Page 65 of Cold Foot Cash

She checked the pocket logo and yep. It readHappy Hooker.

“You asked to wear my T-shirt to bed, just in case you don’t remember.”

“Aah!” she yelped, startled. Why was her instinct to grab her tits? She released her tender hostages and tried to smile demurely. “Am I hungover?”

God, it was good to see that man’s amused smile first thing in the morning. “You were finished drinking by nine pm, and you drank about a gallon of water, and then slept for nine straight hours without moving. I think you should be fine.”

“Oh.” She didn’t, in fact, feel any of the unsavory side effects of a hangover. No headache, no dizziness. She felt wide awake and coordinated. “I don’t drink like that very much.”

“Well, I saw the bill. You weren’t shooting whiskey. It was all watered-down mixed drinks. You were probably equal parts tipsy and sugar-high.”

A giggle escaped her, but she tried to swallow it down. When she met his eyes, another giggle took her, and she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Now Cash was chuckling.

“I’m a mess,” she said through another giggle.

“It’s so fun.”

“I don’t have any make-up on!”

“Yeah, you made me sit on the counter and watch you put like forty different types of lotions on.”

“Oh my God,” she said, doubling over her laughter. “That’s not normal behavior for me, just so you kn—kn—know.”

He was cracking up now, bent over, shoulders shaking. “You spent fifteen fuckin’ minutes trying to teach me about exfoliation.”

Oh fuck. She laughed harder and fell onto the bed, gripping her stomach like it would take the pressure off her abs. “Well…” More laughter, and she had to try again. “Well, now you know how to do your own skin care routine.”

“I use the same washrag as I use on my ball-sack, and I’m fine.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe! Indeed, his skin was perfect. “You…” She wheezed. “You annoying angels, with your perfect skin.”

Cash wiped the corners of his eyes, then straightened up and rested his hands on his hips, and stared at the ceiling as he tried to get his laughter fit under control.

“Do you want me to teach you how to do manicures next?”

“Hell no. You do your manicures, and I’ll compliment every color you ever do. I’m good.” He twitched his head toward the living room. “I got something for you.”

“A present?”

“Maybe.”

She followed him in there, her giant T-shirt billowing behind her. “Should I put on make-up and get ready first?”

“No, I like when you are just like this. No bra, no make-up, hair messy, my shirt on you. This is the fantasy,” he assured her as he grabbed an iced coffee off the counter and offered it to her.

“Bless your soul and your whole family and all your friends,” she murmured as she took the drink from him. She took a long drag on the straw, knowing with absolute certainty that he had gotten her the drink she liked. And he had. He remembered. Of course he did.

His coffee was the steaming kind, and he took his to her couch and sank down on it, gestured to the love seat across from him, and said, “We need to talk.”

“Oooh, that sounds ominous.” She sat down slowly across from him.

“To be more specific, I think it’ll be good if you do the talking.”

“About what?”

“About everything.”

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