Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Honestly, that’s why our situationship works so well. I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to play guessing games. But being out with Cash makes me realize just how sterile my interactions with Palmer are. The sex is fine, sure.
Bet the sex with Cash would be better.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “So you can dispose of my body on the side of the road?”
Cash grins. My pulse skips. “That’d be plain stupid. I’d feed you to the cows, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Do y’all always joke about dismemberment like this?” John B asks. “It’s a little…dark.”
“Only when we’re together.” Cash pushes me toward the exit. “We’ll see you in the mornin’, John B.”
“Y’all be good.” John B chuckles. “No body parts in the feed, all right?”
Stepping out into the night, I’m hit by a blast of still, humid air.
“How the hell is it still so hot out?” I fan myself with my hand.
Cash is still grinning as he digs a set of keys out of his pocket. “Lucky for you, my truck doesn’t have AC.”
“They make cars that don’t have AC?”
“Yes, ma’am, they do.” Dropping his hand from my back, he yanks open the passenger-side door of the same enormous red pickup I saw parked outside Goody’s office that fateful day we read Dad’s will. “I’m among the lucky few to own one.”
I climb into the truck. “How do you not die?”
“I drive naked a lot.”
“No, you don’t!”
He laughs, the sound making my stomach flip in the most delicious way. “I don’t. Your butt sticks to the seat too much. Gives you this, like, terrible rug burn.”
Hesitating, I glance at the upholstery. “Ew.”
“Aw, c’mon, Mollie. I’ve never had my bare ass on the seats. Not the front ones, anyway. I like to keep a clean car.”
My nipples pebble to tight, sensitive points. Can Cash actually read my mind?
What would he say to all the dirty shit he sees there? The stuff about back seats and big hands?
And how does he keep a clean car on a ranch? He must spend a good amount of time taking care of it. I don’t know why that makes my heart beat faster, but it does.
Cash closes the door behind me. The window is already partially rolled down, so it’s not totally stifling inside the truck.
Glancing around, my stomach flips again at how neat the interior is. Cash wasn’t joking when he said he likes to keep it clean.
The pickup is old, but the gray upholstery looks new. A little worn, sure. But very well maintained. There’s a cassette deck in the dash. The front seats are actually one large bench that’s surprisingly comfortable.
The truck smells like sun-warmed cotton and clean air. Hint of lemon on account of the faded air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
Buckling my seat belt, I try not to stare as Cash climbs in beside me and puts the key in the ignition. The muscles in his forearm bunch against his skin as he turns the key.
The truck rumbles to life, sending a vibration up the backs of my thighs that lands right in my clit.
I suck in a breath.
Cash freezes, his hand on the gearshift. “You all right?”
“Yep. Yes. Fine.” Just about to burst into flames, no big deal.
He uses one hand on the top of the wheel to guide the truck out of the parking lot. The crunch of tires on gravel fills the cab.
Then we’re moving smoothly through the night on a road so dark, it’s like being out in space. Cash cranks his window all the way down, and I do too. The breeze sends my hair flying. He glances at me, the red light of the dash catching on the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips.
“Too much?”
I hang my arm out the window, surfing my palm on the breeze. “Just right.”
“Music?”
“Sure.”
He punches a button on the dash, and a Brooks & Dunn song starts playing from the middle. It’s just loud enough to hear over the roar of the open windows.
“Cassette tapes,” Cash explains with a shrug.
This old-school approach to driving is actually kind of charming. I hum along to the music as the breeze cools my skin and blows the hair back from my face.
Turning, I catch Cash looking at me.
“What?” I hold my hair back with my other hand.
He shakes his head, focusing his gaze on the windshield. “Nothing. You just look like your daddy, sitting like that.”
My heart squeezes. “I do? How?”
“He’d hang his arm out the window too. Although he’d sing a lot louder.”
I grin. “I inherited my mom’s voice. You do not want to hear me sing.”
“I heard you plenty back at The Rattler.”
“You didn’t run.”
“Don’t mean I didn’t want to.” He’s smiling, eyes liquid, and my God, how does someone so handsome exist? “Your daddy did have a nice voice.”