23

Cash

It’s her.

I think some part of me always knew it was, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. And now she’s confirming that we met after that concert—the night I had my accident.

All those dreams weren’t just dreams—they were memories .

My subconscious must have worked overtime to try and bring Britta back to the forefront of my mind, but the injuries I sustained kept her shadowed, too obscure for me to reach.

And now she’s here. In my arms. Close enough for me to touch, to kiss.

“Blackberries,” I blurt like an idiot. It’s all I can think of to say. I carried her scent with me for weeks after that night; woke up in the hospital craving the pie Aunt Betty used to make when we were kids.

“Huh?” Britta’s brows pull taut, confusion written all over her beautiful face.

“For weeks, I couldn't—” I stop, realizing that if I try to explain with words, I’ll only confuse her more.

She obviously doesn’t know about the accident. And I still don’t know all the details surrounding how we met. But I know I’ve kissed her. Tasted her. Touched her and dreamt of doing it again.

“Can I just…try something?”

The muscles in her neck ripple on a swallow. “Um…I guess—”

I don’t even let her finish her sentence before I’m pressing my mouth against hers, trying to jog my memory. The doctor told me in recovery that I may never get back what little memories I lost that night, but I’ve done enough research to know that recreating experiences can help the brain find the lost pieces.

Britta’s pillowy mouth molds to mine as wisps of blackberries douse my senses at rapid fire speed. Flashes of memory spark like lightning in my mind, but they are almost too quick to catch. In one, Britta’s standing in an elevator, leaning into the corner. In another, she looks lost, heartbroken by someone or something. Then I’m kissing her like this, only we’re standing outside where the cool night air hits my back.

I pull away, breathless, staring at the woman whose face I’ve tried and failed to bring back to life dozens of times over the past year. “I can’t believe she’s you.”

“Cash, I-I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, stroking the sides of her face with my thumbs. “I’m sorry I forgot you.”

I know by the way she stiffens and leans away from me that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Britta, wait—”

She lets out a high-pitched laugh that reeks of annoyance. “Just don’t. I can’t…I can’t do this with you again.”

“Britta, please,” I beg when she starts to push off with her foot and roll away from me.

“No, Cash.” Her hardened voice matches the look of steel in her eye. “I’m sick to death of being forgotten about.”

She whirls away, but before she stands, I catch her stool and spin her back toward me.

“I didn’t want to forget you,” I say, staring directly into her hazel eyes, making sure she hears every word I’m about to say.

That’s when I realize I don’t even know what I should say. Because I still don’t remember everything. I don’t know how we left things that night. On a good note? A salty one? What can I say to make her believe that I’m not a jerk who made out with her, then promptly forgot she ever existed?

“Well,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Are you going to explain, or can I pretend I never knew you too?” Her icy words make me wince.

“It wasn’t like that, okay? I was in an accident after I left the concert that night. My sister said I went back for her jacket, but on my way home, I was hit. And now, the memories, they’re—gone.” Well, mostly. Kissing her just now jogged something .

Every weird interaction I’ve ever had with Britta makes so much more sense now.

Her brows lower and her pink lips part in surprise. “You were in an accident on your…on your motorcycle?” She covers her mouth with her hand as her eyes flit over me as if to inspect me for injury. I’d laugh at how cute her sudden concern is, but it’s not the time.

“Yeah, I got sideswiped by a car. Lost control of my bike and ran into a guardrail. Hit my head hard enough on the pavement to knock me out. When I woke up in the hospital, I didn’t remember what happened or anything else from that night.”

I swallow, hoping she believes me. Needing her to believe me.

“In fact, I only know it happened that way because of what the police told me.”

Her mouth works like she doesn’t know what to say.

“Britta,” I start again, taking her hands in mine. “I need you to know that I craved you for weeks after that night. Even though my brain lost the memory of us together, my body didn’t.”

Her chest rises and falls with a deep exhale. She’s at least listening. I take that as my sign to lay myself bare before her.

“Your perfume or lotion or something…it smells like blackberries. And I’d get phantom whiffs of it all the time. I even had dreams where I was kissing a girl who tasted like blackberries, but I could never see her— your —face.”

I drag a hand through my hair and laugh, knowing how ridiculous I sound. “At first, I chalked it all up to being way too lonely and so desperate for a woman’s touch that my subconscious created you. But when I kept having the same dream, I wondered…” I look away, too weirded out by my own crazy ideas.

“Wondered what?”

Meeting her eyes again, I release a heavy sigh. “I wondered if maybe you were real. I thought maybe you were a part of my past that got lost, but…nothing else ever came to me. It was frustrating.” A harsh laugh leaves me when I think of how I struggled with headaches and nightmares after the accident.. “So I started taking the sleeping pills my doctor recommended and never dreamt of you again.”

Britta’s eyes well with unshed tears before she blinks them away. Her gaze falls to her lap, where she runs the pads of her fingers over the ridges in her jeans.

“I’ve, uh…never been the girl of anyone’s dreams before,” she whispers, still avoiding eye contact.

“I find that hard to believe.”

At that, her gaze jumps to mine. “So. Blackberries, huh?” Now that she knows my secret, it doesn’t bother me when her focus slowly drops and clings to the blackberries tattooed on my forearm. Maybe I look like some romantic idiot, but also maybe…maybe she held out hope for me too.

Her fingers gently trace the outline of the tattoo, running over my skin with an offensive amount of self-control. I wish she’d touch me like she’s desperate for me, wrap me in her arms and tell me she craves me too.

Instead of begging for her to want me, I simply say, “Yeah. Blackberries.” I don’t need to tell her I got this tattoo just three weeks after the accident. The look in her eyes tells me she suspects the truth.

“It’s, um…” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s my favorite lip gloss. I’ve worn it for years.”

My lips pull into a smile. “It’s unforgettable. Like you.”

Her cheeks pink as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. I want to kiss her again, more than anything I’ve ever wanted before, but I need her to know something first.

“Britta, I haven’t been trying to pretend that we didn’t have a history together. I literally couldn’t remember it.”

For a moment, she just stares at me, and I can tell it’s all sinking in. Honestly, same. More than anything, I wish I could remember how things went after that kiss. Did I ask her out? Or did I ruin a good moment with indecision?

“I wish I’d known,” she whispers. “I’m…sorry, Cash. Sorry for treating you like you’re a jerk when you’ve done nothing but prove the exact opposite is true.”

“I’m not claiming innocence here,” I say. “Believe me, I know I can be a jerk.”

“Well.” She lifts one shoulder in a flirty shrug. “I’m Britta the Brat, remember?”

I smile. “Your bratty side is growing on me.”

She licks her lips, and it takes every shred of my willpower not to drag her against me. “Do you think it’s too late for us to start over?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. Her expression falls, so I rush to explain. “But it’s not too late to start from here. Besides, I don’t want to start over with you.” I lean closer, lifting my fingers to toy with a loose piece of her silky hair. “Kissing you that night altered my brain chemistry somehow. I don’t want to pretend it never happened now that I know it did.”

Her breath catches when I lightly trail the pads of my fingers down her neck and over her pulse.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again,” I murmur, nice and low. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she says in a breathy rasp. “Never.” The words barely leave her mouth before she’s gripping the back of my neck and pulling me down to meet her.

Our mouths crash together, and something like a crack of thunder explodes through my chest. The white-hot burning need coursing just under my skin drowns out any thoughts other than Hold her. Kiss her. Keep her.

Britta hums against me as I beg for her forgiveness with my lips, kissing her with all the passion that’s been building for her during the time we lost. My hands on her hips, I roll her toward me until the space between us disappears. Her forearms rest on my shoulders, fingers tunneling into my hair. Each stroke, each tug of her fingertips makes me melt.

“Are you okay?” she whispers against my mouth as she pulls back the slightest bit. I take in all of her, from her swollen lips to her now rumpled tank top.

“Mm. Why?”

“That sound you just made.”

My face flushes hot at the realization that I just groaned or more likely whimpered at the way she played with my hair. “I’d be better if your mouth was too busy to talk,” I murmur before I nip at her bottom lip.

A husky rumble of a laugh echoes in her throat just before she claims my mouth again. Our kisses turn slower, more gentle but no less passionate. I snake my arm around her waist, pressing her closer, and trail my lips from her mouth to her ear.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” I whisper. “Even when I met you the second time, I knew I wanted you.” A shiver courses through her when I nip at her earlobe. “Promise you won’t keep pretending to hate me after this.”

She hums a laugh. “I was never very good at pretending.”

“No,” I say, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. “You weren’t.”

***

Britta’s soft hand is tucked into mine as we walk out to her car. I think it’s safe to say that we officially made up. As much as I don’t want tonight to end, I can’t beg her to stay just so we can continue to explore this thing between us. There will be time for that later.

I hope.

But before we leave my driveway to walk to A.J.’s, she angles her body toward me. There’s a hopeful glint in her eyes, a playfulness I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of. “So I heard you took Elyse for quick a ride tonight after she opened presents.” It’s a statement, but she poses it almost like a question.

“I did.” I toy with her fingertips, tapping a little rhythm with my own.

“Could you…take me for a ride?” She glances toward where my bike is parked, then peeks up at me from under those thick, dark lashes of hers. I realize with staggering clarity that I’d give her anything she asked for right now.

“I’d love to.”

Her body erupts in a little shiver, prompting me to run my palms down her bare arms. “Why don’t we get you something warmer to ride in first, though?”

“I didn’t bring anything.”

“You can borrow something of mine.”

She bites her bottom lip, as if trying to suppress a smile. “Sure. I can do that.”

She says she’ll wait while I run back inside to grab one of my hoodies. When I meet her at my bike, she looks as if she wants to bounce on her toes from excitement, but the boot strapped around her ankle won’t let her. Stalking toward her, I roll the sweatshirt up over her and gently tug it down over her torso.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

“You’re welcome.” The dusky evening shadows her face, but the moonlight reflects in her eyes, lighting a spark inside me. Looking at her now, seeing her standing there in my clothes, it’s impossible not to wish for this to be permanent. I tug on the front of my sweatshirt until she tumbles into me. Our eyes lock for a split second and I dip my chin, making my meaning clear.

Britta lets me capture her lips in a slow, methodical, mind-bending kiss. She pulls away, biting that bottom lip again, and it takes all my inner fortitude to let her go.

“Ready?” I ask, reaching past her to grab the helmet hanging from my handlebar.

“So ready.”

I chuckle as I fit the helmet to her head and adjust the chin strap. Once I’m seated on the bike with the kickstand up, I jerk my chin behind me. “Climb up.”

Calm and confident just like I knew she would be, she grips my shoulders and gingerly swings herself up onto the seat at my back. She shifts a bit to get comfortable.

“You good?” I ask, half turned toward her. “How’s the foot?”

“It’s good. A little awkward, but…good.”

Gripping her hands, I wind them around my midsection. “Hold on tight, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

I give her thigh a light slap, letting her know how much I enjoy her snark before pulling out onto the road. The sleepy neighborhood is mostly quiet as darkness descends over the surrounding streets. We head toward a busier part of town, where streetlights illuminate the road and traffic picks up. As I weave through traffic, Britta clings to my sides, moving in sync with my body.

I put one hand over hers and rub back and forth. I want her to know how good this feels, how perfectly she fits on the back of my bike.

After I explained what happened with the accident, I thought maybe she’d be scared to ride with me. But it seems the opposite is true as she presses her body against mine, content to let the wind blow through her hair.

When we stop at a red light, I lean back to check on her. “You still good?”

“Perfect,” she trills, tightening her hands around my waist.

I drag my knuckle over her hand again, loving the feel of her skin. It hurts when I think of how much time we lost, how long we could’ve been together like this, giving into the attraction between us. But there’s no point in continuing to dwell on it. Not when she’s here now, allowing me to touch her, to take her for a ride.

I start back toward home, and as if she knows we’re nearing the end of the ride, Britta grows bold. Her soft hands trail over my T-shirt, up the ridges of my stomach, toward my chest, then back down again. Each gentle caress lights the dried-up wick inside me, burning a path like wildfire across my skin. I reach back to rest my hand on her thigh, hoping this is okay. It must be since she continues to stroke my torso like she’s memorizing the lines of my body. A sigh of pure and utter contentment escapes me as I take the last turn onto my street.

I park in my driveway and kill the engine. Before she has a chance to hop off, I turn toward her and help her remove the helmet. She runs a hand down her long dark hair, and I track the movement. Grasping her chin with one hand, I search her eyes in the dark.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream, Britta,” I breathe, letting my gaze fall to her perfect, parted lips. “Tell me that tonight wasn’t a fluke, that from here on out, I get to call you mine.” Singular purpose fuels my words.

If my instincts can be trusted, she’s been giving me the green light all night. If I have to pull back, now, I might just die from emotional devastation.

Britta’s lashes flutter as a slow smile curves the corner of her mouth upward. “I’m yours, Cash.” Meeting my eyes again, she whispers, “It’s embarrassing how long I’ve been yours. I was yours before you even knew it.”

I graze my thumb along her chin, then tug on her plush bottom lip. “Britta, I’ve been yours since I got those blackberries inked on my skin.” She smiles, and it grows wider when a small laugh slips out of me. “Baby, you left your mark on me that night we kissed. Even if I can’t bring it all back from memory, it’s been here.” I point to my chest. “Right here.”

Her eyes drop to my chest before her fingers skate along my forearm, tracing the tattoo that was inspired by her, whether I knew it at the time or not.

“I’m sorry I thought the worst of you,” she says so quietly I hardly hear it. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

I drag my knuckles along the side of her cheek, her jaw, down her neck. “It’s all over now. You’re mine, remember?”

Her gaze finds mine in the dark. “I’ll never forget it.”

Easing my hand up to grip the back of her neck, I make a silent promise not to let her. I take her mouth with fierce determination, fire and need thrumming though my veins. I’ve never been so desperate to make a woman feel something before, never needed to plead my case so thoroughly with my lips. But I don’t want her to forget what we are to each other, what we could be if she’ll continue to let me love her like I’ve been wanting to for weeks.

Britta says she’s mine, says she won’t forget. But this is me sealing a promise of my own on her heart. I pull back enough to place a kiss on her cheek, then her jaw. Angling her head back, I lower my mouth to her throat, breathing her in and memorizing each sound she makes.

“Promise me you won’t pull back from me anymore, Britta.” I skim my lips along her skin, sending shivers through her. “Promise you’ll let me love you.”

Her breath catches as her hands grip my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. “I promise.”

That earnest, breathy response pushes a growl up from my throat as I claim her mouth again, sweeping inside and deepening our connection. She clings to me, presses closer, nearly undoing any last shred of my once iron-clad self-control.

“We have to stop,” I breathe, pulling back. “I can’t—” Shaking my head, utter nonsense spills from my lips. “You on my bike like this, in my sweatshirt.” I place another kiss to her swollen lips. “You’re like a dream, and I can’t—I don’t want to stop.”

Her smiling mouth gleams in the darkness as she runs her fingers through my hair, only spurring on my frenzied state. My hands skate up and down her sides, desperation enveloping me like a cloak.

“I’m afraid to let you go, afraid if I do, you’ll change your mind about me.” I sound like an idiot, a simpering fool. But I’m an anxious, frantic mess where this woman is concerned.

“Cash.” She pushes her hand into the center of my chest, stroking, caressing with her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The truth radiates in her eyes, sending a wave of peace over me. I take her face in my hands and rest my forehead against hers. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for reminding me of this—of us. I’m so glad we found each other.”

“Me too,” she whispers. Darkness clings to us, drapes us in cover, giving us another chance to express how grateful we are for one another before I have to release her and say goodnight, then pray it wasn’t all just another dream.