Page 27 of Unruly

But God, part of me does. It’s the traitorous part that’s been lonely for longer than I care to admit. The part that notices how strong his forearms look when he lifts a keg like it weighs nothing. The part that wonders what it would feel like to let someone want me without all the baggage.

I shake it off and head to the office to count the drawer. Cash follows, leaning in the doorway while I work.

“I’m not some damsel. I’ve handled worse than a slow night at The Bar,” I tell him, not looking up from the bills.

He huffs a laugh. “You’ve said that probably half a dozen times, and I’m still not listening. Are you going to get the hint?”

I snort. “You should really respect my boundaries and go. I’m alone with you in a bar. Who’s to say you aren’t a threat to me?”

“Oh, if I was a real threat to you”—he steps closer, voice dropping—“you’d be backed up against that wall right now while I find out what your lips taste like again.”

My hand goes still with the money in it.

I don’t look up because if I look up he’ll see it on my face, and I will absolutely not be giving him that.

“Whatever you say,” I say, shoving the cash into the deposit bag. “Attention whore.”

He laughs, low and warm and completely unbothered. He already knows he won that one.

So do I.

By the time we kill the lights and step out the back door, the night air is cool and damp, carrying the scent of pine from the woods behind the building.

I lock up, keys jangling in the quiet. My bike is parked under the security light where I left it—my most prized possession. Zach hated that I loved to ride so Aunt Aria kept it here for me. First thing I did when I got back to Cedarbrook was take her.

Cash walks me over, hands in his pockets.

“That’s yours?” he asks, surprise flickering across his face when I swing a leg over.

“Yeah. Why?”

He stares at the bike, then at me, like he’s piecing something together. “Didn’t realize it was yours. Can’t believe I actually let you smoke me out the other day. Won’t happen again.”

I smirk. “Oh, it will definitely happen again, Thornwood.”

I slide my helmet on while he stands there, looking dumbfounded—mouth slightly open, eyes tracking the way I settle onto the seat. There’s a flash of something hotter in his expression—respect mixed with that same pull I’ve been fighting all night.

“Be careful,” he says finally, voice rough.

I nod, starting the engine, the low rumble vibrating through me. It feels good. Grounding. Like I’m in control again. I don’t look back as I pull out of the lot, but I feel his eyes on me the whole way down the road. The wind whips at my jacket, cool against my flushed skin. My thoughts are still spinning—mistake, kid, rebound, attraction I don’t want—but the bike smooths some of it out. Just me and the dark highway curving toward Grandma’s house.

I thought kissing Cash was the mistake.

The real mistake might be how much I want to do it again anyway.

The house is dark when I pull up. I kill the engine and sit there for a minute in the driveway, helmet in my lap, staring at the porch light I left on. The living room is still half-rearranged from my weekend chaos, but it feels more like home every day.

I run my fingers through my tangled hair and sigh. Cash’s face keeps flashing behind my eyes.

He stayed. He wanted to stay and keep me company.

My stomach flips again and I shove the feelings down.

No. You aren’t going there.

That’s what I keep trying to tell myself, even if there’s a part of me that wonders what that would feel like.

CASH