Chapter 12

twelve

Cash

It’ll never be over.

She doesn’t know it, but I have no intention of letting her go. Not ever. Especially not now that she’s agreed to be mine, even if it’s still fake in her mind. Giving her the option to leave, all expenses paid, and she chose to stay—that says everything.

But she’s skittish, innocent. I’m not sure if I laid the cards on the table and told her this isn’t fake to me anymore, that she’d have made the same choice. She holds herself apart from the people around her. I recognize this trait, because it’s one I also possess. Her mom did a number when she walked away. Connections are hard and trust is damn near impossible.

I’m determined to build both with her.

Still, I can’t take the risk of spooking her. Can’t cope with the fact she might decide to run.

I’m not sure I’d let her go.

I wasn’t sure even when I made the offer, I’d let her go.

There’s something about this tiny woman that I can’t kick. Whenever she’s apart from me, thoughts of her haunt me. I want her. Desperately.

She’s quickly becoming an addiction, and I’m so careful not to have those.

I tap her thighs, purposefully not deepening the kiss. “Go get ready. We’ll ride in together, grab breakfast on the way.”

She sits back, blinking long lashes at me. She looks stunned and a little cautious. So cute in her beer t-shirt. Then, breathy and sweet, she agrees, “Okay.”

She starts to slide off the counter, but when I don’t move from between her legs, she stops and looks up at me again. There’s hesitation in her green eyes. I want to blast that hesitation to dust. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but if there’s someone, I want to look at me with confidence and belief, it’s Wrenlee.

I clear my throat. “Guys are coming over tonight. It’ll be a late night, few beers. Swim in the pool.” I watch as tension climbs her spine, straightening her back. “There a problem with that?”

The guys have been bugging for a night since they found out I moved Wrenlee in with me. Everyone wants to come scope the situation out. See her with me.

She winces. “Maybe a little one?”

“What’s that?” I know she’s not a big people person, but this is why she thinks we’re doing this in the first place. To show people we’re together. Can’t do that if we’re always alone.

Not that I object to being alone with this girl.

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“You don’t have—” I can’t help looking down at her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll ask Candace to bring an extra.”

She winces again. “I don’t think that’ll work.” Drawing her bottom lip into her mouth, she blushes as she bites down hard. I want to bite that lip.

I want to make her whimper and moan. I want to watch her skin flush pink, her body squirm.

Shit.

I focus on her—not on everything I want to do to her. “Why not?”

Her brows rise, then she explains, “My boobs are a lot bigger than hers.”

My eyes drop instantly to her tits. The tips are pointed and hard beneath her shirt, and I have to fight the urge not to crook my neck and bite gently on one through the fabric. I force my eyes back to hers, croaking through denied desire, “Right.”

“It’s okay.” She waves her hands. “I’ll just wear this. It’s no biggie.”

“You’re gonna wear a white beer shirt to swim?”

“Sure.” She bobs her head.

I ask dryly, “And bottoms?”

She waves her hands again. “I’ll just wear panties. It’s pretty much the same as a bathing suit, right? Besides, the shirt is long.”

No. Not right. Maybe if she was swimming with just me, I’d be cool letting her make the mistake of getting wet in a white shirt. But it’s not just me. My guys will be there, and she’s not getting in my pool in a white t-shirt that’ll expose more of her sweet tits than I’ve yet to see and a pair of panties. Fuck no.

“We’ll stop at the mall after class.”

“I—” She starts to protest, but all I have to do is set my glare on her and she nods. “Okay.”

I’ve had a lot of women in my bed, probably more than most men. And I’ve had one ‘sort of’ relationship. I met Alyssa during a threesome with one of my frequent hookups. She’d been a rockstar between the sheets, hot as fuck with the other chick. I’d had a few threesomes before, but I’d been feeling bored and expressed that to the other girl—Mandy, the hookup before the threesome. When she texted me that she and a friend were waiting for me, naked in her bed, I’d been unable to deny.

I’d fucked them both hard and dirty, all night long. When Alyssa started coming to shows after, making it obvious she wanted another round with my dick, who was I to deny her a good time? It started as no-strings, simple sex. When she asked if we could try making things more serious, I figured why not? I’d never attempted the girlfriend thing. She was a great lay and worked for a marketing company that had done work for Devils Heartbreak in the past. It seemed like a good idea. Until it wasn’t.

Still, even though I’d gone through almost two years of hell with Alyssa, I’d never been to the mall with her. I’d never been to the mall with any woman.

Yet here I stood with Wrenlee as she awkwardly looked through bikini after bikini.

A white one with gold hooped accents caught my eye and I flicked the hanger. “What about this one?”

She looked at it, touching the fabric with interest before suddenly shaking her head.

We repeat this with three more swimsuits before I lift a black one piece, thinking she’s gotta be shy about the two pieces, and doesn’t know how to tell me she’s not comfortable showing off her body, great as it is. “How about this one?”

Again, she fingers the material before biting down on her lip and shaking her head.

This is why men don’t like shopping with women.

I tip my head back, trying to bridle in my growing annoyance. “Wrenlee, pick a suit.”

She looks panicked as she heads for a rack at the front of the store. I watch, standing back as she flips through the mess of bathing suits before she tugs a two piece that looks made from unicorn vomit from the rack. Then she declares, “I just need to try it on.”

Is she playing with me?

I feel my grin stretch as I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s your pick?”

She pales slightly, giving a small shrug. “Yeah, why not?”

She is serious. Who am I to say she can’t have the unicorn vomit swimsuit? I gesture to the change rooms. “Whatever you want, Kitten.”

She disappears into the room, letting out a distressed sigh a few minutes later. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when a saleswoman taps on the door. “Can I get you another size?”

“Um…” She cracks the door just enough for the woman to peek inside. Her voice is low, but I catch enough. “Do you have this in a double D cup size?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t.”

“Okay.” Her voice is small, and I lean closer. “Do you have anything from the discount rack in a double D?”

“Let me take a look,” The woman responds politely, and Wrenlee closes the door.

She wasn’t being picky about the bathing suit. She’s trying to stay within a price range.

Something ugly twists in my guts as I move back into the store. I check the price of the pieces I’d suggested—the ones she’d fingered with longing only to reject time and again. They’re all slightly over a hundred dollars. I move to the discount rack where she plucked the crime against humanity and finger a price-tag. Sixty dollars.

I look to the store attendant and ask, “She said double D cup, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll take these.” I start collecting the pieces Wrenlee rejected, tossing them onto the counter.

“Um—” The sales attendant blinks at me. “Should I get her to try them on?”

“She won’t.” I pull my wallet from my pocket and call, “Kitten, we’re leaving.”

I chuckle when I hear her squeak in relief. “Okay.”

The girl is handing me the bag with six swimsuits inside when Wrenlee appears from the change room, looking flushed. “We can try Target or something.” Her eyes fall to the bag and her lips part. “What is that?”

“Swimsuits.”

She stares at the bag unblinking. “For what?”

“You.” I jut my chin to the exit. “Let’s go.”

“Cash.” She scurries to my side, and I think I detect anger when she hisses, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what, exactly? Buy my girlfriend swimsuits?”

Her eyes narrow. “You keep saying swimsuits. Plural. How many did you get?”

“Six.” Her eyes snap wide and her mouth falls open. I lean in to tease, “Careful, Kitten, or I’ll have to find something to fill that pretty mouth with.”

She closes her mouth so fast, her teeth clap. I throw my head back and howl.

I like teasing her.

Cute as a spittin’ kitten, Wrenlee stomps her foot. “Return them.”

I stop laughing. “No.”

“You can’t buy me six hundred dollars’ worth of swimsuits, Cash. That’s ridiculous!”

I don’t tell her the bill came to seven hundred and forty-three dollars. There’s no point in ruffling her fuzz any more than it already is. Hell, she’s adorable when she’s mad. Just like a kitten.

“I can buy my girlfriend whatever the fuck I want.” I return her glare with a warning look.

She gets up onto her tiptoes to hiss, “I’m not your girlfriend.”

I crook my neck, my face an inch from hers, voice pitched dangerously low, “Oh, I know. If you were, I’d shove your defiant little ass in that dressing room, push you to your knees and fuck the sass right out of that mouth.”

That pouty little mouth drops again, and she sputters, “I-I-I can’t believe you said that.”

“Don’t tempt me, Kitten.” I gently push her from the store, giving her ass a sharp swat for good measure. “I like angry sex.”

“I’m not having sex with you,” she snaps over her shoulder, but at least she’s not telling me to return the goods. “Of any kind. Not ever!”

We’ll see about that, Kitten. We’ll see about that.