“I took one look at him and knew he was trouble. He’s not just hot. He’s smart. That’s not a good combination for your heart, Liv. At least the others have been pretty useless and stupid. But this one? Yeah, I knew if he got his hooks into you there’d be trouble.”
I’d like to slap her. Hard. “Thanks for the head’s up, Ginger,” I say, trying to sound teasing, but knowing my anger is showing.
“Would you have listened to me if I’d tried? No. You never do. You knew you should’ve stayed away from him. But you didn’t. Do you really think I could’ve said anything that would’ve changed your mind?”
I don’t want to admit it, but she’s probably right. Cash had me breathless from day one. So did Nash. Because they were the same guy, only in different clothes and with different jobs. I think, deep down, my body knew. I responded to each of them the same way, sexually. They both set me on fire. And that’s not too likely to happen with two such supposedly different personalities. Why didn’t I see it? How could I be so blind?
I’m emptying the last of the bottles from the box, arranging them neatly in the cooler, when I see someone slide onto the stool beside Ginger. I look up and stop, my arm halfway into the cooler.
It’s Cash.
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. I wonder if that’s his heart I see in this eyes. Or if it’s just my imagination. Either way, I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him.
I say nothing. I finish what I’m doing, take the box into the back then come back out and pour him a Jack neat. I slide him the glass, he slides me a twenty and I pay for the drink and stick the change in the tip jar. I throw a smug look at him, daring him to make a comment. But he’s smart. He doesn’t say a word, just nods and tosses back his whiskey.
I don’t need to ask what he’s doing here. I only listened to one of his dozen or so messages, and it was him asking to talk to me. I saved the rest. I figured I’d listen to them eventually. Just not yet.
A guy that is widely known to adore Ginger sits on her other side and starts chatting her up, leaving me to tend to the few other customers at the bar. And Cash.
I keep myself busy with odd jobs, but it doesn’t really help. Every nerve, every cell, every sense of my entire being is focused sharply on Cash.
Cash.
By the time the night is over, I’m on edge. He still hasn’t said a word. Neither have I. But the tension is palpable. And it’s killing me.
When Tad gives last call, Cash looks at me long and hard then slides off his stool and walks out. I feel aggravated and bereft and sad and frustrated and hurt. But mostly I feel like chasing him. Like asking him to stay.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I won’t.
As we are required to do, the bartenders stay as Tad counts the till. But my mind is wandering. To Cash. Always to Cash.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I check for messages. There are no new ones, which both puzzles and disappoints me, so I randomly select one of the saved messages from him and listen to it. When his voice comes on, there is a quick, sharp stab of pain in my chest.
“Look, Olivia, I care about you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it? I might not have always done the right thing, but try to see it from my perspective. Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you all this? Knowing that you might leave and never come back? I was just hoping that you wouldn’t do that. Leave. But you did. And I know I should let you go. But I can’t. I just can’t.”
I hear him sigh into the phone and then it clicks off.
A lump of emotion constricts my throat.
What am I supposed to do? He’s a liar. A liar!
Some small voice pipes up to tell me that he had a better-than-average reason to lie and that he did finally come clean, trusting me with things that could literally threaten his life.
Does that matter?
The small voice answers that it does. It matters very much.
I choose another message to listen to.
“Okay, if this is how you’re gonna play it, fine! I’ve done all I can do. I’ve tried to help you, to show you I care about you, but obviously that’s not enough. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re right to go. I don’t even know anymore.”
I listen to another and another and another. It’s plain that Cash was going through all manner of reactions to my reaction. For some reason, they make my heart squeeze. The one thing that’s apparent in all of them is that he’s searching desperately for some way to fix things. And that I’m the one making him desperate. I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to care about someone so much they make you desperate.