Evangeline

Okay, so I really, really invited a boy—um, man—to my place. Like, I for reals just did that. Me. Evangeline. The girl who never, ever takes a risk, never steps out of line or breaks the rules.

For example, the rule about: Don’t have dinner with my dad’s clients. My dad said it like it was a joke, an improbability. But Cash-freaking-Flow is in my guesthouse, with his tattoos and strong jaw and eyes that slay me.

I don’t even know what’s happening with my life right now, but I needed a breath of fresh air so damn bad, and the moment I voiced that need in the elevator, Cash arrived. Slipped into my day, just like that, and now I want more of this abandon.

Because Cash holds my hand like he’s not going to let go—but not in, like, a creepy way. In an I’ve got you way.

In a way that makes me melt.

“This is my place.” I wave my hand around, because it isn’t anything special.

“It’s nice,” Cash says, looking around.

“I moved out here when I was a senior in high school, because my mother thought giving me a chance to spread my wings was important before I left for college.”

“Did it?” he asks, playing with my fingers, the ones still laced through his.

“Did it what?”

“Help you spread your wings.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I shake my head. My memories of my mother and me are the root of every story, every choice. Every part of my life. I don’t know how to explain that to a stranger. “The truth is, I think she just needed space. She was one of those people who pushed everyone—pushed them too hard or pushed them away.”

“Was?”

Realizing he caught my past tense, I explain, “Yeah, she died earlier this year.”

Cash’s fingers tighten around mine, and I know this hook-up, or whatever is supposed to happen next, just got really heavy.

“But now she’s gone,” I tell him, shrugging even though I don’t want to, even though it hurts to let my shoulders fall. I don’t want to dismiss the memory of her.

And, for the first time since she died, I don’t feel like someone is asking me to. I don’t think Cash is asking me to. He’s just watching me with these soulful eyes that seem to hear every word I say.

“And now you’re back home,” he says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, except nothing about this property feels like home without her. She was never a safe place, but she was my mom, my rock. “

“How does that work, Evie, not having an anchor?”

“I’m floundering, big time,” I admit, letting go of his hand, not knowing why I’m opening up to this guy so candidly. “Why am I telling you this?”

“I know exactly why.”

“Which is?”

He smiles, his eyebrows raised. “You’re terrified to kiss me, so you’re telling me everything that might push me away.”

I don’t know if Cash is right. Maybe he is a therapist, because I’m sure opening up to him more this afternoon than I have in three years with mine back in New York.

“Who’s your anchor, Cash?”

He gives me a sad smile, and I’m reminded that we all have nerves, pressure points that mess with our minds.

“I don’t have one either.” He takes my other hand, laces our fingers, and pulls me to him.

“Did you ever?”

“I thought so.” He wraps our hands behind my back; my body is against his, and I don’t pull away. I always, always pull away.

“And then what happened?” I ask, forgetting, again, how to breathe.

“I was wrong, Evie. Really wrong.” He whispers this in my ear. His smell is so unfamiliar to me. It’s gritty and deep and broken.

“I’m not terrified to kiss you,” I tell him. “That’s not why I’m telling you all this.”

He raises an eyebrow, leans his forehead against mine. “No?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t know why I’m telling you ... but I know for certain it isn’t because I’m scared.”

And I’m not. I want him to kiss me. That’s why I brought him here.

“I don’t scare you even a little?” He lets go of my fingers, runs a hand up my spine, over the back of my neck. My hair falls through his fingers as he reaches my chin, tilts it ever so slightly, looking straight at me.

“No.”

I always thought the magic word was please or thank you—not no. But with Cash, it is.

Me saying no causes him to cup my face with his hands; his mouth brushes against mine, softly at first, before pressing tight against my lips. He doesn’t waste any time, and for that I’m glad—because I’ve wasted too much time in my life already. I’ve wasted all the time.

I’m not wasting anymore.

I find myself sinking into him. I wrap my hands around his waist, pulling him still closer to me. His fingers on my face are tender and gentle, which is not at all how I expected him to kiss. I expected something dirty, hard. Something worn. But I was wrong about Cash. I was wrong about everything.

His tongue slides into my mouth, entwines with mine in seconds. I let out the softest groan—a groan that causes his kiss to intensify, and I don’t know how that is even possible. But it is. He’s deepening the kiss, his hands still cupping my face, and my back arches in response, as if I want to offer him more.

Offer him everything.

He pulls away from the kiss after he has completely devoured my mouth, both of us catching our breath as he kisses my neck, and moves back up, all the way to my ear.

“Oh, girl,” he whispers in my ear, causing my entire body to tingle in delight. His hands wrap around my waist, and I feel so small in his grasp. I want to be pressed against him deeper still.

“Will you have sex with me, Cash?”

He pulls back, fast, like I’ve just requested something he hasn’t considered—which I know isn’t true, because he’s been pressed against me long enough for me to know that he wants this to happen as much as I do.

“What?” I ask, tugging him closer. “You don’t want to?”

“Damn, girl.” He’s smiling softly; I see one dimple, and that’s enough.

“What?” I ask, unable to resist kissing his cheek, because that dimple is so damn sexy.

“I didn’t realize you were such a player, is all,” Cash tells me.

“I’m not a player. I just crush a lot.”

“Are you for reals, right now?” he asks, giving me a full-on grin.

“Oh, Cash, I’m too legit to quit.” I step away from him, and for a moment we watch one another. I’ve never hooked up like this, so I don’t know if the feelings surging through me are from the adrenaline rush of doing something so un-Evie, or if it’s because there’s something deeper going on between Cash and me.

I don’t want to be naive and think this is something that it isn’t. And Cash has player written all over him.

Reminding myself that I invited him here for fun, not for anything serious, I plaster a smile on my face, forcing myself to be as chill as ice. “How about you think about my request while I get you some food.” Feeling bold, I add, “I have a feeling you’ll need the sustenance.” I laugh, warmth spreading through my belly, because I can’t remember feeling so silly since before Mom died.

“Who are you?” he asks as I move toward the kitchen.

I feel his eyes on me, and I like it. “I don’t know, Cash. I honestly don’t know.” I open the freezer, for no reason besides needing the cold air to wash over me.

Cash has gotten me hot all over.