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Candace side-eyes me, head notching back on her shoulders. “Your panties come in a bag?”
I shrug. “Usually.”
“Girl.” She shakes her head. “No.”
“It’s cost-effective.”
“It’s a libido killer.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
Her mouth drops. “Do you even have any sexy lingerie?”
I can feel my face beginning to heat. “Lingerie? Nope. I have a few pairs of lace panties Cash bought though.”
“Hell.” She pulls out her phone, tapping into her calendar. “I’m free Sunday morning. We’re going shopping.”
“I don’t need lingerie.”
“Cash is your man, babe. You need sexy lingerie.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I sit back to study Cash on stage. It takes three simple words to define his energy up there. Raw. Rough. Sex.
But his energy with me is more. Sure, he’s always raw, rough, sex. But he’s also gentle, sweet, tender, respectful even as he’s domineering, dangerous, and dark.
“You think?”
She leans into the table, elbows sliding toward me. “You’ll drive him crazy. Believe me, babe, driving a man like Cash wild is the goal. It’s always the goal.” She winks. “He’ll treat you for your efforts.”
My face is on fire now. Not just my face either, my whole body feels doused in flames.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll help.” She jots a date with me into her calendar. “Besides, the boys have a practice session Sunday morning.”
“They do?” This is the first I’m hearing of it.
“Yeah.” She nods. “They missed a bit when you were sick. Cash wasn’t in the headspace.” Her hand flies to the stage. “Clearly he’s in the headspace now, because that new song is gonna be the thing to sign Devils Heartbreak, you just wait and see.”
Dragging crisp, cold air into my lungs, I snuggle deeper into Cash’s side as we leave the club. It’s so late, and even though I’m feeling the effects of the exhaustion I haven’t quite been able to shake since the poisoning, I’m not ready for bed.
“Do you think we can sit in the hot tub at home for a bit before bed?”
Cash peers down at me, one brow notched. “You’re not tired?”
“I am, but I’m not at the same time.”
He studies me. “You’ve been feeling better.”
“I have.” I answer his non-question.
“That’s good.” His voice is low and rumbly and dark. “I’ve been—worried.”
I know he’s been worried, so I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, I say, “I like your new song.”
“Mmm.”
“It’s not like your others.”
