[Southern Roots 01.0] Coming Up Roses

by LK Farlow

  She pulls out a small cooler, and I shoot her a questioning look—no lie, the girl could give Mary Poppins a run for her money.

  "What's all that?"

  "Just some sandwiches, fruit, and water—nothing big."

  "Damn, girl. You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

  "No trouble at all. Now, eat up."

  We dig into the chicken salad sandwiches she brought, and much to my surprise, the twins don't complain—not even once. Must be the hunks of bacon she put in it.

  I'm draining the last of my water bottle when Myla Rose nudges me with her elbow, gesturing over to Preston and Lucas. They're both curled up on their towels, sleeping soundly.

  "Isn't that the sweetest?" Her voice is wistful and dreamy, a straight shot to my heart.

  "Sure is, darlin'." I look back over to her, and she's rummaging around in her bag again for something. "Whatcha looking for now in that big-ass thing?"

  She riffles around for a few more seconds before triumphantly holding up a bottle of sun block. "Aha!"

  "Need some help with that?" I waggle my eyebrows and shoot her a lascivious smile.

  "Sure, why not?"

  She tosses me the bottle, and I have to chuckle. "SPF 80, Myla?"

  "Do you see my skin? I'd rather not be burnt to a crisp, thank you very much," she says as I situate myself behind her.

  I squirt a dollop of the cold lotion into my palm before working it into her soft, freckle-kissed skin. I massage it into her shoulders, working her tense muscles long after the lotion has absorbed. I trail my fingers down toward her chest, slipping them under the straps of her swim top, running my fingertips in small, feather-light circles.

  "Feels so good," she moans as she leans back into me. Burying my face in her neck, I press a small, open-mouthed kiss right below her ear.

  "Well, aren't you two cozy?" My eyes pop open, and Myla Rose shoots away from me as if she's been scalded.

  "T–Taylor. I thought you were off at school?"

  "M–Myla," he mocks. "It's called summer break. Surely, you aren't that dense? Then again, you are a high school dropout." His words hang heavy in the air, and when Myla Rose dips her head in shame, my blood boils.

  This beautiful, strong, stunning woman has nothing be ashamed of, high school diploma or not. And fuck this ass-clown for trying to make her feel like less.

  "Taylor, just go. I mean, good Lord. Don't you have better things to do?"

  He gestures to a few yards away where a buxom brunette is standing, watching us like a hawk. "Sure do, Myla." He turns to head back over to her, but calls out over his shoulder, "By the way, you're a little . . . big to show that much skin, don't you think?"

  Myla Rose fumbles around for her cover-up, trying several times before finally getting it over her head.

  I’m so done with this idiot. "Now, you wait one fucking second. I don't like the way you're talking to her."

  "And I don't recall ever asking your thoughts on the subject. I'll talk to her however I damn well please." He puffs out his chest and squares his shoulders to intimidate me.

  Please. The only person this douche is capable of intimidating is his own shadow.

  I stand, rising to my full height, making sure he has to look up to see me. "You need to go."

  He bristles at my tone and takes a step back. "Yeah, whatever. Have fun with my leftovers, dude."

  I rear back, but the little fuck turned and tucked tail before I could swing.

  29

  Myla Rose

  With all of my heart, soul, and body, I hate Southern stereotypes. Mostly, I guess because I am one. I'm a young, single, pregnant dropout. Just the kind of girl you don't bring home to mother. Maybe Taylor was right when he told me I wasn't a forever kind of girl.

  I start stuffing my belongings back into my beach bag, desperately trying to keep my tears at bay. I'm not usually some weepy, shrinking violet, but these stupid hormones have sure turned me into one.

  I cry at the drop of a damn pin, and I get mad even faster. And don't even get me started on the angry tears. Those might be the worst, because then I'm mad that I'm crying—because I'm mad. It's a mess . . . I’m a mess.

  I can hear Cash and Taylor exchanging words, but I have no plans to stick around to see the disappointment on Cash's face. It's fight or flight, and I'm ready to hightail it outta here.

  "Myla Rose." Cash grabs my wrist. "What're you doing? Where are you going?"

  "Home." I slide my sandy feet into my flip flops before hefting my bag up and onto my shoulder.

  "Why?" He looks so genuinely perplexed, like he truly doesn't get why I'm leaving.

  "Cash, be real.”

  "What, because your ex is a jackass?"

  Oh, how I wish it were that simple. Because yes, while Taylor is a jackass, his words have a certain truth to them.

  "Or are you running away because you think it matters to me that you didn't finish high school?"

  "I'm not running away, I'm just going—"

  Cash stops my words with a finger to my lips. "Shh, you're not going anywhere."

  He slides the straps of my bag back down my arm, dropping it at our feet before pulling me to him.

  “Why’d you drop out, Myla?” Even though his tone is soft, the question sets me on edge.

  “My Grams. She got really sick when I was in high school and needed more care than what her insurance covered.” I suck in a deep breath through my teeth. “So, I dropped out just before I turned seventeen to help take care of her.”

  Cash steps closer to me, so close that I can almost feel him. “Darlin’, I want you to listen to me. Not too many people would do what you did, and I don't care what that entitled little prick says. You're something special, and if he was too dumb to see it, that's his problem."

  I shake my head, causing my nose to brush his chest. "You're wrong. I'm not worth it, Cash. I have nothing to offer you except another man's baby and a metric ton of baggage."

  "That's not true." He tilts my face up to his. "You have your heart, darlin', and that's more than enough."

  His voice is adamant, and his eyes are firm. He means what he says. This man . . . this man thinks my heart is enough. He thinks my heart is worth my baggage.

  He leans down, pressing his lips to mine, and I can taste the salt on his skin from the water. He nips at my bottom lip, and I love it.

  "Uncle Cash, why're you kissing Princess Myla if she's not your girlfriend?"

  Pulling back from him, I smile. "Guess the twins are up?"

  "Sounds like it." He smiles right back. I could get lost in those eyes and that smile. One look, and this man melts me without even trying.

  "Uncle Caaaaash . . ." Preston and Lucas whine simultaneously. I almost wonder if they sit around and plan this stuff.

  "Ah. Well, boys. Sometimes, when two grown—"

  I smack my hand over his mouth, "Hush. P, Lou, your Uncle Cash kissed me because he likes me and because he wanted to. Grown-up perks. Simple as that."

  "Perks? What you mean, perks?" Preston squinches up his little nose while his brother leans in a little closer, like he's about to learn the secrets to the universe.

  "Perks. Like, it's the upside. The good parts."

  Lucas makes a gagging sound. "If kissing girls is a perk, then I don't wanna grow up."

  "Yeah, girls have cooties."

  Cash and I are both doubled over, gasping out our laughter. These boys are too much. I wonder if my little man will be as funny as Preston and Lucas?

  "What else do you have planned for this weekend?" I ask Cash as we all make the trek through the sand toward the parking lot.

  "Not really sure. What I do know is you should join us for dinner."

  His invitation to have dinner with them has my heart swooping low into my belly. I guess he isn't ready for our time together to end, and that makes two of us.

  "That sounds amazing, as long as P and Lou don't mind." I turn to face the twins. "Is that okay with y'all?"
/>   "Can we have pizza?" Preston asks with all the seriousness a six-year-old boy can muster.

  "Well, of course. Pizza is my favorite." Preston and Lucas slap their hands together in a double high-five.

  "You wanna follow me back to my place?" Cash asks as he hefts my beach bag into the backseat of the Land Cruiser.

  "I really wanna take a shower, and I'm sure y'all want to rinse off as well."

  Cash's rain cloud eyes are shining with mischief, and I already know what he's going to say. "Could shower togeth—"

  I quiet him with a finger to his lips. "Text me your address, and I'll head over in a little bit."

  He makes this adorable aww, shucks gesture but agrees all the same as he stalks toward me. He backs me right into Bertha and wraps the ends of my salt-dried locks around his fingers, pinning me with a heated look. He lowers his head to mine, his lips hovering.

  "Gross! Are you gonna kiss her again?" Preston cries out in disgust.

  Cash pulls away begrudgingly. "Guess not, little dude." He ghosts his fingers over my collarbone, sending a shiver through my entire body. "See you soon, darlin'."

  I stop by the house for a quick shower and a change of clothes before heading to Cash's. He lives clear across town, but it's still a short drive. Not even ten minutes later, I'm pulling into his driveway. Perks of small-town living.

  His house is a bungalow-style cottage, picket fence and all. Definitely not what I was expecting from someone so . . . masculine. The yard is immaculate, and the exterior of the house is pristine. Even his hydrangea bushes are trimmed perfectly even.

  I can't help but smile as I imagine the chipping paint and overgrown grass at my place. We couldn't be any more opposite. But we all know what they say about opposites.

  I ring the bell and wait. After a few minutes, I try again. I guess with all the times I've kept him waiting at my door, turnabout is fair play. I push the bell once more before trying the knob.

  Unlocked.

  "Hello? Cash?" I walk further into the house, and through the dining room picture window, I can see the twins playing in the backyard.

  I'm just about to head out through the back door when I hear footsteps padding my way. I twirl around toward the sound, only to be met with the drool-worthy sight of Cash, freshly showered, still dripping wet, with only a towel around his waist.

  He glances in my direction and widens his stance. "Hey there, darlin'."

  The smile he aims my way, combined with the knowledge that he's naked under that towel, is panty-melting. My mind plummets straight to the gutter, picturing him naked with that towel on the floor. Yes, please.

  "H–hey, the door, it was open. I mean, I rang the bell, but—"

  "No worries. You come right on in, anytime. Consider it our very own open-door policy."

  The way he says open-door policy sounds so illicit and dirty. Like he's talking about much more than his actual door. His words are thick and warm like maple syrup, and they send a shiver down my damn spine.

  Well, little does he know, two can play that game. I take two steps forward, getting close enough that I can feel the warmth of his bare chest. "Anytime, Cash?"

  "God. Yes." He pulls me into him, closing the gap between us. With my head against his chest, it's a perfect fit, like two pieces of a puzzle. I brazenly press my lips to his skin, just above his heart. "I mean it, darlin'. Anytime."

  He steps back from me, angling his body away from mine, and I instantly miss his heat. I see him trying to adjust himself. "You good there, Cash?"

  With his hands still on his junk, he turns to face me and slowly moves them away, giving me quite the eyeful of his terry cloth tent. "Not even a little bit. So, Imma go and throw some clothes on before things get out of hand."

  My bravery has seemingly run dry, unlike other parts of me that are dripping, and damn it, I can feel the blush I'm rocking. "Yeah, probably for the best."

  "Trust me, darlin'—if my nephews weren't out playing in the yard, this story would have a different ending. A happy one, you feel me?" He winks. "Now, go on out back. I'll be there soon."

  30

  Cash

  Damn her. Damn her and her sweet voice, gorgeous face, and killer body. Damn her for the way she lights me up without even trying. That girl’s something else, and if I have any say in the matter, she'll be mine by the end of this weekend.

  I'm done letting my past chain me, and so what if she's pregnant? I've always wanted kids, and this here—it's nothing more than a jump start. I'll love that little boy with my whole heart. Now, I just have to convince her that I'm in this for the long haul.

  I know she believed me when I told her she was more than a hookup. I'm just not sure she realizes how true my words were when I told her I wanted her heart.

  She's had me on edge all day, from seeing her in that skimpy swimsuit to watching her play with the twins. Shit, even the way she handled herself with grace in front of her douche-canoe ex.

  And then she shows up here, looking good enough to eat in a pair of loose linen shorts and a tank top that accentuates her perky tits and growing belly. I didn't stand a chance.

  But she didn't stop there. Oh, no. She waltzed right up to me, bold as fuck, and pressed those bee-stung lips into my skin, searing me, branding me. It took all of my willpower—and then some—to walk away. But believe you me, next time, I'm not walking away. Next time, it's on.

  In the time it takes me to shower—a cold one, this time—and throw on some clothes, Myla has not only managed to wrangle the twins inside, but she's also miraculously gotten them to wash up and has them setting the table. Girl's gonna make a damn good mother.

  I'm hovering just outside the kitchen, so preoccupied with watching her that it takes me a minute to realize the doorbell’s ringing. I course-correct and make my way to grab our pizzas, but she beats me to the door.

  "How much do I owe you?" she asks the delivery boy. Poor kid. I can see him fighting his desire to talk to her boobs instead of looking her in the eye. I feel his pain.

  "It's pa–paid for, ma'am," he stammers, holding the pizza boxes off to the side. "Just need a signature."

  His eyes drop to her cleavage as she ponders whether she should sign for me or not. He looks up just in time to see her reach for his pen. "Does this price include the gratuity?"

  "Yes, ma'am, your husband tipped when he ordered."

  "Oh, he's not my—"

  I silence her with my arms around her waist and my lips to her neck. "Thanks, darlin', you go on and take that back to the boys—they're starving."

  She huffs at me but plays along. Good girl.

  "You h–have a nice night, sir, and congratulations on your baby." I know the kid is just trying to be polite, but his words are like an arrow to my heart. I fucking wish that were my baby. Even still, I'll love him like he is . . . if she'll let me.

  After dinner, the twins beg to stay up and watch a movie. We all snuggle up on the couch to watch Pixar’s latest creation, and wouldn’t you know, Preston, Lucas, and Myla Rose all fall asleep before the opening credits even finish. My arm is numb and my back is aching, but they all look so peaceful I’m hesitant to move.

  Eventually, my discomfort wins out, and I gently extricate myself from the couch and carry the twins one-by-one to the spare bedroom. Once they’re tucked in, I’m facing an entirely new dilemma.

  Do I wake Myla Rose and send her home? Do I drape a blanket over her and call it a night? I want her in my bed, but just up and taking her there would make me the ultimate creeper. I’m talking next-level creeper, and that’s a no-go. Especially if I want her to be mine. Which I do, I really fucking do.

  I don’t know when or how, but this girl has woven herself into the very fabric of my existence. One look from her—one smile—and it’s like the air has been sucked from the room, but that’s okay, because somehow, she’s all the air I need.

  I’m still debating my options when Myla Rose begins to stir on the couch, slowly blinking herself awake
. “Whaa . . . where . . .” She looks around, panicking slightly, until her eyes land on me. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was so tired.”

  “Not a problem. If it makes you feel better, Preston and Lucas fell asleep too.”

  She smiles through a big yawn. “Yeah, not so much. I guess I’d better get going.”

  “You, uh, don’t have to. You can stay. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offer, though I’m secretly hoping she suggests we share the bed. Not even in a sexual way. I’m just desperate to have her in my space. Desperate to wake up next to her. Desperate for her scent to linger on my sheets.

  She glances from me, then to the couch. “Oh, Cash.” She stands and walks toward me. “There’s no way you’ll fit on that couch, and if I’m being honest, I’m way too tired to drive home. So c’mon, big boy, let’s go to bed.”

  It takes a minute or two before her words register, and as fast as I can, I’m scrambling down the hall after her.

  I direct her into my room before heading to the closet to grab her something to sleep in. “Here, these should get you through the night,” I tell her, handing her a pair of my boxers and a T-shirt. “The bathroom is just through there if you wanna get changed.” Myla Rose smiles and thanks me as she accepts the clothes and heads into the bathroom.

  I’m pulling back the covers when she steps out of the bathroom. My eyes move slowly up her body, taking in her toned, bare legs. The sight of her in my boxer shorts with the waistband rolled gives me pause . . . because holy shit.

  I’m damn near drowning in lust as I continue my perusal. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling a little when I realize she passed over my shirt and is still in her tank top, and judging by her pert nipples, she’s braless. I know I’m staring like a perv, but I can’t help myself. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, all wrapped in one delicious package, and here she is, standing in front of me nearly naked and about to get into bed with me. It’ll be a goddamn miracle if I make it through the night.