Page 100 of Summer Heat
“I think we both are.”
“You saw me with Antilla.” Nicola didn’t ask. Just repeated what he’d already told her.
“Yeah, I did.” He fidgeted with the shot glass, sliding it back and forth between his large hands.
“Why’d you come up to the house? That couldn’t have been protocol.”
“I couldn’t not come to see. To really see you. I was having some scope-sighted nightmare. It didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t.”
She reached for the bottle. Ugh, bad arm. An ache hit her throat and bubbled out. Cash looked at her, forcing her to ’fess up without uttering a question. “I landed on my arm. It’s sprained. I need to wrap and sling it.”
The thick tension couldn’t have been sliced away with a machete. Seconds ticked by, and the shot glass pinballed between his fingers. Cash studied her arm, and she flushed. “You need help?”
“No. I think I got it. I’m just going to sit outside for a few minutes.” Because I need to cool down this absurd hot flash. She hobbled over to the back door and peered at the deck. It had a picnic table, nothing else.
“It’s good to see you again,” Cash said.
“You said that already.” She didn’t know what else to say and didn’t want him to go away. But that was exactly the reason he should.
“So I did.” He breathed the words out slowly and stood. His broad chest loomed, and his beautiful blue eyes twinkled when he nodded good night.
Good night, Cash.
They were words she’d thought a thousand times since she left and couldn’t bring herself to say aloud now. What was her deal? One second, she was feeling a little hot under the t-shirt when he looked her way, the next she wanted to sob.
It didn’t matter what she did or how she felt, he was gone in a blink. Silent and all shadow. Just like a sniper.
CHAPTER FIVE
As safe houses went, this wasn’t too shabby: nestled in some generic, upper middle class neighborhood, secluded from the neighbors by tree coverage, and packed with provisions like bourbon and protein bars. Cash couldn’t complain. He couldn’t complain, but he sure as hell couldn’t sleep. Turning over in the bed again, the sheets bothered him no matter whether he kicked them off or tugged them back to his chest.
He flipped on the television, and despite the thousands of channels he skipped through, nothing held his interest. Well, nothing on the boob tube.
“I can’t sleep,” he groaned, looking at Betty the Shitkicker, AKA Miss Betty, his .50 cal high-powered rifle. Most of his guns had names, but Betty was the nearest and dearest to his heart. She wasn’t the jealous type, though she was the only long-term girl in his life. Well, long-term since Nicola, but that hadn’t been real. That was two college kids mixed up in each other.
He laughed, alone in the empty bedroom.
Hell. No reason to lie to yourself. Miss Betty exists because the real deal left you heartbroken.
Heartbroken. No other word could describe him.
He’d been far past puppy love with the flesh-and-blood girl. Nicola was far superior to the molded cheek rest that he’d been nuzzling and four-lb. pull trigger he’d been caressing lately. Nic was something special. He’d sweated their platonic relationship, chasing after her like she was handing out the secret to buried treasure. He knew damn well Roman would kick his ass for thinking of her as anything other than the kid next door.
And the kid next door she was not. Whoa, baby, the girl was a looker. Then and now.
Their hometown was small. Everyone talked. People assumed Nicola and Cash were destined to be together. Well, everyone but Roman. He’d wanted nothing to do with his little sister getting noticed by anyone. No Nicola. Not ever.
As far as Roman was concerned, Nicola should’ve found the Yellow Pages and looked up local convents. He would’ve signed her up for nun duty if it had kept every man on campus from chasing his younger sister. Cash was surprised he hadn’t called up 1-800-CHASTITY-BELT.
Man alive, did that girl get chased. How he was lucky enough to have her bat those beautiful chocolate eyes at him, Cash had no idea. None. But she did. So innocent. Him, so caught up in the shouldn’t-but-couldn’t-help-it moment.
Best day of his life, when he’d picked up the phone and seen her text. Come on over, pool party. He’d arrived at the house she shared with some girlfriends, and it was just her. Her in a teeny, tiny green bikini holding an open bottle of wine. Half empty.
He’d watched, hoped, and thanked God for the brim of his always-there cowboy hat hiding the desire in his gaze.
Another bottle later, she sat on his lap in the shallow side of the pool, and he thought he’d been pushed into the deep end.
“You don’t want to kiss me.” Nicola blushed as she said the words, one arm draped over his shoulder, as they hovered on the line of can’t-change-it-once-we-go-there.
