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“Okay then.”
“Okay. But I need to call it a night. I have to face those muffins at the crack of dawn.”
With a sexy, growly laugh, he said, “Why I’m not a pastry chef.”
“Smart.” I kissed him without hesitation, then managed to stand up straight, putting a little space between us, reluctantly ending the full-body contact. “Thank you for walking me home.”
“Anytime, Ava,” he said, his voice huskier than usual. “Good luck with the muffins.”
He squeezed my hand once, kissed my forehead, and walked off toward the road.
I leaned against the door, watching him go. My body was still aching for him, and there was a big part of me that rejoiced in the thought of kissing him and more. But there was another big part of me that was worrying, thinking I was stupid to agree, because soon I would have to go back to my own life, and that life couldn’t include Cash.
Chapter11
Cash
“Didn’t figure I’d see you today,” I said to Jake Saturday morning as he came down the exterior stairs from our apartments at five thirty a.m., as was our usual.
“Why wouldn’t you?” He reached the pavement, tightened a shoelace, then started stretching for our run.
“I wasn’t sure if you made it home last night or if you still had company or what.” I pulled one foot up in a quad stretch, grinning at him, waiting to hear how his night with the blonde had gone.
“Steamy morning already. Gonna be a scorcher,” was all he said.
He wasn’t lying. The dog days of summer could be killer in southern Tennessee. It felt like ninety percent humidity right now. But that wasn’t nearly as interesting as Jake’s dodge.
I finished my stretches as Jake did the same, honoring his desire to not talk about last night, at least for now.
With a glance at each other, we took off down the street on our usual route around the square first.
Saturday morning meant senior sunrise yoga on the square, put on by the senior center. You could see some interesting sights some days. Today, Rosy McNamara was leading it and had the dozen or so seniors doing a warrior pose. I couldn’t hear her from here, but I was certain she had some kind of meant-to-inspire monologue aboutfeeeeeelingthe warrior going on.
The stores were still closed, but there were a few dog walkers and other fitness types out and about. Most of them nodded at us as we jogged past at our warmup speed. The doors of the Fly by Night were propped open, and I could see someone inside, sweeping the floor. The manager at the outdoor gear store on the corner was moving a marquee out front to advertise their kayak sale.
I gave Jake until we looped all the way back to the hardware store before I questioned him again.
“So the blonde? Did you get your birthday wish?”
He shot me the side-eye, which only made me more curious.
Our usual route continued straight down Main for several blocks past the square before we turned left and wound through residential areas, then looped around by the lake. Jake was silent even as we took that first left into a neighborhood, and it wasn’t because he was winded. Neither of us was. We did five miles a day, several days a week, and we’d barely gotten started.
“Did she shut you down?” I asked, trying to figure out why he’d gone silent. I didn’t want details, but he’d talked so much shit about hooking up that I was sure something had gone wrong, based on his reticence now.
It took a good thirty or forty strides for him to answer. “I had to invoke the three-strike rule.”
“Three-strike rule? You struck out and had to try two other women before you got lucky?”
“Dickhead. Last night, getting lucky consisted of escaping the blonde unscathed. The three-strike rule—you know, first strike against her, maybe you can deal with it. Second strike, getting iffy but if you really want some action, it still might be bearable as long as you get out fast afterward.”
“Third strike, no way, no how?”
“Precisely.”
I chuckled. “What were the strikes?”
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re really gonna make me go there?”
