Page 62 of When I Had You

I smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll see you later.”

Taking the stairs by two, I reach the bedroom and slip inside. With my back against it, I check my phone to see the message that came through earlier. If it’s Poppy with her dick-and-dash jokes—Cash.

His text reads:

Good morning, beautiful! No vendetta. You were sleeping so soundly, but I still tried to disturb you. I kissed every inch of your incredible body, a.k.a. annihilated you with my mouth, but the most I got was a moan. And an opportunity to suck on your inner thigh. Hope you don’t have any nudity scenes ever, but if you do, the makeup team will have a field day.

Tossing the phone on the bed, I’m quick to strip down my jeans and prop my foot on the bed. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am right now. Seeing my inner thigh covered in hickeys is just the sweetest thing ever.

Who knew bruises would make me smile so much.

Cash made the effort. For me.

I crawl onto the bed and snuggle under the covers in his shirt, which still has the faintest scent of him, to read the rest of the novel he wrote to me in text.

Is it wrong to miss you? If it is, I don’t want to be right. God, is this what happens when you sleep with the girl of your dreams?

No. It’s what happens when you start having feelings. I don’t type that response, but I see you, Cash. And I raise you one heart blooming with emotions on my part.

I read the last bit:

I can’t wait to see you again, babe. Cash xo.

I didn’t take him for an exes and ohs kind of guy, but I like this side of him. Quick to send him a reply, I type:

I can’t wait to more than see you again. Marina xo.

With the phone held tight to my chest, I close my eyes, dreaming of when I get to see him next.

18

Cash

Trying to stay awake has become a game, one I’m losing.

Even sleeping most of the flight to France didn’t help me recover from the night with Marina.

No regrets.

How could I? When I said it was one of the best nights of my life, I meant it.

I try to listen to the engineer at the front of the room discuss the changes he’s made to the car. My mind wanders while I stare at the screen, pretending to pay attention.

My thoughts drift back to the taste of her as she came, dragging my tongue along the inside curve of her breasts as I kneaded them. Her head tilting back, exposing her neck. I tasted and savored every inch I was given access to, and then deep as she chanted my name, begging for more.

I shift in my seat, the hard-on not a welcome addition to the meeting. I need to stop thinking about Marina.

Cold showers.

Rotting eggs.

My personal life making headlines . . .

That does the trick.

It doesn’t take away the awkwardness of the current situation, though.

Brother one: Angling to the left, I tilt back in my chair and stretch, eyeing Harbor on the phone and wearing a path into the tile at the other end of the office.

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