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In my wildest dreams, in those high school years, I dreamed of a moment like this. When Cash would stand close to me, press his lips to mine.
“You can’t answer my phone,” I say. “It’s not right.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Anything else?” he asks, and his hand comes up. He caresses my cheek. His palm is warm, a little rough, calluses on his fingertips.
“Cash?”
His gaze lingers on my lips.
This must be a dream. He was never interested. Why now?
“June.”
“Cash. W-what are you doing?”
“What I want,” he says. “You should try it some time.”
And then he closes the space between us and presses his lips to mine.
Heat and pressure. Arousal floods my body so fast, I moan against his mouth and weaken in his arms.
Cash collects me like I’m water spilling away. He holds me against his chest and deepens the kiss, one hand moving up to my hair. His fingers twine through the strands, tugging my head back. He parts my lips and his tongue brushes against mine, light at first and then insistent.
I moan again, losing my breath, and kiss him back with years of pent-up longing. My hands move up his body, resting first against his defined pecs and then moving up to loop around his neck, pulling him down. I want more, I want it all, and Cash is willing to give it.
He nips my bottom lip, kisses me harder, walks me backward and presses me to the wall beside the screen door, his hands caressing my throat, moving lower and—
A bang next door breaks the moment.
I stiffen.
Cash stops kissing me immediately and steps back, his lips still wet, his eyes blazing with lust.
My fingers move to my mouth, which is still hot from the kiss, aching from the intensity. Never in my entire life have I been kissed that way.
But this is Cash. Cash who chose Olivia.
Cash who is my boss. Cash who has a daughter with my ex-best friend.
“June,” he says, “I’m sorry.” And the regret in his voice is like a dagger.
It reminds me of that night, when we were young, when he told me that he was dating Olivia. That she was the one for him.
I shake my head. “I should go up to bed.” And I turn and go back inside, leaving him there because I have no idea what else to do. Cash Taylor kissed me, and I’m not sure what it means or if it matters either way.
Fifteen
CASH
“Fuck.”
I stare at the closed screen door, my cock throbbing against my jeans, my hands balled into fists. I’m an idiot.
I can’t ruin things with her. We were friends. Are friends. Kind of. And if there’s even a chance I’ve upset her, or that she didn’t want the kiss, then I’ve got to make this right and apologize.
