Page 87 of Cash

Why does Mollie have to be so fucking sweet? So open-minded? So quick, so intelligent, so open and honest andreal?

Can’t remember the last time someone asked me about my past.

Can’t remember the last time I wanted to ask about someone else’s.

The hardwood floor bites into my sit bones. Don’t care. I could talk to Mollie like this forever.

“See?” I sit up a little straighter. “You’re doing the right thing, deciding for yourself how you feel about Garrett. He’d be proud. It was one of the things I loved most about him—how unafraid he was to do his own thing, even if it didn’t make sense to anyone else.”

“Only had to make sense to him,” Mollie replies slowly. “There’s a certain kind of integrity in that. I’m taking notes.”

“Of course you are,” I sputter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Means I like you. More than I should.

“Nothing.” I spear a hand through my hair. I need another beer.

The quiet sound of moving water fills the silence. I’m seized by the image of Mollie sinking deeper into my tub. She’s relaxed, hair in a knot at the top of her head. Her tits are round and perfect, pink nipples breaking the surface of the water. Cheeks and chest flushed the same shade of pink. And her pussy—with her legs spread, it’d be spread too?—

“Hey, Cash?”

I clear my throat for the hundredth time. “Yeah?”

“The water is getting cold. I think I’m ready to get out. Could I ask a favor, though? My clothes are disgusting. Any chance I could borrow something? Just to wear back to the house? I’ll wash it and give it back to you as soon as I’m done.”

Dear.God.

Jesus Lord and savior, why you gotta test me like this?Mollie, in my shirt? What if she doesn’t wear a bra under it?

What if she doesn’t wear panties? What I’d give to slide a hand up her bare leg. I’d use my fingers to part her. Stroke her, gathering wetness on my fingertip so I could circle her clit. Mollie, being Mollie, wouldn’t be shy about showing her pleasure. She’d moan, hand fisting in my shirt to pull me closer.

“Don’t fuck with me, Cash,” she’d breathe. “Give me more.”

I shove up to standing, willing the image to disappear. “Course. Gimme a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Only the image doesn’t disappear.

The longer it stays, the more I’m not sure I want it to go anywhere. Same way I feel about Mollie.

CHAPTER 19

Mollie

BACKSLIDING

Cash is weirdlyquiet on the drive home.

And I am weirdly turned on wearing his green Hatton’s Tractor Supply & More T-shirt and a pair of red basketball shorts.

They’re old clothes. Soft and nubby from countless days in the sun, countless cycles through the washing machine. But wearing them still gives me a sense of intimacy with Cash that’s at odds with our budding friendship.

Can I even call it that? We’re coworkers, technically. But after everything we just shared—after he scooped me up, carried me to his house, and ran me a bath, complete with an absurd amount of Epsom salt in it—I’m not sure where we stand.

More than coworkers, less than friends?