Page 11 of One Week in Paradise
It suddenly occurs to me that I know nothing about Cash’s dating history. Dane isn’t the kind of brother to offer up that information unprompted, and I’ve never thought to ask. I wonder what kind of boyfriend he is.
‘Is there anythingyouwouldn’t be comfortable with?’ he asks.
‘We won’t have to kiss or anything like that,’ I say quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly because Cash quirks a brow. ‘I just mean, you’re my brother’s best friend. I don’t want to make anything weird.’
‘Weirder than pretending to be your boyfriend to get a free trip to Jamaica?’
My lips twitch. At least he can see the humour in all of this. ‘Exactly.’
‘Got it,’ he says. ‘No kissing.’
‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘Is there anything you wouldn’t be comfortable with?’
Something stirs in the pit of my stomach as Cash looks me directly in the eye, licks his lips, and says, ‘No.’
I’m lying in bed – feet hanging off the edge – when something suddenly hits me. I haven’t followed Cash back on Instagram yet.
After we finished discussing our boundaries on the trip, we shared one more pot of tea before we parted ways. I’m pleasantly surprised by how easily the conversation flowed between us. I don’t think we’re on our way to becoming best friends or anything like that, but I think we’ve definitely taken a step in the right direction.
I fish out my phone, pull up Instagram and quickly type @CASHMONEY93into the search bar. He comes upimmediately, and, to my surprise, the little blue bar next to his profile picture says, ‘FOLLOW BACK’.
Cash is already following me.
I quickly flick through my notifications, but there’s no sign of Cash there in the last few days. That means he’s been following me for a while. I wonder why he didn’t mention it.
I head back to his profile and pressFOLLOW BACK. I only have to wait two minutes before I get another notification informing me that Cash has accepted my follow request.
Very speedy. I wasn’t expecting a response so fast.
Cash wasn’t lying when he said that he doesn’t post much. There are only two posts on his feed. The oldest one, posted nearly ten years ago, is a photo of a sunset with a heavy Valencia filter over it.
The other one, posted last summer, is a photo of him and a group of friends standing beside a lake. They’re all covered in mud from head to toe and have identical grins pasted across their faces. Dane is in the photo too.
I know where this photo is from. One of Dane and Cash’s mutual friends got married last year, and they went on a muddy obstacle course for his stag do. Dane was complaining for weeks about all the mud in his hair.
My gaze drifts to Cash. He’s wearing a criminally short pair of shorts, and his mud and water-drenched T-shirt clings to his torso, showing off his impressive form.
I’m not under any kind of delusion. Cash is hot. And we’re about to spend the next week pretending to be a couple.
The thought makes my spine tingle.
I hover over the tagged pictures tab on his profile, suddenly desperate to see more of him, but a notification from Amber distracts me.
AMBER
This client is driving me up the wall
FaceTime?
I tap out of Instagram and quickly call Amber. She answers almost immediately with a long groan.
‘If you suddenly stop hearing from me, I’ve probably been arrested for murder, and I’m in jail,’ she says dramatically.
‘What’s going on?’ I laugh.
‘Remember Asshole Client?’
How could I forget? This man has been the bane of her life for the last six months. She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she ploughs on.
