kisses, too.

“If everything were different,” I say roughly.