Page 127 of Cash

So much fucking better thanfine.

Mollie is attempting to shove bubbles up my nose. When I try to duck, she pushes my head underneath the water. Coming up for air, I’m the one laughing too hard to make a sound.

“On Dasher,” Mollie gasps. “On Dancer and Vixen. Say it!”

Can I say I’m in love with you instead?

The words materialize inside my head, fully formed. The desire to say them aloud is urgent. This is too much to feel alone.

I am too happy not to tell my favorite person about it.

But I can’t, and that kills me.

Hooking an arm around her waist, I yank her roughly against me and kiss her. It’s way too soon to say shit like that. And I don’t want to ruin the lightness of the moment. Definitely don’t want to scare her off.

She tastes like my toothpaste and smells like my soap, and our laughter morphs into hungry gasps as our bodies melt together underneath the water.

I’m screwed. But I couldn’t stop kissing this girl if you paid me.

Her hands find my hair, and she smooths it back from my face. Her fingertips trail ribbons of sensation across my scalp. She kisses me deeply, fiercely, our lips finding an easy rhythm like we’ve been at this for months, years.

We make out until I’m fully hard again. She sighs when I slip inside her. Holds on to the edges of the tub as she rides my dick, water sloshing onto the floor when she comes with a happy yell.

What a mess.

What a beautiful fucking mess we’re making.

Later, I watch Mollie work in bed. She’s using a graphic design program on her laptop to test new colors on the Nana boot—a shorter style with a pointed toe and metallic details along the heel and shaft.

I absently trail my fingers along her bare thigh underneath the covers. “I like that. The yellow.”

“Really? I think I like the red.”

I chuckle. “Red it is, then. I like how opinionated you are. Y’all are gonna crush this launch.”

“The more you say that”—she smiles, then leans down to kiss me—“the more likely it is that it’ll happen. At least that’s what the internet tells me about manifesting shit.”

I kiss her back, warmth settling inside my skin. “Honey, you work harder than anyone I know. Of course you’re gonna manifest that shit.”

She looks at me then. “Thank you for saying that. I do work hard. Probably a little too hard.”

“Join the club.”

Mollie offers me a fist bump.

I give her one, then twine our fingers. “I’m trying to learn how to work less. Ain’t easy.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve always been a hard worker. As I get older, though, I’ve realized that, yeah, my drive can be a good thing. But it also might come from a fucked-up place. Like it comes from a wound or something.”

“What do you think your wound is?”

She thinks on this a minute. I love that about her—how thoughtful she can be. No filling the silence with empty bullshit.

“I think I always believed that, by being super successful, I could fix something that was broken.”

“What’s broken?”

“Me, I guess? Like if I’m perfect, then I’ll be loved.”