by LK Farlow
I stand and walk to her, not by choice, but by force. She’s reeling me toward her, and I’m helpless to stop it. I stop directly in front of her. “You look . . . absolutely radiant.” She tilts her head down to hide the pink creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Okay, you kids have a nice night now,” Azalea says, ushering us out the door.
“So, where are we going?” Myla Rose asks as I steer us down her long driveway. I’m not gonna lie. I was looking forward to helping her up into the truck, but she had herself seated and buckled before I even had a chance. As hot as Myla Rose is, her independence is hotter.
“Well, I thought we’d head on over to Cotton?”
“The farm-to-table place?”
“That’s the one.” I sneak a glance in her direction, only to find her eyes lit up like Christmas lights. Guess she likes that idea.
“Oh, my stars! I have just been dyin’ to try that place! I’ve heard they have the best steaks!” Her excitement is so damn cute that I don’t even try to conceal the grin spreading across my face.
We fall into a comfortable silence, the tires spinning on the asphalt and the low hum of the radio the only sounds in the cab of the truck.
As I navigate the truck into a parking spot, I clear my throat to get her attention. “Now, Myla Rose, you wait for me to come around and open your door, yeah?”
“I’m more than capable—” she starts to protest.
“Never said you weren’t, darlin’. Now, sit tight.” I jog around to her side of the truck and open her door, extending my hand to her.
She hesitates but then takes it, her skin warm against mine. She hops down, her body sliding against mine as she does. God, yes. More, please.
“Oh! Look how pretty,” she squeals as we approach Cotton.
She isn’t wrong either. It’s got some definite curb appeal. The restaurant is housed in an old white-washed brick building, the entrance framed by a pergola covered in jasmine.
Myla Rose stops just outside the pergola, an awestruck look on her face. “Cash, this is just . . . perfect.”
She’s right about that, too, except I’m not looking at the restaurant. I’m looking at her. Looking at the way she appreciates everything around her. I’m taken with the way the setting sun silhouettes her curves.
“Yeah, darlin', it sure is.”
Missing the feel of her, I press a hand to the small of her back and guide her inside. We both stop to take it all in—marbled bamboo flooring, sage green walls, and wrought iron chandeliers.
Yeah, this is a place I’d love to do some work for. Maybe I’ll try to snag a meeting with the owner.
The hostess leads us to a small two-seater in the back, which I requested when I called to make our reservation. Just like the other day at Dream Beans, I pull out her chair for her before taking the seat across from her. My hand feels empty and cool, instantly missing the heat from her body.
The hostess rattles off the specials and leaves us to look over our menus. I’m leaning toward the filet mignon served over broccolini, topped with truffle butter and a poached egg, when Myla Rose announces she wants the same thing. Girl’s got good taste.
“I plan on having the filet as well. Must be fate.” I waggle my brows at her, and she giggles at my joke, and goddamn, I’m intoxicated by the sound.
We place our orders and munch on some of the housemade rosemary bread while we wait. During this time, she asks me about the work I’m doing for Dream Beans, and I ask her about the salon. I’m impressed as hell that she owns a business at only twenty, and I tell her so. Her eyes shine with pride at my compliment, which only serves to make me want to compliment her more.
It's moments like these that really hit home for me what a rarity she is. Most women expect to be doted on, but Myla Rose takes nothing for granted—she's appreciative of even the smallest of things.
Our server places our meals before us and we waste no time digging in. The food is phenomenal. Even better? The little noises of delight she makes while eating it.
"So." I clear my throat before asking her, "How far along are you?"
I know most men would be put off by the fact that she's pregnant—and I'm not gonna lie, it threw me for a loop at first—but at the end of the day, the way she's making the best of being a young, single mom and her steadfast dedication to doing what's right for her baby only add to her appeal.
"Seventeen weeks, so almost halfway." She sounds less sure of herself now, like she isn't used to talking about her pregnancy—but with friends like Azalea, Simon, and Drake, I know that isn't the case. They may be more excited about the baby than she is.
"Have you always wanted kids?" I regret the words the second I speak them, and the pained look on her face only firms up my regret.
"Don't you go thinkin' I'm not excited for this baby because of what I'm about to say. Because I'm over the damn moon excited." Her expression is fierce.
"I'd never, darlin'."
"Things just aren’t going as I always imagined they would, you know? Back in my skinned knees and pigtail days, I wanted the fairytale. I wanted to wear white and say, ‘I do’ with my very own Prince Charming. We were going to have it all . . . a picket fence and a porch swing. We were going to sip sweet tea and watch the sun set while our little ones played in the yard. In fairness, I’ll still have most of that. My Prince Charming will just happen to call me 'Mama’.”
"So, it's a boy?" The thought of a boy growing in her belly makes my heart beat a little faster. I'm instantly hit with visions of teaching him how to ride a bike and how to shave. The fuck?
"Yeah, a boy." Her eyes go all soft and dreamy—her love for this baby is palpable. I can feel it clear across the table.
"Got any names picked out?"
"Honestly? No. I didn't want to get too attached to a certain name and then meet my baby and have it not fit.” She snorts out a laugh. “Wow, I sound a little crazy, huh?"
"Not at all, Myla Rose. Not one bit."
Our server comes back with the dessert menu, and we decide to share a slice of strawberry cheesecake.
I cut into the desert with my spoon, but before I can eat it, Myla Rose plucks a whole berry from the slice. I stare, transfixed, as she wraps her lips around it, a little juice dribbling down her chin.
“Mmmm,” she moans, causing the spoon to drop from my hand and clatter to the table. The noises this girl makes are seriously lethal, and I don’t even think she knows it.
I'm so enraptured with that little trickle of juice that it's literally like a bucket of ice water when she asks me, "So, what exactly was your deal the other day?"
I drop my head to my hands. I should have seen this coming a mile away. I was an idiot, thinking I could just sweep my behavior under the rug with no explanation.
"Ugh. This is harder than I thought." Massaging my temples, I try to relieve some of the tension that's accumulating. This is the first time I've really talked to anyone other than Jake about it. "My ex, Kayla, cheated on me. For almost half of our relationship. You're the first . . . anything since her."
Her eyes are wide with shock, and there may even be a little sympathy in there too.
"Cash, I am so, so sorry. I thought it was because of my being pregnant. But I think that'd make just about anyone gun shy."
"I hate that you thought it was you. You're so far from a problem, darlin'—baby and all."
The heaviness of the air around us dissipates a little when our server drops our check. After settling up, I help Myla from her seat, and once again pressing a hand to the small of her back, I guide her to the truck.
I help her in this time, and even though she protests, I know she likes my chivalry. Her lopsided smile is a dead giveaway.
I decide to push my luck and secure her seat belt for her as well. Her breath hitches when my shoulder brushes her chest, and I swear I even felt her nipples harden. All of these little sounds and touches have me wound tight—so tight that I fear I might explode.
"Dinner was amazing, Cash," she tells me as I turn down her driveway. “Thank you so much for taking me." Why the fuck is she thanking me?
"No need to thank me, darlin'. I had a good time too," I tell her, throwing my truck into park.
"Okay, then. I guess . . . um . . . I'll see you around then?" She makes for the door handle, and I reach across the console to stop her.
"Hey! What did I tell you earlier?" I scold before heading around to open her door. "C'mon, I'll walk you."
She grasps my hand, and like an instant replay from dinner, her body slides down mine. The contact is somehow more intimate than it was earlier, making her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink, only noticeable due to the moonlight peeking through the branches of the oak tree in her yard.
"Okay, Cash." Her voice is nothing more than a rasp.
We make it to the porch, and the inner battle begins. Is she expecting a kiss, or will she slap me for trying, what with how our last kiss ended? I war with myself a little longer before settling on a hug. A nice, safe hug.
"Well, goodnight then," she whispers, looking down as I start to pull away.
Is that disappointment I hear in her voice? Well, hell. I can’t have that.
Keeping my right arm around her waist, I bring my left hand to her cheek, placing my thumb just below her jaw. Using that position, I pull her closer to me.
"It was a good night indeed, Myla Rose," I murmur just before I press my lips to hers.
Her lips are soft, so damn soft, even more so than I remember. I nip at her bottom lip, causing her lips to part. I use that small opening to deepen the kiss, and Myla Rose digs her nails into the base of my neck.
Slipping my hand from her waist and down over the curve of her hip, I hike her dress up and settle it on the smooth bare skin just under her ass, pulling her closer—closer—closer. Trailing my fingertips across her cheek and through her hair, I tug on it just a little, just like I’d imagined doing at the start of our night.
Damn, she likes that. It's like I flipped a switch. She's no longer kissing me—she’s devouring me.
I hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The front door is the only thing keeping us upright. I press my hips into hers, showing her just how much I want her before pulling her hair again. She throws her head back, hitting it on the door with a loud thump.
That breaks the spell. She lowers her legs and untangles herself from me, and I step back, unsure of what comes next. Is she going to ask me in or send me on my way?
"Do . . . do you want to come in?" She looks up at me expectantly.
"Lead the way, darlin'," I rasp out—because really, is there any other response?
She slides her key into the lock, and I follow her inside. "Do you want some coffee or tea?"
"No, I just want you." I settle myself into the same over-stuffed loveseat as before.
"Well, I need a drink of water—be right back."
While she's gone, I check my phone. A text from Jake and a few work emails, nothing that can't wait until later. I set my phone, keys, and wallet on the coffee table and wait for Myla Rose to return.
She approaches me hesitantly, as if she's now the one who's unsure of what comes next. I reach out and take her hands into mine and pull her closer so that she's standing between my legs.
"Don't be nervous, darlin'. I just wanna spend time with you, and I'm damn sure okay with it being on your terms." Just like that, she's relaxed and at ease.
I pull her closer still, causing her to tumble down onto my lap. I take full advantage of our new position and kiss my way up her neck before whispering in her ear, "This okay, darlin'?"
She squirms around on my lap a bit but nods. I know she can feel just how much I want her, so I press my hips up into hers. She gasps, and I shift her around so that she's straddling me before kissing my way back down her neck, peppering little open-mouth kisses along her collarbone.
Her breaths are shallow as she guides me back up to her lips. She traces my lips with her tongue, and I drag my hands up from her hips, caressing the outer swell of her breasts. Before long, our hands are exploring, and she's rocking against me as we’re once again lost in each other.
Slowly, I break our kiss. I need to take things slow with Myla Rose. She deserves nothing less than the best. I run my hands through her hair and she drops her forehead to mine.
"You are so damn beautiful," I tell her as she stands from my lap, looking dazed and content.
"Th–thank you, Cash." her cheeks are that sweet rosy hue, and I'm struck hard by the fact that even though she's pregnant, she's so damn innocent. That just solidifies my decision to slow us down—to take my time.
"Anytime, darlin'. You mind if I use your restroom?"
"Not at all. Down the hall, first door on the right."
I stand, adjusting myself as I go, which causes her blush to shift from rosy to red hot.
A splash of cold water to my face, and I'm good to go. Making my way back out to where Myla Rose is waiting for me, I stop dead in my tracks when I see her pacing the room . . . with my phone in her hands.
"Everything okay?"
"I don't know. Is it?" Her voice is like ice.
I rack my brain, desperately trying to figure out why she's upset with me. "You tell me, darlin'."
"I'm not your damn darlin', so cut the shit. I’ve gotta admit, you’ve got a hell of a good game going, Cash Carson. Long game too, huh?"
Another text rolls in and she drops my phone to the coffee table like it burned her. "I'm honestly not following. You’ve gotta help me out here."
"Why'd you take me out, Cash?" I walk over to her, slowly, not wanting to upset her even more.
"A few reasons . . ." I trail off when I see why she's so angry. Goddamn it.
Jake: You take my advice, brother?
Jake: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.
Jake: Seriously, you hit that yet?
"Myla, it's not what you think—"
"Just save it. I'm not an idiot."
I slip my phone back into my pocket, panic and guilt rioting inside me.
"If you—if you'd just let me explain . . ."
"Let you explain what? That you're only with me to get laid? No, you can get out." She tosses my wallet and my keys at me and points to the door.
"Okay, I’ll go . . . but this isn't finished." I roll my head from side to side, trying to release the mounting pressure. “Far from it. You be sure to lock up," I tell her before trudging back out to my truck.
Slamming the shifter into gear, I haul ass out of there, ready to tear my brother a new one. What the fuck was he thinking?
20
Myla Rose
I stand there, staring out my front window, long after his tail lights disappear. After what feels like an eternity, I turn and head upstairs, making sure to lock up behind myself.
“Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid,” I mutter as I strip out of my dress.
“Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid,” I lament as I braid my hair and again as I brush my teeth.
Stupid-stupid-stupid-stupid, loops through my mind like a broken record until sleep finally finds me.
I wake the next morning, still feeling dejected. If I thought the Strawberry Festival was bad, it doesn't hold a candle to this. He was literally only interested in sleeping with me to get over his ex. All those sweet words . . . nothing more than lies. Here’s history, repeating itself. When will I ever learn?
Fuck Cash Carson and his bullshit. I’m done.
Thankfully, Grams taught me a thing or two about making lemonade out of life's lemons.
“Lemonade, Myla Rose, lemonade.” With my new mantra in mind, I decide to take the rest of the day to pamper myself, starting with a relaxing soak in the tub—lemon-scented bubbles and all. Take that, universe.
After doing a face mask and a deep conditioner, I call Azalea to see if she feels like getting in on all this goodness.
She doesn’t answer, which is un
like her. Especially after my 'not-date’ last night. Honestly, I half expected her to be beating my door down before the birds chirped.
So, I redial.
It rings and rings and rings. She answers just before her voicemail picks up.
“Hello? Myla?” She sounds winded, completely out of breath.
“What on earth are you doin’?”
“Nothing! Not a single thing!”
“Okay . . .” I know she's lying, but decide not to call her on it.
“Jesus. Can’t a girl just be out of breath? Maybe I was exercising—did that ever cross your mind?” She's being downright defensive now.
“Nope.” I snort. “It sure didn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She relents, sending us both into a fit of laughter. “Oh! So, how was last night with Cash?” she blurts, like she’s just remembered that I had a . . . whatever last night was.
“Long story. Want to meet me at the nail salon, and I’ll get you all caught up?”
“Well, duh.” I can just picture her sarcastic smile. “When have I ever said no to a mani/pedi?”
I’m just about to agree with her when I hear a scuffle in the background. A scuffle—and a man’s voice?
“Who are you with?” I ask, keeping my voice calm to keep her calm. She doesn’t do so well with corners.
“What?” she shrieks, her voice several octaves higher than normal. “I’m not with anyone."
“You sure? I swear I heard a guy's voi—”
“Nope! No guy. See you in ten!” And just like that, she hangs up on me.
Well. Okay, then.
I’m soaking my feet, enjoying the magic of the massaging pedicure chair when Azalea flies through the door, looking rode hard and put up wet. She blindly grabs a polish and throws herself down into the chair next to mine.
Neither one of us speaks. She’s looking at everything but me—literally everything. I ignore her, knowing eventually, she’ll break.
