Page 15 of Vegas Love (Love 1)
He's quiet for a beat. "Cash, you've been having a lot of fun."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"I don't want her to be your fun."
I should tell him. Tell him right now before it goes any further. That she's not just fun, she's my wife.
But, I can't.
So I fire back with, "I'm gonna say one word. Palmer."
"I hate that name."
"Because you've never gotten over her. Just because you got in a personal mess with a client, doesn't mean you should hold it against her forever. Besides, Ashlyn isn't my client. She's yours. It's not the same thing."
"You work for me, that makes her your client too. Everyone knows you don't shit where you eat."
"I get it. You don't want us to date."
"No, I don't want you to fuck. Big difference."
"So are you saying that if I liked her, like if we fell in love, it would be okay?"
My brother sighs audibly. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Palmer is the reason I'm so adamant about you not sleeping with Ashlyn. Trust me, mixing business with pleasure just screws everything up. I'll see what I can find out about her lease and get back to you."
"Do you have a realtor you use? I was thinking about calling Dad's friend."
"That's exactly who I would recommend. I'll text you his contact information. And, Cash?"
"Yeah?"
"I know you've only been on set for a short time, but reports are that she seems happy and hasn't been high."
"I know. And thanks."
More Complicated
Ashlyn
I'm in a shitty mood when we stop for dinner.
"You seem frustrated. I thought you'd have fun," Cash says to me.
I can't help it. I let out a big sigh. "I'm just so disappointed."
"Because you didn't find a house you loved?"
"Yes. The last one we looked at was my online favorite. It's new, modern, sleek. Has gorgeous views. That infinity pool and spa on the cliff belong in a magazine."
"So what didn't you like about it in person?"
"It was so white it was practically blinding. It's not that I didn't think it was pretty, I just couldn't picture myself living there. I couldn't picture myself living in any of them."
"Why?"
I shake my head, because I don't know the answer.
He reaches under the table, takes my hand and puts it on his knee. "Tell me why."
"I don't know, okay," I say, getting angry because I can't tell him what having a home would mean to me. How it's what I've always dreamed of. How it's what I imagined coming home to when I was a kid and not the disaster that was my house after my dad died.
But since I met him, that dream has become even more complicated because I don't want to live in the house by myself.
I want to live in it with him.
Am I desperate for attention? Is that why I keep choosing the wrong guys? Am I just so needy that I'm not picky? I take anyone who will toss some attention my way?
Do I have daddy issues?
Do I need to see a shrink?
Is it wrong to want love? Crave love? Weren't we made to love each other?
He rubs his finger across the top of my hand, pulling me back to the present. To his adorable face that is still so beautiful it makes my heart ache.
And I think I've figured out the reason for the ache.
I don't want him to leave.
"So tell me what characteristics your dream house has," he says, and I'm just wishing he'd drop it. I need to go back to my own world--my normal world--and stop feeling like I'm living in a fairytale every time he's around.
Because fairytales and real world don't mix.
"I'm not sure," I reply.
He leans closer. "It's okay that you didn't find the right one today. You will. I want to help you."
"But why do you even care?"
"Because," he says, kissing me.
I back away quickly, hoping no one saw. I don't want him to get fired. I'd never forgive myself if I ruined his close-knit relationship with his family.
"I'm really tired and have an early call time tomorrow. I'm going to head home," I tell him.
But he doesn't give up.
"So it's the way the house made you feel, not how it looked?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"And how did the last house make you feel?"
"Cold."
He scrunches up his nose and nods his head, seemingly understanding what I want. It's freaking adorable.
He's adorable.
"Tell me about your family," he says. The way he says it is commanding. Like I have no choice but to tell him.
But I haven't told anyone, really. And I'm not going to start with him. I grab some money out of my bag, toss it on the table to cover the bill, and stand up. "I want to leave."
Emotional Hook
Cash
I'm trying to figure out what I did to piss her off.
I took her house hunting to try to help her find what she wants.
But as we're driving back from dinner, it hits me that she knows exactly what she wants. She just doesn't want to talk about it.
I think back to what I read. About her dad passing away when she was young and about how she doesn't talk about her family.
I think she craves a home.
A real home. One where she feels loved.
And as I look at her defeated body language, I realize that I want to be a part of that place. I want to be there for her and be the one who kisses it and makes it all better.
When we get to her house, she hops out of the car before I can even get it into park.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she says, clearly struggling to hold it together. I've seen that look on my sister's face numerous times. She's about ready to start bawling and wants to do it in private. Although I will never claim to understand the female race, I do think that having a twin sister helps me better understand their emotions. Or at least understand that they are just more emotional.
She's standing at the garage door, entering her code. She slams her fist into the keypad. "Dammit."
And I see the tears forming.
"What's your code?"
"Eighty-seven sixty-two."
I grab her hand, enter the code, and pull her inside.
"I told you I'm tired. You should go."
"No. You can cry first if you need to, but you're going to talk to me."
"How do you know I want to cry?"
"I have a twin sister. I can see the signs."
She covers her face with her hands. "I don't know why I'm so emotional about this. Maybe it's all just hitting me. The sex tape. Zach breaking up with me."
I wrap my arms around her. "I think you're upset you didn't find a house."
She sniffles
and wipes away the few tears that have dared to fall. "Maybe," she says quietly.
"You shouldn't be. It's the first time you've ever looked at houses. It was a bit overwhelming. It's a big investment and you don't want to make a mistake," I say, letting her off the emotional hook, even though I suspect it's more than that.
"I think you're right."
I lead her into her living room, sit on the couch and pull her onto my lap. She straddles me and takes my face in her hands.
"Are you really as sweet as you seem, Cash?"
Other than at my brother's house, when we were supposedly introduced, this is the first time she's called me Cash. I know she's being serious.
"I'm not sweet, I'm just sweet on you."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're too perfect." She runs her hands across my biceps causing me to instantly become aroused. And it doesn't help that she keeps squirming around on my lap. Does she not realize what that does to me? I try to think about anything. Anything but the way her hips are smashed against mine. Mom. Think about Mom. Mom is in the kitchen. Mom is baking food. Baking her specialty. Warm, homemade fudge with--
Shit. Wrong thing to think of. Way wrong. Now all I can think about is the warmth inside her.
And I'm trying to be sensitive here. I want her to take me seriously.
But she knows.
She has to be able to feel me. I'm as hard as freaking granite.
"I'm sorry," I say, attempting to move her off me. But she doesn't freaking budge. And, truth be told, I'm not trying that hard. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I want to talk to you about the house. I know it's important to you. But you can't seem to sit still and it's driving me nuts."
She pulls her shirt off in response.
