16

Britta

A beach volleyball game appears completely innocuous on the surface. Right up until you’re trying to dodge a volleyball flying at your face at thirty miles an hour because your opponents are all rippling abs and beefy arms.

Thankfully my karate chop arms came in clutch and saved my sunglasses from being broken.

“Come on, guys!” Viv yells, already way too into the game. She claps her hands together before pointing her finger at me like I’m the weakest link here.

Okay, who am I kidding? I am the weakest link here.

“Serve!” A guy from the other team tosses the ball up into the air again, then jump serves it over the net like he’s some sort of pro. Thankfully, it lands in Cash’s vicinity, and he bumps it straight into the air with ease.

“Mine!” Viv calls, sending it over the net with a little less finesse. But hey, it worked!

Three of the other team’s players do a bump-set-spike drill, but Cash races to the net and blocks the ball before it reaches our side. The ball bounces off the sand on the opposite side of the net, prompting excited squeals from Viv and me.

"Finally! A point!"

Out of seemingly nowhere, Cash appears at my side, the volleyball in his outstretched hand. “It’s your serve, Britta. You got this.”

I blink wide eyes at the man who must be joking. “I don’t serve,” I say with a vigorous shake of my head. “I can’t serve like that guy, Cash.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” One large, calloused palm lands on my shoulder, sucking the panic right out of my body. “You don’t have to serve like him . Serve like you normally would.”

“What don’t you understand about I don’t serve ?”

His lips curve into a smirk that’s too smug for my liking. “Look, here’s an easy way to do it. Just hold the ball like this.” He stretches out the arm that’s holding the ball before bringing his other back like an upside-down hammer. “Line it up and swing under as hard as you can, aiming for the other side.” His fist connects with the ball, but it’s controlled enough that he just pops the ball into the air and hands it back to me.

“I suppose it looks easy enough.”

His grin widens. “Thatta girl. You got this.”

Blowing out a breath, I step back behind our imaginary line and hold the ball away from my body like Cash instructed. I take a few practice swings, getting a feel for what I’m about to do, then smack the ball with the top of my fist.

To my utter surprise, it launches across the net to the other side.

In my excitement, I jump up into the air. What I didn’t expect was to land in a hole and roll my ankle. I go down with a yelp, landing in an unceremonious heap. And the last thing I hear is someone yelling mine before being pelted in the face with the ball.

***

“Wake up, gorgeous.” A man’s silky deep voice hovers above my head. I force my eyes open and make an unladylike peep when our new friend Torsten’s face comes into view. “There she is.”

A groan slips from my lips. My face hurts.

“Honey? You okay?” The look of concern Viv gives me over Torsten’s shoulder tells me that the ball must’ve really done a number on me.

“I place a hand on my forehead as she and Torsten help me to a seated position. “Sorry. Guess I blacked out for a sec there.”

“You’re fine,” Torsten says, rubbing his large, warm hand down my back. “It happens.”

A cackle rattles in my chest as I press my face into my hands. “Does it, though?”

“Well.” He chuckles, and I feel more than see his shoulders lift on a shrug. “Not usually, but it’s okay.”

Mortification freezes me in place. Everyone must’ve witnessed my fall from grace at a moment where I thought I’d be claiming volleyball victory. I attempt a casual glance around to see what Cash must think of me when Torsten says, “Your friend Cash ran to get some ice.”

Like a water balloon being filled, my heart swells.

“Can you stand, honey?” Viv wraps a hand around my bicep.

“Yeah.” I brush the hair from my face and force a confident smile. “Think so.”

She and Torsten drag me to my feet, but as soon as I put pressure on my ankle, I crumple with a whimper.

“Whoa, there.” My manly rescuer braces me up under his shoulder until I’m sandwiched between him and Viv. “Maybe we need to set you back down.”

“I’ve got her.” Vivian’s soft touch is replaced by a warm, steady arm as it wraps around my waist and pulls me close. I peer up at Cash, his sultry scent swirling around us as he blinks down at me. “Is it your ankle?”

“Uh huh.” Realizing that Torsten has moved away and I’m fully leaning into Cash, my lips are part in anticipation.

When he stares down at me with a blank expression, I snap my mouth closed and clear my throat. “I mean, yeah. It hurts when I try to put pressure on it.”

Cash scopes out my ankle before straightening again. “I’m going to carry you off the court, okay?”

“What? No, I—” But he gives me no time to object. With an arm around my back and one under my thighs, Cash hauls me up to his chest and walks me away from the game.

“Cash!” I protest. “I’m too heavy for this! Please, put me down.”

“You can’t walk.” His resolute tone leaves no room for argument.

“I—” I shut up. Because the pain that lanced up my calf at trying to put my full weight on my left ankle is too fresh to ignore. Still, maybe I can bargain for a lesser sentence for us both. “Okay, but maybe you could just set me down, then you and Viv can help me hobble on my own.”

“That would take too long. We’ve got to get your leg elevated and apply ice. Immediately.”

I roll my eyes. Even when he’s not a personal trainer, he’s still a personal trainer. “It’ll be fine, Cash. I’ve rolled an ankle before.”

He grunts and readjusts my weight. On instinct, I clasp my hands around his neck to hold myself steady. “It could be sprained, and I’m not comfortable with the risk of you injuring it further.”

“Well, I’m not comfortable with you manhandling me like this.”

He stops halfway to the tent and looks down at me. Our faces are so close. So close that I can feel his breath lightly skate across my lips. His chest rises and falls, and I’m more aware than ever of each hard, ridged muscle on Cash’s broadly built physique. “Am I manhandling you right now?”

His gravelly whisper sends tiny electric sparks along every single place our skin is connected.

I swallow.

“Um. No, but…” I glance behind him to see Viv saying goodbye to the rest of our new volleyball friends as she jogs our way. Lowering my voice, I say, “It’s embarrassing to be carried away like I’m helpless. And even more embarrassing is knowing that you now know how heavy I am.” Reluctantly, I meet his eyes.

There’s a chiding element to his stare, a gentle reprimand that says I should know better. But Lord help me, I don’t. This man is the most confusing person alive.

“Carrying you is not a burden, Britta.” Still, he holds my gaze. Like he doesn’t want to look at anything else. Maybe someday I can convince him not to. “Besides.” His lips pull into a devastating smile, and he winks. “You’ve seen what I’m capable of lifting in the gym. You’re a slice of pie in comparison.”

Maybe I should be mildly offended by that remark, but all I can do is laugh and shake my head. He does too, and before I know it, we’re laughing together our way back to the tent.

***

“I really wish you would’ve let A.J. take me,” I huff, arms crossed, as I sit in the passenger seat of my hatchback.

Cash looks over at me with that same self-satisfied smirk he’s been wearing since we left the beach. “Someone had to drive my truck back. Logically, it made the most sense for him to do it since we live down the street from each other.”

Instead of responding, I glare out the window.

“A simple thank you would suffice.”

I slowly swivel my head his way. The obvious amusement in the adorable little crinkle lines beside his eyes irks me. As does his statement. The same one he used at the party when he insisted on helping me. Yet again inserting himself where he doesn’t belong.

“You’re one of those guys who thinks he needs to ride to every female’s rescue, aren’t you?”

The amusement on his face gives way to offense. “Not at all.” He’s silent for a few seconds as I quietly stare. I can tell he’s working something out in his mind, something he’s possibly unsure he should say out loud.

“My dad raised me to honor women,” he finally says. “To be a gentleman, always.” I don’t miss the way his hands tighten a bit on the steering wheel. “Even if they’re stubborn and refuse to say thank you.”

I chew the inside of my lip and turn back to the window. Why did I have to roll my right ankle, making it impossible to drive? Why did Viv have to leave for her fancy date with Stew and wave her fingers at me like she was glad I got foisted off on Cash? And why did Liss have to get pregnant eight months ago and make herself incapacitated?

I say the only thing left I have to cling to. “Your sister offered to take me.”

Cash makes a sound of disapproval in his throat. “My sister also isn’t strong enough to carry you inside the urgent care to get your ankle looked at.”

“They have wheelchairs!”

His lips roll inward at my outburst, and I sigh. “I’m sorry. That was…unnecessary.” I scrub both hands down my face with a groan. “Fine, Cash, thank you. Thank you for carrying me off the beach. Thank you for icing my ankle and thank you for taking me to urgent care.” Just the memory of his hands gently prodding at my sore ankle, then cradling it with ice, sends heat zipping through my entire body.

Peeking at him through my fingers, I murmur, “Happy?”

“Unreasonably.” His closed-mouth smile shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

I lower my hands and continue to stare at the big, muscled man who is full of confusing motives. With his tank top giving me a clear view of his many tattoos, I take my time inspecting them. They’re all well done and intricate, each one probably telling some fascinating story. As young as he and A.J. are at twenty-six, they’ve both lived interesting and full lives up until now. I guess being able to travel for work leads to an intriguing lifestyle.

There’s one tattoo that seems to stand out over the rest, though. It’s simple. Beautiful. But not like any tattoo I’ve ever seen before. My curiosity gets the best of me.

“What are the blackberries for?” When Cash glances my way, I point to his forearm. “The cluster of blackberries?” Leaves branch out around plump berries that seem so ripe they glisten.

His forearm muscles flex as Cash shifts a bit in the driver’s seat. “Ah,” he laughs. “Um.” There’s an adorable scrunch to his brow as he searches for an answer. “They remind me of home, I guess?”

I nod, but I’m not even a little bit satisfied with such a vague answer. After a silent minute where I debate whether or not I should give in to my desire to pepper him with more questions, I finally succumb to temptation.

“Where’s home?” I ask, already knowing the answer. But knowing the name of the town doesn’t tell me what it was like to grow up there. Or what it was like to lose a dad who clearly loved and cared for him.

“Home is in Ridgeford,” he says, a nostalgic edge to his voice. “Further north than Tahoe. More west.”

“And blackberries grow wild there, I take it?”

His smile grows as he sends a brief look my way. “They do. Our great-aunt Betty grew them behind her house, and Jules and I would stuff the bottoms of our shirts full of them.” His deep chuckle echoes through my tiny car. “Usually, we’d have eaten most of them before we even got back into the house.”

It’s hard to picture Cash as a small, scrappy kid, running around with his sister, shoving his shirt full of berries. But I have to admit that I’m having a fun time trying.

“Are blackberries your favorite fruit or something?”

His brow furrows again, almost as if he’s trying to remember something important. “Not really, They’re just…special, I guess.”

Pondering his odd response and what it could mean, I let my gaze fall to the tattoo once again.

“I know it’s probably weird, right?” he says on a laugh. “No one gets tattoos of fruit.”

I lift one shoulder in a half shrug. “I wouldn’t say it’s weird, just different. And if those memories from your childhood stuck with you, then it makes sense.”

He nods before taking the turn into the urgent care facility located in the strip mall just a few blocks from my apartment. “We’re here.”

“Oh joy.” My attitude is back, knowing this man intends to carry me inside. “Can you please just see if they have wheelchairs?”

Holding my gaze, he dips his chin once. “All right. But if they don’t—”

“I know, I know.” I heave an exasperated sigh. “You’ll be carting me inside bridal style.”

His lips quirk just the slightest bit before he exits the vehicle and heads inside. Cash is back at my door in minutes; Of course this place doesn’t have a single wheelchair, because I never get lucky.

“I hate this,” I huff, squeezing my arms.

“Britta, it’ll be over before you know it. Maybe they’ll have some crutches they can give you on the way out.”

I raise my gaze to his, and the compassion in his deep brown eyes says he wouldn’t be hauling me around unless he had to. But also…that he’s okay with doing it. That he’d continue to carry my fat butt around all night long if I asked him to.

Who knew that a pair of chocolate brown eyes could say so much?

“Ready?” Cash waits for my response.

I hold my arms out to him and pretend not to notice the way his mouth curves upward as he bends low to lift me out of the car. He hefts me a bit higher to adjust me in his arms before making the trek into urgent care.

My breath catches when I realize just how close I am to Cash’s bearded jaw. My hands, now wrapped around his neck, itch to trail their way up into his hair, then lightly stroke his face. I already know how soft his beard feels when brushing against my cheeks. Thoughts of kissing Cash flood my mind as I drink in how utterly perfect this man’s face is.

“You okay there?”

I blink up at him. “Yeah. Why?”

He clears his throat, still staring straight ahead. “You were beathing kinda heavy there for a sec.”

“Nope, I’m good.” Why does my voice sound so chipper? My brain screams, throw him off the scent ! “Just uncomfortable being this close to you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I cover my face with my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“It’s fine, Britta. Care to get that?” Cash tips his chin toward the door ahead of us. I grab the handle and swing wide, enough for him to brace his back against the door as he wedges us inside.

“Oh my!” the red-haired receptionist trills. “What do we have here?”

“Possibly sprained ankle?” I say as Cash lowers me to a chair in the waiting room.

“Oh, dear.” The little woman winces and pushes her glasses up higher on her nose before handing Cash a clipboard full of paperwork. “Just fill these out, honey, and the doc will see you soon.”

I mutter my thanks and once the woman’s back is turned, I take the clipboard from Cash. “This is my least favorite part about going to the doctor.”

“Really?” he says, dropping down into the chair next to me. “It’s not the whole poking around the injury part?”

I send him a deadpanned look. “Nothing is as painful as paperwork.”

His deep chuckle delivers a satisfying warmth to my core. Admittedly, I enjoy making people laugh with my weird sense of humor, but to earn Cash’s amusement feels somehow…more.

Putting him and all his yumminess out of my mind for the time being, I rush through the paperwork. “Would you mind handing this back to her?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Staying true to his word, Cash carts me back to one of the patient rooms when it’s time, never once complaining about how heavy I am. The middle-aged nurse who escorts us back to the room can’t seem to keep her eyes off him, not that I blame her.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” The nurse clicks her tongue, practically salivating over Cash’s tattoos. “My, my. You got lucky with this one, honey.”

“Oh, he’s not—”

“She is lucky, isn’t she?” Cash cuts off my correction, staring at me with those sparkly dark eyes of his.

“Absolutely,” the nurse chimes as we step into the room. “You can just set her here, and the doctor will be in shortly.”

He thanks the nurse as she exits, eliciting a pink-tinged blush in response.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal that he led the woman to believe we’re together. “Was it necessary for Tristan to have his hands all over you when I left to go get the ice?” His back’s to me as he stares at a poster on the wall, so I can’t see his expression to know whether or not he’s being for real. My mouth drops open all the same.

“It’s Torsten. And excuse me, sir, I blacked out. I can’t help who was there to rescue me.” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to face me and own up the fact that he’s jealous. He was that day at the gym with Randy, and he is right now.

Aside from enraging me, it also baffles me. Why does he suddenly care about who does or doesn’t touch me?

Without turning around, he says, “I’m the one who caught you, and I left Viv at your side when I ran to get ice.”

A scoffing laugh slips out of me before I can think better of it. “Since when did you start caring about me?”

At that, he turns. The mixture of defensiveness and confusion on his face almost gives me pause. But even if he didn’t remember me before now, you’d think us spending so much time together lately would’ve sparked at least a hint of a memory.

Cash opens his mouth to speak when a knock sounds on the door.

“Come in,” I say, straightening.

A balding doctor steps into the room and smiles at Cash and me. “Nice to meet you, Miss Gracen. What seems to be the problem today?”

I tell him what happened at the beach, and he sends me back for x-rays while Cash waits in the room. I’m more than relieved to have a break from him after the tense moment we just shared. But the entire time the tech moves my ankle around and takes pictures, my thoughts keep circling back to Cash and his weird, uncalled for jealousy. I get that he’s protective of those he cares about, but this goes beyond protectiveness. Am I missing something? If he truly doesn’t remember kissing me, then all I am to him is a friend of his friend. I’m no one.

The tech finishes up and wheels me back into the room, where a weighty silence settles between Cash and me once she’s gone. I can’t bring myself to look him in the face, and he can’t seem to find an explanation for the question I asked him earlier.

With a brooding expression, he leans against the wall, arms crossed. Finally, as if the air in the room has grown too suffocating, he speaks. “I’m sorry for my snarky comment. It just bothered me that you’d be so offended to at the idea of us being together.” He clears his throat. “As a couple.”

My gaze clings to him, even though he won’t meet it.

“I don’t understand what I’ve done to make you dislike me so much.” His quiet words tug at the threads of my conscience. “Whatever it is,” he continues, “I’m sorry.”

I look down at my hands, my heart hurting more than it should. I’m the one who’s been pushing him away because he forgot about me. I’m the one who read more into what we shared than he did. Not that he’s wholly innocent in this mess, but he’s at least attempted to be kind to me. He’s put up with my bratty side and really only retaliated during that one workout.

I take a deep breath, then blow it out. “You don’t need to be sorry. I—”

Another knock sounds just before the doctor steps back into the room. “Looks like it’s a severe sprain. You’ll need to stay off it for a few weeks, and I’m prescribing some pain meds.”

“ Weeks ?” I squeak.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Then, as if Cash will be my caretaker for the duration of said time, the doctor turns to him and begins running through a list of care instructions for me. Cash nods his head like he’s absorbing every detail, then thanks the doctor.

“Not a problem. You two take it easy.” The man exits the room, only to be replaced by a nurse who brings in a pair of crutches and, of course , hands them to Cash. As if he’s my freaking caretaker .

“Ready?” Cash asks as if this entire visit was something he experiences with me every day.

With a frustrated sigh, I relent. “Yep. Let’s go.”