But it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
But it does matter.
I just get more irritated.
When Tad’s finished and he’s ready to lock up, we all leave together. As I approach my car, I see Cash sitting on his motorcycle, right beside the driver’s side. I walk past him, unlock my door, get inside and start the engine. I consider rolling down my window to talk to him, but I decide against it.
As I pull out of the lot and turn toward home, I see a single light, the headlight of Cash’s motorcycle, pull out behind me.
Is he following me home? What’s he gonna do, cause a scene in front of my father? My father with the broken leg?
My irritation rises. But so does that swelling sensation in my chest, like my heart might burst from inside my ribs. Like Alien.
Cash’s messages run through my mind—his words, the sound of his voice, the things he doesn’t say, as well as the things that come across so clear. I look in my rearview mirror again, at the bike’s front light. Following me. Steadily, persistently following me. Like his focus is as bright and singular as the headlight.
As I pass a familiar pull-off that’s hidden in the trees along the road, I swerve into it, coming to a crunchy stop in the gravel. Impulsively, angrily, I throw the gearshift into park, shut off the lights and get out, slamming the door behind me. Within seconds, Cash is pulling to a stop behind me and cutting his engine, too.
I stomp over to where he’s taking off his helmet and getting off the bike. “What the hell do you want from me?” I scream, anger suddenly finding its way back to the forefront. I lash out, putting my palms in the center of his broad chest and pushing with all my might. He barely moves. “What are you trying to do to me?”
When I feel tears threaten, I turn and walk quickly back to my car. As I’m rounding the hood, I feel fingers like steel bands wrap around my upper arms and bring me to a stop. Cash whirls me to face him. In the silvery light of the full moon, I can see the livid set to his features, the flash of temper in his eyes.
“Stop! Just stop!” he spits.
“Why? What else needs to be said? I think you’ve told me enough lies for a lifetime.”
“No more lies,” he says angrily. “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. I just want to hear you tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. That you want me to leave you alone and never come back. Then I’ll go. If that’s what you really want, I’ll go.”
I know this is my opportunity. In my gut, I believe that he’ll do exactly what he says—he’ll be gone from my life forever if I tell him to go.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I hear him gasp, as if he’s waiting for me to banish him from my life.
Rage drains from his face. It’s replaced by something close to a silent plea. Then he whispers.
“Don’t. Please don’t say it.”
I search his eyes. For what, I don’t know. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to. I need you to come back to me. Not to help me. Or to help my father. I’m done with that. I don’t want your help. It all boils down to you. I just want you.”
My heart is beating wildly inside my chest. I hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing but Cash. And even so, I barely hear him whisper again, “I just want you.”
Before I can give it another second’s thought, before I can overthink it and torture myself with what I should do rather than what I want to do, I answer him quietly. “Okay.”
I see several emotions flicker across his face, but then I see nothing. I’m in his arms.
His lips crash down on mine and the world disappears. My fingers are in his hair, holding him to me. His hands are roaming my back and hips.
And then he’s lifting me onto the hood of the car. Kissing my neck, untucking my shirt, touching my breasts.
I wrap my legs around his slim hips and pull him into the V of my thighs. He grinds against the place I need him most.
His fingers loosen the button and zipper to my shorts. I’m only vaguely aware of being thankful we are so hidden from the road.
With his palm, he pushes me back onto the hood and pulls my shorts and panties down over my feet. He tosses them onto the car beside me and lifts my bent legs onto his shoulders, burying his face between them.
I can’t hold in the moans of pleasure his tongue elicits. I feel it making hot circles over my clitoris. I feel it lick down and slide inside me, pushing in as deep as it will go. I feel him rub his face against me. And then I feel the world explode around him, showering him with the fireworks of my orgasm.
He moves and then I hear his zipper. He enters me and my spasms continue. He grabs my hips and pulls me tighter against him, my back still pressed to the warm metal of my car.