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I press my lips to her hair—what am I doing?—and say, “Of course.”
Chapter 9
ARI
It’s still bubbly, cheesy, greasy pepperoni goodness.
Each time I check on the casserole, I hold my breath, hoping that it hasn’t burned to a crisp in the five minutes since I looked at it last.
It’s not that I’m a bad cook—I’m in the average to slightly above-average range. But Cash has this super high-end oven with a million dials and settings, and I’m used to something a lotsimpler.
I’m almost ashamed to put my very basic—but yummy—pepperoni pizza casserole in such a fancy oven. Like the oven that costs more than my monthly salary is judging me for cooking something so simple.
Although, all I’ve seen Cash cook in it are frozen pizzas and appetizers, so maybe my made-from-scratch casserole is actually an upgrade.
As long as Cash likes it, that’s all that matters. He’s working a shift at the fire station, a six to midnight one, and I know he’s not expecting me to be up when he gets home.
But Cash has done so much for me, and I really want to do something for him.
When I think about everything that Cash has done, I feel kind of guilty. Letting me live at his house, insisting on covering all the expenses—I know he can afford it, but still—not to mention whatever he’s paying Blade and Arrow for their services. I brought it up last night, worrying, and Cash got all quiet and finally said, “I just like being able to help you, Ari. You’d do it for me.”
He’s right. If I was a multimillionaire, I would. But I’m not, so I have to settle for a casserole instead.
It’s not just the money, though. It’s how supportive Cash has been. Always coming home before dinner so I have someone to eat with, spending every evening with me. Comforting me when I get overwhelmed or when I wake up crying after a nightmare.
Like last night, when I dreamed I was trapped in the trunk again. But this time, the car stopped, and when the trunk opened, my dad was there. I was so happy—I miss him so much—but then it turned into my worst nightmare yet.
My dad was standing there, reassuring me, I was about to climb out of the trunk, and then Kylewas there. He was driving another car, and he ran my dad over, just like the drunken driver that killed him almost twenty years ago.
I couldn’t stop screaming.
Cash sprinted into my bedroom, hair wild, bare-chested, and he just held me until I could breathe normally again. Then he laid down next to me—on top of the covers; I didn’t tell him to, but he did it anyway—and stayed there the rest of the night. And each time the horrible images of the nightmare would grab hold of me again, making me shudder, he’d stroke my arm and whisper, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
I would have felt moreokay with Cash under the covers, tucked up against him. But he still hasn’t done anything to make me think he wants more than friendship. At least, nothing that tells me for sure.
The way he looks at me, it feels like there’s something deeper than friendship. When he touches me—a hug, an arm around my shoulder, holding my hand at Blade and Arrow—it feels like more than friendship, too.
But he hasn’t said anything, and I’m terrified I’m reading things wrong. That Cash is really just trying to be a good friend. He doesn’t doserious relationships, so why would this be any different?
It’s enough to drive me crazy.
But I’ll take Cash as a friend over potentially making our relationship awkward by making a move he doesn’t welcome. So I’m making him a casserole instead of all the sexier ways I’d like to show my appreciation.
Like jumping on him when he walks through the door, kissing his face all over. Peeling off his clothes and taking a shower with him, offering to wash his body. Which is very muscly and impressive, from the parts I’ve seen of it.
Then I’d go to his bedroom and kiss the rest of his body. And from there—
A door closes, the sound faint from this distance. Cash doesn’t say anything this time, no doubt assuming I’m asleep. So I call out to him instead.
“Cash. I’m up. I’m in the kitchen.”
A minute later, he walks into the kitchen, and I can immediately tell something is wrong.
I didn’t have much time to talk to Cash before he left for his shift. He got home from work with barely enough time to eat a snack and let me know Finn was on duty if I needed to go anywhere. He looked a little stressed when he left, but I thought he just felt bad about leaving.
Now I’m worried. His features are pinched, and there’s a slump to his shoulders. And when he asks, “Ari. Why are you still up? Is everything okay?” his voice is strained.
“I’m okay,” I hurry to answer, coming around the counter toward him. Fear grips me as a new possibility reveals itself. What if he’s hurt?
