False Start

A New Adult Sports Romcom

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Shandi Boyes

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Skye High Publishing

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 Contents

Also by Shandi Boyes

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1. Cash
2. McKayla
3. Cash
4. McKayla
5. Cash
6. Cash
7. McKayla
8. Cash
9. Cash
10. McKayla
11. Cash
12. McKayla
13. McKayla
14. Cash
15. McKayla
16. McKayla
17. Cash
18. Cash
19. McKayla
20. Cash
21. Cash
22. McKayla
23. Cash
24. McKayla
25. Cash
26. Cash
27. McKayla
28. McKayla
29. Cash
30. McKayla
31. Cash
32. McKayla
33. Cash
34. McKayla
35. Cash
36. McKayla
Epilogue

Acknowledgments
Also by Shandi Boyes

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 Copyright

Copyright © 2022 by Shandi Boyes

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Editing: Swish Design & Editing

Cover: SSB Covers & Design

Model: Chris F

Photographer: Wander Aguiar

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 Also by Shandi Boyes

Perception Series

Saving Noah (Noah & Emily)

Fighting Jacob (Jacob & Lola)
Taming Nick (Nick & Jenni)
Redeeming Slater (Slater and Kylie)
Saving Emily (Noah & Emily - Novella)
Wrapped Up with Rise Up (Perception Novella - should be read after the Bound Series)

Enigma

Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #1)

Unraveling an Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #2)
Enigma The Mystery Unmasked (Isaac & Isabelle #3)
Enigma: The Final Chapter (Isaac & Isabelle #4)
Beneath The Secrets (Hugo & Ava #1)
Beneath The Sheets(Hugo & Ava #2)
Spy Thy Neighbor (Hunter & Paige)
The Opposite Effect (Brax & Clara)
I Married a Mob Boss(Rico & Blaire)
Second Shot(Hawke & Gemma)
The Way We Are(Ryan & Savannah #1)
The Way We Were(Ryan & Savannah #2)
Sugar and Spice (Cormack & Harlow)
Lady In Waiting (Regan & Alex #1)
Man in Queue (Regan & Alex #2)
Couple on Hold(Regan & Alex #3)
 Enigma: The Wedding (Isaac and Isabelle)
Silent Vigilante (Brandon and Melody #1)
Hushed Guardian (Brandon & Melody #2)
Quiet Protector (Brandon & Melody #3)
Twisted Lies (Jae & CJ)
Enigma: An Isaac Retelling

Bound Series

Chains (Marcus & Cleo #1)

Links(Marcus & Cleo #2)
Bound(Marcus & Cleo #3)
Restrain(Marcus & Cleo #4)
The Misfits (Dexter & Megan).

Russian Mob Chronicles

Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Nikolai & Justine #1)

Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Nikolai & Justine #2)
Nikolai: What’s Left of Me(Nikolai & Justine #3)
Nikolai: Mine to Protect(Nikolai & Justine #4)
Asher: My Russian Revenge (Asher & Zariah)
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes(Nikolai & Justine #5)
Trey (Trey & K)

The Italian Cartel

Dimitri
Roxanne
Reign
Mafia Ties (Novella)
Maddox
 Demi
Rocco
Clover
Smith

RomCom Standalones

Just Playin’ (Elvis & Willow)

Ain't Happenin' (Lorenzo & Skylar)
The Drop Zone (Colby & Jamie)
Very Unlikely (Lennox & Summer)
False Start (Cash & McKayla)

One Night Only

Hotshot Boss (Mr. Carson & Octavia)

Hotshot Neighbor (Caleb & Jess)

Short Stories

Christmas Trio (Wesley, Andrew & Mallory -- short story)

Falling For A Stranger (Short Story)

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 Dedication

To all the people who have supported me from book one to book sixty, I
wouldn’t be here without you.

I appreciate you.

Shandi xx

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 Want to stay in touch?

Facebook: facebook.com/authorshandi

Instagram: instagram.com/authorshandi

Email: authorshandi@gmail.com

Reader’s Group: bit.ly/ShandiBookBabes

Website: authorshandi.com

Newsletter: https://www.subscribepage.com/AuthorShandi

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 Blurb

Sporty in any way that won’t make him an academic, Cash ‘Milo’ Mancini
is living the good life. He’s popular, well-liked, and when he isn’t failing
mathematics, the star basketball player for the South Harmon Hawks.

Needing to either improve his grades or be benched for the season, Cash
seeks assistance from a supposed shy, demure wallflower.

When McKayla Jones turns out nothing like he’s anticipating, Cash realizes
he’ll need more than a cocky demeanor to convince her to tutor him.

He’s set for the game of his life, and for once, it won’t be played on the
court.

False Start is a fake dating, friends to lovers sports romcom that will give
you all the feels. It is not tied to any of my books so it can be read as a
complete standalone.

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Chapter 1

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 Cash

T he exorbitant price tag that was once on my Jordan’s seems nowhere

near as pricy when my professor says, “Mathematics and basketball go
hand in hand. Achieving the purpose of shooting a hoop includes the use of
percentages and angles. By perceiving the most consistent percentages…”
Her words trail off when she loses me with the mumbo-jumbo. “In short,
your game will improve once your math grade increases.”
Professor Rendell places my latest test results onto her oversized desk,
plonks her ass in her chair, then peers up at me. Even with our meeting
ramping up my worries that I’m about to lose more than my scholarship, I
can’t help but smirk when her head has to crank all the way back to take me
in.
I don’t play basketball for no reason. I stand a little over six foot five—a
good inch or two below my brother’s NBA recruitment size. He went pro a
little over five years ago, and I plan to follow in his footsteps. Well, most of
them. I just need to improve my grades by thirty basis points. I have
English and sports therapy mastered, but mathematics is dragging me down.
When it comes to money, I love numbers. Anything beyond that is
above my capabilities, though.
My focus shifts back to Professor Ren, as the students call her, when
she says, “You should consider a tutor.”
 My voice is hitched with annoyance when I reply, “I already have two.”
A smirk tilts my mouth high on one side when she asks, “From the
student mentoring program?” When I jerk up my chin, she pushes out with
a groan, “And you wonder why you’re failing.”
“Your assistant professor recommended them.” Since my reply is
barked out with laughter, it is barely audible. I like Professor Ren. She cares
about her students. So much so, she would have offered to tutor me if her
wife didn’t give birth to their daughter only two months ago.
After shooting me a riled look, Professor Ren’s green eyes dart to her
assistant. She sharpens a pencil until it resembles a prison shank, which has
me wondering if she is here on a scholarship like me or a prison release
program.
“Solander means well, but she’d be suspicious of prime numbers.” My
silence keeps her talking, “Because they’re all odd. Get it? Prime numbers
are odd numbers.” She shoos off my hiked brow, twisted-lips expression
with a dainty wave of her hand before jotting down a name on her yellow-
lined notepad. “You need an expert. Someone who’ll tell you you’re being
an idiot when you are.”
The low-hanging afternoon sun bounces off the blond locks curling
around my ears when I slant my head and ask, “So you’re saying you want
to be my tutor?”
Her eyes lift from her notepad. They’re full of remorse instead of the
candor I was aiming for. “You know I would, Milo, but Maple has colic and
—”
“I’m an ass for even asking.” The dark circles ringing her eyes expose
this, not to mention how gaunt her skin has become since she was inducted
into parenthood. She thought the IVF stage would be the worst part of the
conception journey. I think her newborn is kicking her ass more than the
jabs she stabbed into her missus’s stomach every day for months on end.
“Who do you have in mind?”
 Professor Ren breathes out heavily as she shifts her focus back to her
notepad. “She isn’t part of the student mentoring program, but that doesn’t
mean she isn’t smart. She’s just…” It is fortunate I’m not holding my
breath, waiting for her to finalize her reply, or I would have died by now.
“Be nice to her, Milo. She isn’t like the rest of them.”
I’m about to demand further explanation, but the name scribbled across
the sheet of paper she hands me stops me. McKayla Jones is too fine of a
name to belong to a psychopath. It’s cute—albeit a little average.
With McKayla’s yahoo email stuffed into my pocket, I ask, “Where can
I find her? You didn’t put down her cell phone number.”
I take back everything I just said about McKayla not being a psycho
when Professor Ren replies, “She doesn’t have a cell.”
“Who doesn’t have a cell these days?” I shake my head to rid it of an
image of a short, waif-thin girl in full Amish getup.
Professor Ren shrugs. “As I said, she’s… different.” After gathering the
coat she tossed over her chair at the start of the lesson, she squeezes my arm
in reassurance, then heads for the door. “If you want to catch her before
weekend festivities begin, your best chance would be at the drama
squadron.”
Her slow trek slackens even more when I spit out, “She’s a drama
geek?”
As if aware I’m holding my breath, she leaves me hanging again for
almost ten seconds before she eventually shakes her head. “She’d probably
convert for George Clooney, though.” If I didn’t know she is happily
married and a verified lesbian, the way she purrs out George’s name almost
convinces me she’s bi.
I know that isn’t true, otherwise we would have hooked up by now.
What? It isn’t bragging if it’s true.
She wouldn’t be the first professor I’ve hooked up with.
Doubt she’d be the last.
 “He’s real pretty.”
“He needs to be if he’s into drama,” I push out through the gag I’m
struggling to hold back.
Professor Ren laughs before she hits me where it hurts. “If you’re a true
warrior, Milo, competition shouldn’t bother you. It should inspire you.”
She gives a moment for her saying to be absorbed before farewelling
me with a wave, then she disappears into a sea of students eager for the
weekend within seconds of leaving her room.
Although I’d rather join the hype of the weekend, I can’t. School
doesn’t pay for itself, and unlike Vivienne, my ex, and her tribe of friends, I
can’t flash a bit of cleavage to come up with the funds needed for my final
year.
I must bring my grades up.
Failure is not an option.
With that in mind, I head for the one part of South Harmon Institute I’ve
never ventured to previously.
The drama department.
“Hey.” A lady with aquamarine braces on her teeth and bright red hair
greets me with a big grin when I approach. “I’m looking for McKayla
Jones. Have you seen her?”
Red curls topple from her messy bun when she shakes her head, so I
thank her with a smile before approaching the next person exiting the props
room.
He’s more knowledgeable than my first helper. “She usually floats
toward the back.” He scans the crowd that is almost as heavy as the ones
that fill the stands during training. “There she is.”
I turn my head with barely a moment to spare. A nanosecond after
noticing the direction of the dark-haired man’s point, McKayla races for the
closest exit.
 Her outfit isn’t the Amish getup I imagined twenty minutes ago, but it is
baggy, bland, and matches the dull paint on the walls of the university so
well, it conceals her when she darts away from me as if her ass is on fire.
“Thanks.” I clap my hand on my helper’s back, toss my skateboard
under my arm, then take off after McKayla.
I’ll give it to her, for a woman with short legs and even tinier stature,
she sure can move fast. I train four times a week, run six miles each
morning, and play the entire forty minutes of every game, yet my endurance
has nothing on McKayla’s.
She must run track.
My theory flies out the window when McKayla trips over her feet when
I spot her in the shadows of an outdoor awning. She has that unco never-
ran-a-day-in-her-life fumble down pat. Her chest rises and falls like she’s on
the verge of passing out, her cheeks hue, and sweat dribbles down her
cheeks from her wavy light brown locks.
“Hey…” My one-word greeting is breathless since I had to break into a
sweat to catch up with her. “Professor—”
A feminine scent wafts up my nostrils when she sidesteps me like a pro.
“I’m not interested.”
I hinder her chance to evade me again by circling the hand not clutching
my board around her arm and spinning her to face me.
Hot.
Fucking.
Damn.
Is this how love at first sight feels?
McKayla is far more attractive when my shitty vision doesn’t blur her
petite nose, ruddy lips, and cheekbones that hue more the longer I stare at
her. She has an innocent yet complex look that’s most likely overlooked
since she camouflages herself with the background of every frame instead
of demanding the front row she deserves.
 The heat on her cheeks creeps down to her neck when I mutter, “How
do you know you’re not interested if I haven’t even said what I want you
for?”
When her teeth graze her lower lip, the truth smacks into me. She’s
aware of her appeal, but for some reason, she hides it.
I don’t know why. If you have it, flaunt it is one of my favorite mottos.
When she remains quiet, I try to spark a conversation. “Professor Ren
—”
“Told you I have a 6-point GPA average, so she suggested I’d be a good
tutor for you?”
I somewhat agree with her. My response is more a shrug, head wobble
than a straight-up nod, but still a yes, nonetheless. “Although she kept
Einstein’s twin out of her praise.”
I’m striving for a compliment but clearly nosedive when McKayla rolls
her eyes before she continues down the hall. “GPAs didn’t exist when
Einstein was in school.” While pushing out a breathy sigh, she climbs the
stairs of a dated building. “And since he lacked authority, his grades were
below average.” She stops at the top of the stairs before pivoting back to
face me. “So maybe you should take that as a sign that your grades are fine
how they are, so you don’t need a tutor. If Einstein can overcome a below-
average test score, so can you.”
She steals my ability to reply by disappearing into a sea of drama geeks
decked out in cat suits and heavy stage makeup for a performance they’re
undertaking tonight at a local theater restaurant.
I could chase her down again, but I’m allergic to cats. My allergy is
almost as severe as my inability to chase a woman who isn’t ready to be
caught.
She’ll come around—they always do—but until then, it’s back to the
drawing board.

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Chapter 2

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 McKayla

A melody of lust and the despair that comes with it serenades me when
I press my ear to the glass dividing me from Gabriel Sutton, teen soap star,
heartthrob, and my very first crush. He’s practicing a melody for a
production that’s yet to be slated, and I get a front-row seat since he favors
the acoustics of a basketball court over a recording studio.
We’re at the top of the bleachers, away from the prying eyes of the
sweaty men and overly chipper cheerleaders below. It is just Gabriel and
me… until my hand slips on the control board I’m practically straddling
since the soundproof glass was dampening his Grammy-worthy
performance.
My skid doesn’t merely turn on the house lights, it illuminates the PA
room as well, which means I’m now visible to the entire basketball team,
their snarly-faced wannabee girlfriends, and one extremely smug pair of
eyes.
Mercifully, the haughty gleam doesn’t belong to Gabriel. Even with his
eyes closed as he breaks into a solo performance of the chorus, I can tell
you with utmost certainty that his eyes are blue. The pair staring at me like I
caved as my heart wanted me to when he approached me three weeks ago
are a greenish-brown.
 If Milo Mancini thinks I’ve come to ask for his scraps, he needs more
than a tutor. His entire head should be examined. I’m not here for him, but
since I’d have to exit the door Gabriel uses to keep his solo melodies at the
peak of the bleachers, I have no way of informing Milo of that.
I’m a sitting duck, and it appears as if Milo knows that. A second after
tossing the stupid orange ball some girls at South Harmon act as if it is the
key to the kingdom, he climbs the bleachers separating us two steps at a
time.
The thunderous stomps of his enormous feet startle Gabriel enough he
stops singing. He doesn’t have the build nor the height to send his stomps
booming across an entire arena. His voice, though. That grips you for miles.
Regretfully, it couldn’t keep Patterson Drive on prime time. It was axed
around the same time Gabriel stopped growing, leaving my eleven-year-old
self absolutely gutted. I only recovered when I learned what college Gabriel
had been accepted to attend five years ago. I switched my preferences the
same afternoon.
What? It isn’t stalking if you don’t watch them sleep.
Right?
When the door to the sound room shoots open, I stuff my hands into my
pockets and act as if I invited Milo to join me. I’d rather Gabriel think I’m
fraternizing with the enemy than stalking him like a loser.
The friendly smile I direct at Milo smooths the grooves between
Gabriel’s dark, manicured brows. He believes my ruse, and so does Milo. “I
knew you’d eventually show up.” Perfectly straight blond wisps of hair fall
into his greenish-brown eyes when he slants his head to the side and says
with a grin, “They always do.”
I laugh as if he said something far more profound before scooting by
him to close the door he left hanging open. Then, with far more confidence
in the soundproof glass than I should have, I mutter, “I’m not here for you.”
 “Please…” Milo shifts from foot to foot, his smile picking up along
with his shuffles. “Even from a distance, I saw the heat on your cheeks. You
were totally digging what you saw.”
After turning back around to face him, my movements unsteady when
an unusual smell kick-starts my sluggish heart, I ask, “And what did I
‘supposedly’ see?” I air quote my second to last word.
Through crinkled brows, he replies, “My three-pointer. Didn’t even hit
the backboard.” When I remain mute, clueless as to what he is referencing,
he adds, “My shot from the middle of the court went straight in the hoop.”
The more he talks, the slower his words come out. “You didn’t see it?”
Disappointment hardens his features when I shake my head. “But I’m
sure it was a good shot.”
“A good shot?” He holds his heart as if wounded by my reply. “It was
pure brilliance, absolute drive. It was more than a good shot.”
While rolling my eyes at his dramatics, I snag my backpack from the
swivel chair in front of the lights panel, then murmur, “Whatever it was, I
didn’t see it.”
My back stiffens like a rod when he mutters to himself, “So, if you’re
not here for me, who are you here for?”
Completely missing the man he barged out of his way to get to me, he
glides his hand across the sweaty men I mentioned earlier.
Men… such a weird word for stinky beasts who go through women like
wet towelettes at a chicken wing stand.
“If you want any of them, I can hook you up.” His nose screws up as his
eyes drift to a blond in the middle of the group. “Except Ben. He’s not into
blondes.” I’m about to tell him I’m more a mousy brown than blonde, but
he keeps talking, “And Matt is a little rough. Some girls are down with it,
but you don’t seem the type.”
I stand straighter for the second time when he snaps his eyes to mine
before he drags them down my body in a long, heart-stopping gawk.
 Since I am a good foot and a half shorter than him, his perusal doesn’t
take long. However, it piques my interest. His shrug isn’t a firm affirmation
of his assumption. It appears more a maybe, like he thinks I might be into
rough sex. But once again, he continues speaking, foiling my ability to tell
him I have no clue about any sexual preferences that don’t include Gabriel
Sutton. “Jeffrey could be a stayer. He’s smart, comes from old money, and
from what I overheard the cheerleaders saying, he won’t keep you up past
your bedtime.”
His chuckles hide my shocked huff. “You’re disgusting.”
I consider booking a set of my own head examinations when he mutters,
“And completely off the mark, aren’t I?”
Since he appears more interested in my reply than badgering me more, I
answer him with a quick head bob.
He looks on the verge of being sick while saying, “So that only leaves
one man standing. Gabriel Sutton.”
I swear, my sway is the equivalent of a faint summer breeze ruffling
through a heavy set of steel doors, but Milo hones straight onto it. “Out of
all the men at South Harmon, why Gabriel Sutton?” There’s no missing his
gag this time around.
“He’s…” I take a moment to ponder Gabriel’s many talents.
Milo uses the delay to his advantage. “A complete douche canoe who’s
only interested in taken girls.”
“What? No. He isn’t like that. He’s sweet, attentive, and—”
“Has no clue you have a raging lady boner for him.” He ignores my
repulsed expression. “Because you’re too attainable to him. Men like to be
challenged. We’re natural competitors. If we weren’t, we’d returned the
kissy faces of the girls who arrive at every game, training session, and pep
rally without fail.” His last words are more a chuckle than a statement, but I
still hear them. “The girls who hide out in the PA room just to hear you
sing.”
 Almost every one of his perfectly white teeth is exposed when he grins
instead of grimacing about my punch to his stomach. “Gabriel has a nice
voice that should be cherished.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.” He waits a beat before adding, “But either way,
he’ll never be interested in you without my help.”
I should end our conversation now. I should walk away before I find out
just how vicious bullies are, but for some stupid reason, I wait with bated
breath for Milo to continue.
Thankfully, he doesn’t leave me hanging for long. “Tutor me—”
“I’m not part of the mentorship program.”
He continues talking as if I never interrupted him, “Then I’ll help you
gain Gabe’s attention.” He grinds his name out through clenched teeth.
Although I’m facing my own lot of splatters, I manage to blurt out
through the carnage, “How could you help me get his attention?”
My spit snags halfway down my throat when he says matter-of-factly.
“We will pretend to date.” I don’t get time to recover from my near-death
experience. “All men want what they can’t have. If you’re with me, he can’t
have you, which will only make him want you more.” I remember that I’m
speaking with the king of all jocks when he says, “Not to mention the fact
being a part of my inner circle automatically upgrades your cred.”
“My cred is perfectly fine, thank you very much.” I don’t know what a
cred is, but I’m reasonably sure I have it. I planned my first year of college
down to the wire. I have all the lingo down pat—except cred. “So I don’t
need your help.”
I sound more confident than I feel. Most likely because Milo doesn’t
attempt to refute my claim. He lets me leave with only the slightest increase
in my pulse, and that has more to do with his devilish smile than worry I
won’t see my plan through.
I’m left no choice but to show Milo how stubborn I can be when my
dramatic exit has me smacking nose-first into the very man we were just
discussing.
“Gabriel… I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
My heart misses a beat when a lazy smile creeps across his handsome
face. “That’s fine…”
“McKayla,” I fill in when he leaves his greeting hanging open as widely
as Milo did the door.
He stuffs a song sheet into his backpack while replying, “McKayla.
Right. We have…”
“Three classes together. Have for the past six months.”
“Three?” His eyes widen as his mouth gapes in surprise. “I didn’t
realize we had any mutual collaborations.”
Ouch.
“Yeah… ah… that’s most likely my fault. I’m a real head-down, bum-
up girl.” I shoot daggers at Milo when his chuckles vibrate through my
chest. I meant the hard-work metaphor. Not the dirty manner he took it as.
“Work. I pay attention to the work.” I lower my voice to barely a decibel. “I
don’t thrust my butt in the air. Ever.”
I begin to wonder if Gabriel heard my mumbled comment when he
twists up his face before making an excuse to leave. “I have to… ah… go.”
“Sure. Okay. Um. Have a great day.”
He mumbles out a thanks before he gallops down the bleachers with
more eagerness than Milo used to climb them.
He is barely out of earshot when Milo hisses out with a laugh, “Do you
need ice? Or will you take that burn like the hard worker you are?”
“It went okay. It wasn’t too awkward.” I stumble on my last word when
Gabriel’s eyes lift to me before he darts through the doors of the
gymnasium. He isn’t sneaking a final glance before riding off into the
sunset. He’s making sure I’m not following him. “I think I scared him.”
Milo’s quiet chuckles switch to howls of laughter. They rumble through
the oddly quite space, only weakening when I murmur, “When and where?”
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Chapter 3

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 Cash

“H e shoots. He scores.” The ends of my hair tickle my collarbone

when I step back so a pair of stinky socks flying past my nose don’t hit me
in the face. They land in a hamper partway down the hallway of a co-ed
dorm before their owner twists his torso to face me. “Did you see that,
Milo? An easy three-pointer.”
Since my smirk is half its strength, only one side of my mouth tilts
higher. “If only the hoop were three feet tall. Then you’d never miss,
Reynolds.”
Reynolds has been training with the South Harmon Hawks for the past
three semesters. He can’t shoot for shit, he’s shorter than my armpit, and
since he smokes a pack a day, he barely lasts ten minutes on the court
before demanding to be subbed.
If he could jump, his attitude would make him a good defender, but
since his legs appear the weight of concrete, he’s been on water-boy duty
longer than I’ve been playing for South Harmon.
After accepting my grapple with only the slightest sneer, Reynolds
stands on his tippytoes to throw his arm around his shoulders, then he strays
his eyes down the dirty, almost empty hallway. “What are you doing in this
part of the campus, Milo? Your girls are usually a little more… refined.”
 That’s his way of saying snobbish. I have a type. Well, I did. The past
six months I’ve been riding solo. It’s been better than predicted, but that’s
all set to change now.
Playing the part I signed on for three days ago since I’m desperate for a
passing grade, I say, “I have a date.”
“Date date? Or date date?” He says each ‘date’ differently, but they all
point in the same direction. Am I here to hookup or break someone’s heart?
“A date date. McKayla doesn’t seem the type for the other date.”
Realizing I am demoralizing the very thing that got her to agree to tutor me,
I quickly backtrack. “Although I don’t see that being an issue for too long.”
I do a hand movement that should bring up my ick level, but it has
Reynolds acting the opposite. “Smooooth, man. Teach me your ways.”
“I might if you point me in the direction of McKayla Jones’s room. She
said level two, but I missed the room number.”
He screws up his nose, his expression lost. “Ah… I might have to get
back to you on that one. I’m not familiar with the level-two girls.” I’m
pleased my ruse won’t be ruined by appearing as if I’m slumming it with
the water boys’ leftovers until he tacks on. “I’m still making my way
through the level-one hotties.” When someone shouts his name from the far
end of the corridor, he returns his eyes to mine and cocks a brow as if to
ask, can you take it from here?
“I’m good, man. I’ll see you at practice.”
He pats my back before racing through the mostly untread hallway.
After climbing the stairs to the second level, I scan my eyes down the
doors. Some have names scribbled across whiteboards, and others have
flags and their pronouns dangling from necklaces on the door handles, then
a handful of doors have bland numbers.
I stop at number seven. Although it could be anyone’s room, I’m
reasonably sure it is McKayla’s. Once we agreed for tonight to be our first
lesson, she ended our conversation with, “I am an odd number. Take away
one letter and I will be even. What number am I?”
It took me a couple of hours, but I finally solved her riddle. She said
take away one letter of an odd number and she will be even.
Seven.
While inwardly chuckling about how tied up her stupid riddle made me,
I bang on the door marked with a black seven.
“Just a minute.”
It dawns on me that I never told McKayla our lesson would be outdoors
today when I hear the grunts and groans of someone cleaning their room in
a hurry. I know it well since I’ve done it on more than a handful of
occasions during the last three years of college.
My inward chuckles turn vocal when she grunts out, “Almost there.”
Another handful of seconds pass before her door finally opens. “Hey.”
She butts her shoulder on the doorframe like she isn’t flustered before
blowing a wayward hair off her face. Its flap alerts me to her makeup-free
face and messy half-up-half-down hairstyle. If her lack of effort isn’t bad
enough, she is once again wearing clothes three sizes too big.
My beanie sits higher on my head when I shake it. “Yeah, no. This
won’t work.”
“What?” When McKayla follows the direction of my gaze, her
eyebrows get lost in her hairline. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Ah…” I try to think of something nice to say. When I can’t, I blurt out,
“It’s hideous.”
“Yeah, so?” she bites back, not putting up a protest like she’s aware of
how ghastly her outfit is. “We’re studying.”
Again, I shake my head. “No. I said our lessons would start today. No
one said anything about studying.” When she stares up at me, blinking and
confused, I say with a slick grin, “We’re going out tonight. To a party.”
 “A party? I can’t go to a party.” She wrings her stained baggy t-shirt to
near death. “Especially not dressed like this.”
“Duh,” I push out, stating the obvious before stepping past her to enter
her room without permission. “Which one is yours?” I bounce my hand
between an overstocked closet on the right and one that looks like it hasn’t
been used in centuries. “Never mind. I know which one is yours.”
When I head for the closet on the left, McKayla asks, “How did you
know that one is mine?”
I drop my eyes to her linen pants before raising them to her even
baggier t-shirt.
Professor Ren is right. She’s smart enough to read minds. “Kaftans are
comfortable.”
“When you’re ninety and can’t move anymore.”
She scoffs but doesn’t deny my claim.
It only takes the quickest scrummage through her clothes to realize there
is nothing of value in her wardrobe. It is crushed linen after crushed linen
after crushed linen.
“I’m not a fan of the iron either, but fuck me, I’d rather wear a crinkled
shirt than a material designed to hide your laziness.”
“It isn’t laziness. It is…”
When she can’t come up with an excuse for her ill-choice of clothing, I
enter the corridor, hopeful I’ll find a door marked with a sorority club
symbol.
Since that doesn’t occur, I shift my focus to a female prowling down the
hallway with swinging hips and a sultry grin.
“I need that.” Before the excitement flaring through her eyes turns
blinding, I point to her slinky black dress. “How much for the dress?”
She fans a hand across her ample chest. “You want to buy my dress?”
While digging my wallet out of my pocket, I jerk up my chin.
 Good things come from having a recognizable face. Before I can pull a
single note out of the bundle in my wallet, the brunette says, “You can have
it. Cash Mancini doesn’t need to pay to get me out of my dress.”
My eyes snap away from the stranger’s provocative removal of her
clothing to McKayla when she mutters, “Cash? I thought your name was
Milo.”
The brunette’s expression shifts to disappointed when she realizes I
didn’t request to buy her dress to watch her strip. She glares at McKayla
with her mouth furled and her eyes narrowed before the recollection of my
dislike of bullies finally registers on her face.
She doesn’t snarl at McKayla or spit out any nasty words. She merely
hands her the dress as if she’s delivering it on a silver platter before she
pivots on her heels and saunters down the hall, hopeful her gallantry will be
rewarded in the near future.
“One, I’m not wearing that.” McKayla dumps the dress on the floor she
just busted her guts cleaning. “And two, why would anyone hand a dress
over like that? What if this was real?” She thrust her hand between us
during the ‘this’ part of her reply. “What if we were a couple? She’d have to
know she wouldn’t get any benefits from helping me. How could she if
we’re a thing?”
“One, no one says thing anymore.” I gather the dress off the floor then
join her near the closet she won’t find anything suitable in. “And two, she
wouldn’t care if we were a couple or not. If there were an opportunity, she’d
take it.” When confusion is the only thing on McKayla’s face, I push out
with a groan, “I’m expected to cheat.”
Her bewilderment grows. “What?”
“Jocks. The popular guy. Even drama geeks. They’re expected to
cheat.” Using her confusion to my advantage, I tug off her hideous baggy t-
shirt without sneaking a single peek of her curves, then replace it with the
dress. She may have fought me harder if her bra didn’t represent a crop top.
It isn’t giving up any of her goods. “Tell me one teen flick, college romance
book, or article in Teen Vogue you’ve read that doesn’t represent the cheater
as the popular guy or the jock?” I pull her hair out from under the collar of
the slinky black dress before asking, “Can’t think of one, can you?”
Too honest for her own good, she shakes her head.
“That’s because the nice guy is meant to win. He’s supposed to get the
girl, the career, and the millions and not once think about another woman.”
After wordlessly suggesting she remove the linen pants puffing out her new
dress, I spin around so she can. “No one ever portrays the woman as a
douche, even in the books where the nice guy gets squashed.”
I’m being too honest too early, but McKayla doesn’t seem to mind.
“That’s because when a woman cheats, it is too late. The relationship is
already over.” When I pivot back around to face her, she kicks her linen
pants to the side before moving for a vanity drawer and mirror squashed
between two single beds. “When a man cheats, it is about sex and getting
off.” She frees her mousy brown locks from the half-up style before
scrunching the ends to give the waves more oomph. “But when a woman
cheats, it is based on emotions and love. She isn’t being spiteful. She is just
no longer in love with the person she thought she loved. Her heart moved
on before her brain.”
“That doesn’t excuse cheating.”
McKayla twists to face me. “I’m not saying it does. If you’re no longer
in love, leave before seeking something new. I’m merely explaining why
men are portrayed as cheaters more often. Because they don’t search for
someone else for love. They have that at home. They stray because they
know the woman they love will never betray them the same way because
they’re too narcissistic to believe they could love anyone more than they
love them.”
“Professor Ren said you’re studying to become a vet.”
 Her smile completely changes the dynamic of her face. It is still
makeup-free, but her smile makes it flawless. “I am. But when you’re
homeschooled, social studies is an entirely different ball game.”
She waits for my laughter to die down before waving her hand down the
front of her body. “What do you think?” I’m about to tell her she’ll have the
pick of the bunch, but she continues talking, which reminds me of my
objectives. “Do you think Gabriel will remember me now?”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 4

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

N erves take flight in my stomach when Milo leads me up a cracked

footpath of a well-known fraternity house. I’ve experienced parties like this,
but they were usually at ranches with massive lakes, raging fires, and
enough cow dung to turn any girl off from wearing their fancy shoes.
They were never like this.
This is a true sorority slash frat party. Speakers boom out the latest hits,
half-naked men wrestle next to the front porch, and cheerleaders who still
look like cheerleaders even without their cheerleading clothes cheer them
from the sidelines.
It is a drunken free-for-all, and I’m way out of my element.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
I barely get one step away when Milo curls his arm around my
shoulders, spins me around, then glues me to his side. “Every party looks
worse from the outside.”
The top of my head only reaches his underarm. It should be a disturbing
visual since he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt under his basketball jacket, but
I’m more interested in working out why his smell seems familiar instead of
the possible wetness of his underarm hairs.
The pleasant scent wafting around the PA room three days ago was from
Gabriel, wasn’t it?
 I don’t get time to deliberate. A second after entering the living room of
the frat house, every pair of eyes is on us—including the ones that last
glanced my way in panic.
Gabriel’s eyes shift from my face to Milo’s hand flattened possessively
across my hip since his arms are so long they could fully wrap around my
waist before he shoots them back to my face. He stares at me for several
long seconds before he eventually dips his chin in greeting.
Milo is smarter than I gave him credit for. His ruse might actually work.
After greeting a handful of giants by patting them on the back, Milo
drops his attention to me while guiding me through the kitchen where
counters are lined with a range of alcohol. “Remember, laugh as if I’m
funny, smile when I do, and never agree to pick the music.”
His last suggestion draws my brows together. “Why can’t I pick the
music?”
I test his fake laugh request when he breaks out into a country hick tune
I wouldn’t be caught dead listening to. I am from the South, and my
family’s ranch is massive, but that doesn’t mean every song I listen to
includes a banjo.
After chuckling for real about my disgusted expression, Milo asks,
“Would you like a drink?”
“Ah…”
He steals a cup out of a random partygoer’s hand, gifts it to me, then
plucks a bottle of beer out of another man’s hand. “You don’t need to drink
it,” he mutters under his breath when a sniff of the slosh in my red cup
almost knocks me off my feet. “Just hold it in your hand and pretend you
are.”
“Why do I have to pretend?”
Over the thudding music keeping the conversations to a bare minimum,
he asks, “Will you ask a question every time I make a suggestion?”
 I shrug. “Depends.” After holding my breath so I don’t get drunk on the
fumes, I take a fake sip of my drink. “Knowledge is powerful.”
My mouth gapes when Milo corrects, “No. Knowledge is like
underwear. It is useful to have but unnecessary to show off… especially
when it is as bland and uninviting as your selections, Einstein.”
I roll my eyes at his nickname before replying, “Sports bras are
comfortable.”
“When you’re playing sports. Do you play sports, McKayla?”
“No,” I mumble through pursed lips, my reply barely audible.
Milo won’t let me off easy. “What was that?”
“I said no.” When our merger out of the kitchen has me locking eyes
with Gabriel again, I add, “But I’d sure like to play tonsil hockey with
him.”
It dawns on me that Milo will be a good learner when his gagged
response exposes some of my lessons are already sinking in. “You’re
disturbing.”
While pretending to laugh as if he is hilarious, I shadow him onto the
back porch where I’m introduced to a handful of his basketball friends and
their partners.
“Professor Ren’s psychic sessions, right?” Kamil questions after
accepting my handshake.
“Yeah.” I feel bad for how I handled Gabriel’s lack of recognition about
our joint classes when I add, “Do you sit in on her lectures?”
He scrubs a hand across his prickly jaw. “Every one of them.” After
slinking back in his seat, he adds, “If basketball doesn’t pan out, we all need
something to fall back on.” He drifts his dark eyes between Milo and me.
“Is that how you two met? Via Professor Ren?”
“Ah…”
I almost undo our ruse but am saved by Milo. “McKayla had some car
trouble a couple of months back. I helped her out.” Since his comment is
truthful, it sounds that way.
My car broke down my first month here. It was off campus, so I never
considered my helper was from my school. I thought he was a mechanic.
I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face when I recall my
savior coming to my rescue. “He was drenched head to toe and wearing a
hideous Hawks poncho.” Once again, nothing but honesty is heard in my
tone. “I had no clue who he was.”
“I gifted her my poncho since her car didn’t have its roof up—”
“It’s broken. It doesn’t work,” I inform Milo, grimacing when I recall
how badly the interior smelled after that night. It’s still a little stinky now.
Milo shakes his head like he’s not shocked by my expression before
finalizing, “I fixed the issue she was having, then sent her on her merry
way.”
I assume I’ll have them buying into our scheme with my next comment,
but I’m sadly mistaken. “Then we met again at the drama squadron.”
“Drama?” Kamil spits out at the same time as several people
surrounding us.
Milo kicks his shin with the toe of his boot. “Not at the drama squadron.
I was detouring through it.”
Before his friends can call him out as a liar, we’re interrupted by a
feminine voice at our right. “On his way to visit me, no doubt.” A woman
with glossy black locks, red-painted lips, and a teeny tiny skirt rakes her
nails across Milo’s suddenly thrusting chest before stopping to stand in
front of us. I know who she is. Everyone does. She is Milo’s ex-girlfriend,
Vivienne McLaren. “That was last Friday, right?”
Her question is for Milo, but my head bobs automatically. “But we
didn’t make things official until Tuesday.” From what I’ve heard, dates
shouldn’t matter since Milo and Vivienne broke up months ago, but
Vivienne’s tone is too filled with accusations not to respond to.
 Vivienne’s eyes snap to mine. They’re as icy as death. “Tuesday. Okay.
Now everything makes sense.”
With years of private karate lessons under my belt, I snatch up her hand
before it gets within an inch of Milo’s face. Her bitchy tone announced she
was going to slap him long before her hand lifted from her Chanel bag.
My quick reflexes double the redness on Vivienne’s blushed cheeks.
“Let me go, you beast!”
“Beast?” I drop her hand as quickly as I lower my eyes to my outfit. I’m
wearing fewer clothes than I ever have, and my shoes are strappy. I look
nothing like a beast.
A tramp, on the other hand…
The party-like atmosphere dulls to the quietness of a wake when
Vivienne spins on her heels and darts into the backyard. Milo waits until the
tension almost boils over before he lowers his eyes to mine and says, “I’ll
be right back.”
Not waiting for me to reply, he takes off after Vivienne, plummeting the
situation to awkward.
Even in a borrowed dress and with far too much leg showing, it is
obvious I don’t belong here. This isn’t my scene, but before I can make a
break for it, I’m saved from an unlikely source.
“And he says he hates drama.”
After breathing out my nerves, I spin to face Gabriel. “I guess when you
have enough of it in real life, you don’t need to fake it.”
He laughs. It seems genuine enough, but he is a trained actor, so I can’t
be sure. “That is true.” He removes the red cup from my hand and replaces
it with a freshly prepared drink. It smells as toxic as the one Milo handed
me. “I couldn’t help but overhear their tussle.” His eyes stray to Milo and
Vivienne’s public altercation during the ‘their’ part of his reply. “Do you
think they’ll move past it?”
 Mindful this is the first time we’ve talked and aware it could be because
of what Milo said about men wanting the unattainable, I reply, “Past what?
They’ve been over for months. Haven’t they?”
I regret the unease of my last sentence the instant it leaves my mouth.
Not only does my hesitation downplay our ruse, but it also sees Gabriel
shrugging before he moseys into the heart of the party, leaving me muted
and confused.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 5

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

“T
her?”
his new girl is a hoot. How in the world did you ever stumble onto

After switching out the beer Kamil just handed me for a soda, I slump
into the chair across from the imaginary dance floor McKayla is dancing
on. Since Kamil has my back both on and off the court, I don’t continue
with the ruse I started over an hour ago. I be honest. “Professor Ren
suggested her as a tutor.”
I smile against the rim of my cup when he curses Professor Ren under
his breath. Then he mumbles something along the lines of her always
keeping the good ones for either herself or me.
Soda congests in my lungs instead of my stomach when I spot
McKayla’s unsteady dance moves. She is clearly intoxicated, but just like
Einstein, doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks of her.
It’s a refreshing change.
“What has she been drinking?”
“Drink,” Kamil corrects. “She’s only had one.”
I glare at him with narrowed eyes when he holds up the drinking glass
affectionately known as the Chugger. It knocks newbies on their asses with
only half a glass, and if McKayla’s sudden wish to shake her booty is any
indication, it strips their nerves just as effectively.
 Kamil’s dark brows join when I say, “You know she’s underage, right?”
His stunned expression jumps onto my face when he replies, “No, she’s
not. She turned twenty-one a couple of weeks back.”
“She’s a freshman,” I spit out in disbelief.
“Because she stayed home to work the farm for two years. She also
skipped two years since she studied via correspondence.” He mocks me
with a brittle laugh before asking, “How do you not know this? I learned it
in two seconds, yet you two have supposedly been hooking up since
Tuesday.”
I almost reply because I’m an ass who only ever looks out for himself,
but I change the direction of our conversation when I notice Kamil and I
aren’t the only ones drinking in McKayla’s metamorphism. Gabriel appears
seconds from turning her solo act into a duet.
I’m not surprised. He always wants to be front and center… especially
when it involves shunting me to the side.
“She’s really going for it,” Kamil says, drawing my focus back to him.
My smile matches his, but it is more in elation than amusement.
McKayla’s dance moves are horrendous, but who hasn’t done the sprinkler
at least once in their life?
It is my father’s favorite dance move, and the remembrance sees me
doing the last thing I expected when I rocked up to McKayla’s dorm an
hour ago.
“Milo… no… you can’t,” Kamil barks out in laughter when I dump my
drink onto the seat next to me, then leap up onto the makeshift dance floor
with McKayla. “You don’t know how to fuckin’ dance.”
“Who said I need to know how? I merely need to mimic gardening
equipment.”
For the next hour, what McKayla’s sprinkler misses, mine gets with my
tall height and the long reach of my arms.
“Just let it out. You’ll feel better once you get it up.”
McKayla’s back bends harshly when she brings up half the Chugger
into a shrub two doors up from my frat house. It spurts out of her mouth and
nose before spraying the green leaves with frothy liquid. The stench from
the watery concoction curdles my stomach so much, I’m tempted to push
her to one side so I can add some fertilizer to the garden bed with her.
“What the hell is that? Did you eat fish?”
She groans before sheepishly nodding her head.
My words are brittle when I ask, “Did you chew it? Those chunks
almost look whole.”
Even down for the count doesn’t stop her retaliation. She whacks me in
the gut before finalizing the exodus of her stomach.
“You good?” I ask when her stand sees her swaying like a meth head.
“Can you walk?” I stray my eyes in the direction of her dorm, groaning
when I realize we still have three blocks to walk.
At the pace we’ve been walking the past twenty minutes, we won’t be
home before dawn.
“Do you want a piggyback?” When McKayla’s glassy eyes snap to
mine, I say with a shrug, “It’s three blocks, and you’re walking one-tenth of
a block an hour.”
I realize her smarts don’t dip when her blood-alcohol level rises. “So
how many hours will it take us to make it to my dorm?”
“Tomorrow,” I remind her again, conscious our first study session is
slated for tomorrow at noon. “So how about you get on before the roosters
crow?”
McKayla drifts her eyes across the campus. “There are no roosters
here.”
I slant my head and arch a brow. “I am as cocky as they come.”
 She pffts me. “You’re a peacock. That’s an entirely different
Phasianidae.” I’m about to crack open an encyclopedia, but before I can,
she adds, “Bob. You’re too tall. I’d have to climb you like a jungle gym to
get on top if you don’t come to me.”
She’s drunk, I remind myself when my mind goes straight to the gutter.
And you’re a fucking gentleman ninety-eight percent of the time.
“Are you on?” I ask when the faintest breeze rustles the strands of hair
peeking out from the bottom of my beanie. “I think one of those rooster
feathers just rustled past me.” I choke out a swear word when she digs her
heels into my ribs and tells me to giddyap. “I’m not a fucking horse.”
I am, but that’s a story for when I’m not carrying a drunk girl on my
back.
Half a block later, McKayla rests her chin on my shoulder before
asking, “What was that dance called again? The line dancing one.”
“The Nutbush is not line dancing. It is an Australian classic. If your ass
doesn’t leave your seat when the Nutbush comes on, you’re kicked out of
Australia and permanently banned from returning.”
It dawns on me that she is a sucker for tales when she responds,
“Really? I always thought Australians were more civilized than that.”
“They are… until you diss the Nutbush.”
It is the fight of my life not to Nutbush down the street when McKayla
commences humming “Nutbush City Limits” by Tina Turner. Despite his
Greek heritage, my father knew every step of the Nutbush within a year of
us moving to Australia, and his love for the classic rubbed off on me.
With McKayla getting heavier the more tired she gets, the climb to the
second level of her dormitory is the longest part of our walk home. I’m not
afraid I’ll drop her, she barely weighs anything. I’m worried about her head
smacking into the low roofline. I have to duck through most doors and
stairwells, and the dip of my knees is even more noticeable this time around
since McKayla is half a head taller than me now that she’s riding on my
back.
“Did you have to drink the whole cup?” I tug down the floral bedding
on her bed before plonking her onto the mattress. “Mixer drinks at frat
parties are four-fifths alcohol.”
“Which is what percentage?” McKayla asks through a hiccup. Her voice
isn’t as badly slurred as it was when I joined her on the dance floor after
calming Vivienne down.
Vivienne is always about the drama—hence my dislike of staged
scenarios. Just the afternoon McKayla and I made our agreement, she
threatened to self-harm, leaving me no choice but to check on her.
After removing McKayla’s shoes, I slip her feet under the duvet, then
pull it up to cover her hued chest. Anyone would swear she’s exhausted
from walking three blocks with someone on her back for how red she is.
“We agreed to save the tutoring until tomorrow, remember?”
I tuck her in a little to stiffly when she asks, “Isn’t it already tomorrow?
What time is it?” She sinks back with a groan when she catches the time on
her bedside clock. It is barely past ten. “I pooped on the party.”
“You what?”
Her crinkled brows are cuter on her drunk face than the ones she wore
while asking if I only cooled things with Vivienne so she’d be my tutor. She
clearly missed the gossip about Vivienne cheating on me at the end-of-
season party last year.
“I pooped on the party.” She stops, scrunches up her nose, then tries
again. “I pooped on the party.” She says the exact same thing but in a
different tempo like it may alter the meaning of her words.
“I think you mean you’re a party pooper.”
“A party pooper! That’s it.” She shushes me as if I’m the one shouting
before snapping her eyes to her roommate’s bed. It’s empty, so she has no
reason to fret. “Eden doesn’t like when I shout.” When she commences
stripping out of her clothes under the bedding, I stray my eyes to the door.
“Eat, sleep in, or open a study book on her half of the desk.” She dumps her
dress onto the floor before rolling onto her side and stuffing her hands
under her rosy cheek. “She doesn’t like when I do anything. I shouldn’t
even breathe in her presence.”
“Then why don’t you ask to be assigned another room?”
McKayla takes a moment to ponder before replying with a yawn,
“Because then she’d win, and I hate losing.”
Although her reply exposes we have even more in common than I first
suspected, I play it cool. “Now the chug challenge makes sense.” Kamil
was trying to make her feel welcome by inviting her to do the chug
challenge. He had no clue she’s a lightweight who’s never drank alcohol
before tonight. I was clueless as well until she announced it at the start of
our slow trek to her dormitory. If I had, I would have plowed her with water
before offering to walk her home.
“If your roommate isn’t a fan of you breathing too loudly, you might
want to message her and ask her to bring home some headphones.” I laugh
at her daft expression before explaining, “Anyone who drinks also snores
like a trooper.”
“Nooo…” Her eyes pop out of her head before her mouth gapes.
“Actually, you could be right. I thought it was the pigs’ mating call
hollering through the night my senior year, but it might have been the
football team.”
“You partied with the football team?” My shock can’t be hidden. She
seems innocent and sweet—a stark contradiction to the girls I partied with
during my senior year of high school.
With a shrug, she snuggles into her pillow. “Partied. Fired at. Same
thing.”
Although it is a story I’d love to hear, McKayla can no longer fight the
heaviness of her eyelids, so instead of keeping her awake, I head for the
door.
I’m almost in the clear when she murmurs my name. My real name.
“Cash.”
After taking a second to ponder why I ever agreed to let anyone call me
Milo, I reply, “Yeah.”
She waits for me to spin around to face her before asking, “Why does
everyone call you Milo?”
My smile is as bright as the moon when I answer, “You’ll have to wait
and see.”
It isn’t an interesting story, but the fact it will keep her interests as
piqued as mine, I’ll pretend it is.
“Night, McKayla.”
I grin like I’m not heading to bed on a Friday night before my parents
when she replies, “Goodnight, Cash.”

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Chapter 6

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

W hen I spot McKayla approaching me from the back entrance of the

library, I dump my cell phone onto a desk in a hired cubicle. She looks
tired, disheveled, and oddly happy.
I learn why when she murmurs, “You’re early. I said we’d meet at
noon.”
After removing my feet from the desk, I accept the bag of books
weighing down her shoulders while advising, “My father taught me the
importance of being on time.”
A smile creeps across my face when she murmurs, “Did he give you
any advice on how to cure a hangover? My head…” A grimace finalizes her
reply.
Through a brief chuckle, I answer, “No, but my mother sure did.”
When McKayla peers at me with hope lining her face, it dawns on me
that she either doesn’t listen to gossip or has her nose too far in a book to
hear it.
My mother is a drunk, and last year, her antics almost got me dumped
from the South Harmon Hawks. If it weren’t for Coach Taillieu, I would
have lost my scholarship. His father is a drunk, so he understands that my
mother’s actions don’t belong on my shoulders.
 When McKayla remains staring, waiting for the perfect remedy, I
murmur, “Hair of the dog.” Although her confusion keeps her stagnant, I act
as if I don’t know she’s bewildered. “I wasn’t sure which textbooks you
wanted me to bring, so I brought them all.” I wave my hand at my stack of
books that cover every subject I’m studying. “My grades were okay across
the board until last semester.” Shame highlights my tone when I admit,
“They’ve been steadily falling since.”
“Is there a particular reason?”
“No.” Lying is sometimes easier than telling the truth. “I register what
Professor Ren is saying and jot it all down, but it doesn’t seem to sink in.”
While pursing her lips, McKayla ruffles through her backpack. “That
could be for a number of reasons. Stress. Lack of sleep. Even a learning
difficulty that was previously overlooked.” There’s no belittlement in her
voice. No secondhand embarrassment. She talks like Professor Ren.
Without judgment. “How about we go over Professor Ren’s latest study
plan and see what trips you up?”
She locks her eyes with mine to gain permission for her plan. When I
give it to her, she smiles before plonking into the seat next to me.
I assume that is the end of our conversation until she murmurs, “Thank
you for making sure I got home okay last night. I’m not sure I would have
made it on my own.” Before I can assure her it was nothing, she drops her
eyes to a sheet of paper she pulled out of her backpack and asks, “Based on
the equation, which of the following must be true?”

“A learning difficultly can be taken off the table,” McKayla gabbers out
when we finish the last equation on the sheet. “So that leaves stress and a
lack of sleep.”
“My sleep is fine. I get a solid seven hours every night.”
 I don’t realize I’m walking into a trap until my foot gets snared. “So it is
stress.” I assume she will hone in on the reason I’m so desperate to keep my
scholarship, but she veers our conversation in another direction. “Is your
breakup with Vivienne weighing heavily on your shoulders?”
“No,” I push out with a chuckle. I got burned because I forgot the rules.
Nothing permanent. But my slip-up isn’t what keeps me up at night. “I’ve
got stuff on my mind.”
If the veterinary practice doesn’t work out for McKayla, she could take
up therapy. She can’t help but probe. “Stuff?”
“Stuff. School. Basketball.” I slouch low in my chair before running my
fingers through my chin-length hair. “If I fail my next exam, I’m done. I
can’t play anymore.”
Genuine concern echoes in her voice when she asks, “For the
semester?”
McKayla’s shocked huff hits my cheek when I shrug. “Who knows? I
could lose my scholarship. Why do you think I was so desperate for you to
tutor me? My last two tutors had no clue what they were talking about, and
the ones before them wanted more.” More is the polite way of saying they
thought I reached out to them for sex. “I’ve been called vain many times in
my life, but when it comes to floating or sinking, I’ll always choose the
option that will keep me afloat.”
When silence reigns supreme, I stray my eyes to McKayla. She is quick
to wipe the riled expression off her face, but it does little to dampen her
curiosity. “Sorry, I just… I thought your brother went pro, so he was paying
your tuition.”
So she hears some rumors. Just not the life-destroying ones.
“He did go pro.” The lowness of my voice exposes my dropped heart.
“Then he got into an accident and lost his contract. Anything he earned was
gobbled up in medical bills and lawyers’ fees. He has nothing left to give.”
 McKayla curls her hand over my balled one on the table. “I’m sorry,
Cash. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. It is nothing. He made his choice, and I made mine.” My
riddle gives her more questions than answers, but I act as if my heart isn’t in
my shoes. “Talking about games, though, we should probably get you to
one. No one will believe we’re a couple if you don’t watch me play.”
The sorrow on her face instantly switches to disgust. “I don’t think
that’s necessary. I went to a party. That’s enough.”
“You showed up to a party, got drunk after one Chugger, then hurled
half of it onto a shrub on the way home.”
“I knew I vomited!” She glares at me about my earlier lie before
returning her prima-donna attitude to a manageable level. “But that’s the
idea, isn’t it? Show up, make a spectacle of yourself, then leave.”
I stand to my feet and gather my textbooks. “Maybe for the frat boys,
but I’ve heard those drama nerds are a little more demanding.”
McKayla’s big brown eyes expose her excitement. “Do you think
Gabriel will be at the game?”
I shrug because I truly don’t know. Keeping tabs on douche canoes isn’t
my priority. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
When I nudge my head to the door, McKayla blurts out, “You want me
to come with you now?” I barely lift my chin half an inch before she’s on
her feet, gathering up her stuff. “I didn’t know you played during the day.”
My reply slows her down. “I don’t. But I do train two hours every day
without fail.”
She looks like I just told her I’m Jesus. “Every day?”
Again, I nod.
“No wonder you sleep seven hours every night. You pass out from
exhaustion.”
When our walk through the quad outside the library gains us many sets
of eyes, I curl my arm around McKayla’s shoulders before pulling her in
close. It doubles the number of stares in half a second, but McKayla seems
oblivious. She continues chatting as if our earlier conversation was nowhere
near as heavy as it was.
“If you train two hours a day, how much time do you set aside for
lessons?”
Her mouth drops open when I reply, “Three hours.”
“Three hours? That’s it. That is all you have to do?”
“That’s the schedule. But I usually put in an extra hour or two…
occasionally.” I laugh at her peeved expression before asking, “Why? How
many do you do?”
“Around eight, and that doesn’t include study. That’s another three
hours. Then I have to squeeze in your tutoring, which will probably be
another two hours every day.”
I stop her before she gets carried away. “That wasn’t a one-off?” I
nudge my head at the library during the ‘that’ part of my statement. I’m not
referencing the tutoring aspect of our agreement. I’m talking about the two
hours we just spent doing practice assessments.
“Uh. No. You can’t bring up your grades by thirty percent if you only
put in ten percent. You need to be dedicated.”
“I’m dedicated. I am just…” When she waits for me to finish, I stop
with the excuses and man up. “I’m just really fucking glad I have a fake
girlfriend because it doesn’t appear as if I’ll have time for any other action
over the next two months.”
It dawns on me what I said when McKayla chokes out, “Other action?”
“Pretty much anything above kissing.” Her cheeks inflame to the color
of beets when I murmur, “More.”
“We-we’re going to kiss?”
I peer down at her with a slanted head and joined brows. “Do you really
think we can pull this off without an occasional lip-lock?”
 Her body temperature rises, causing a sticky mess to my underarms. “I-I
don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
Needing to dampen the wish to flee in her eyes, I ask, “Do you always
stutter when you’re nervous?”
“I-I don’t know.” She grimaces before pushing out with a groan, “I
guess so.” While breathing out heavily, she scans our surroundings. Once
she’s confident we’re not within listening distance of anyone, she confesses,
“I’ve just never done that before.”
“Done what?” I ask, confused.
She makes a similar gesture with her hand as I did with mine two days
ago.
“You’ve never…” I mimic her gesture, though it must be more risqué
since McKayla yanks down my hand before doing another sweep of the
area.
“Not that.” She murmurs something under her breath, but it is too quiet
for me to hear. “I meant the kissing part of your reply.”
My eyes bulge out of my head. “You’ve never been kissed?”
My last word comes out with a wheezy grunt when she socks me in the
stomach before storming off.
I didn’t mean to ask my question so loud. I’m just shocked. McKayla is
a little dorky, and she wears clothes not suitable for anyone born within the
last three centuries, but she’s attractive—very much so—so I find it
surprising she’s never been kissed.
Hold on. Does that mean she’s never… that’s she… is she a virgin?
I don’t get time to register my shock. McKayla is almost at her dorm,
and I don’t know the lock code to get in since the RA changed it after
several incidences were recorded this weekend.
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” I catch up to her, stop her stomps by acting as if my
body is a police barricade, then try to simmer her anger. “I didn’t mean to
tell the world you’ve never been kissed.” When my confession doesn’t
lessen the red lines of fury on her face, I give honesty a whirl. “I was in
shock. You have lips designed to be devoured, so how hasn’t that happened
yet?”
Just when I think she’ll never answer me, much less blush about my
underhanded compliment, she murmurs, “I live on a big ranch. My
neighbors are my cousins. I’m sure even you can work out the answer to
this riddle.”
Ouch. She can be catty when she’s angry, but since I’m loving a peek at
another one of her many personality traits, I endeavor to keep her bitchiness
high. “Right… cousins. I had the accent wrong. My bad.”
Her second winding isn’t as brutal as the first. It only forces the air out
of one of my lungs instead of both. “I don’t have an accent.”
She does, and it is as cute as hell.
“And who are you to talk? You sound like a Columbus backpacker.” I
follow her to her room, my analness for being on time forgotten. “And no
one seems to know your real name.”
“It’s Cash,” I admit. “And the accent is because I was born in Canada,
schooled in Australia until I was ten, then we moved to the US when I was
thirteen.”
McKayla dumps her textbooks onto her desk before spinning to face
me. Curiosity has overtaken the anger marring her striking face. “What
happened during the years you missed?”
The tension only just evaporating can’t stop the honesty spilling from
my lips. “A whole heap of shit no one likes to talk about.”
Most people would continue probing. They’d use my dislike of liars to
their advantage. But not McKayla. She proves that knowledge will always
rate higher to her than gossip. “Did your first kiss occur during those
years?”
I tap my index finger on my lips like I don’t remember my first kiss
before eventually shaking my head. “They weren’t my first, but they were
memorable.”
“You kissed someone before you were ten?” Her question is shouted as
loudly as my response to her confession.
“Yeah. Catch and kiss was the king of games at my primary school. All
the kids played it.” The penny finally drops, smacking into me hard. “But
you were homeschooled and lived next door to your cousins. Now
everything makes sense.” She looks smug until I add, “But what’s your
excuse for the past couple of months? College boys will kiss you without
even knowing your name.”
“Because that’s something you regularly do?”
When I waggle my brows, she forces a gag, which doubles the grooves
on the bridge of her petite nose.
With a wave of her hand, she requests for me to spin around so she can
change. When I do, she replies, “I don’t want to be kissed by a random
boy.”
When she doesn’t finalize her reply by saying she’s saving the honor for
Gabriel Sutton, I crank my neck back to peer at her. I lucked out the other
night when I removed her clothes without sneaking a peek. Her body is
tight, compact, and curvy all at the same time. She has a tummy your head
would be happy to rest on but toned legs capable of being held up for hours
on end.
She just needs to improve on the marketing of her goods. She keeps
them wrapped up as if they’re the bland, cheap brand instead of the pricy
stock that will cost a man everything.
She could play every man on this campus for a fool, and the knowledge
has me announcing that I’ll wait for her in the hallway.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 7

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

T he echoing stomps of our feet when we enter the gymnasium booms

into my ears. It is so quiet, even my swallow to wet my dry throat with spit
is audible.
“Where is everyone?”
Since we’re away from the prying eyes of the people milling outside the
stadium, Cash releases my hand from his grip before moving for the first
row of bleachers. “Everyone who needs to be here is.”
It takes me a moment to solve his riddle, but when I do, my brows pinch
together. “You train alone?” After stripping out of his hoodie and tightening
the laces on his shoes, he jerks up his chin. “Why? Basketball is a team
sport. There’s no ‘I’ in team, Cash.”
He grins at my saying before fetching a basketball out of a wired crate
at his left. “To some players, it’s about the fans and the glory. To others…”
He stares at the hoop in the distance, the concentration on his face adding to
the silence. I swear, not even my heart will beat since it doesn’t want to
miss what he says next. “It is so much more than that.”
My mouth gapes when he bobs, lifts, then takes his shot.
It goes straight through the net, no backboard needed.
I remember why he is the king of all jocks when he mutters out a
response to my shocked expression. “I knew you were frothing out of the
mouth last week.”
“I wasn’t,” I reply with a giggle. “I didn’t see your shot, I swear.”
“Sure, sure,” he murmurs with waggling brows.
When he gestures for me to join him at the side of the court, I dump my
backpack next to his sweater, then nervously approach him. I’ve never
taken part in team events. For one, I’m a klutz, and two, I’m a head shorter
than most people, let alone the giants who play basketball.
After handing me the ball like he hasn’t noticed the shakes hampering
me, Cash coaches me on how to take the perfect shot. “Bend your knees a
little more. You’re short, so you need as much leverage as you can get.” He
grins again before warming my back with his front and curling his hands
around the ball by placing them over mine. His closeness sends my head in
a tailspin, but I pay careful attention to what he says next because I hate
losing. “You don’t want your hands too close together, but you also don’t
want them worlds apart.” I can see how that isn’t an issue for him. His
hands are huge. “When you take your shot, jump a little forward, but keep
your shoulders back.”
“There’s no way I’ll reach the net from here. It’s miles away.” My voice
echoes in the silence of the gymnasium, not to mention my hearty swallow.
Cash pffts me as if there’s no need for the worry in my tone before
taking a giant step back, doubling my disappointment. “Take the shot,
Einstein. Have faith in yourself.”
He chokes on the laughter erupting up his chest when I believe his
wisdom and it miserably fails on me. The ball barely sails two feet through
the air before it flops to the floor with a dramatic thud.
“I told you I’d miss.”
After taking a moment to settle his chuckles, he bands his arm around
my shoulders and inches us closer to the net.
It is even more challenging up close. How anyone can reach it to slam-
dunk a ball through it is beyond me. Not even my love of physics has me
comprehending how someone can jump so high.
When it dawns on me I’ll never master this art, I try to get out of it. “I
don’t want to do this. This is stupid.”
Once again, Cash stops me from leaving by curling his arm around my
back and tugging me in close to his body. The heat of his body slackens my
shakes, not to mention his familiar scent. It is still imbedded in the poncho
he loaned me. “One shot. If you hit the net, I’ll teach you how to kiss.”
“Huh?”
I realize I vocalized my shock out loud when Cash says, “Gabriel is a
fucking douche, but I’m reasonably sure he’s been kissed at least once, so
you don’t want him to be your first kiss.”
“Why wouldn’t that be the case? It’s kind of ideal. First crush. First kiss.
First—”
Before I can say ‘love,’ Cash mutters, “First heartbreak. The guy is a
tool.”
“A what?” I should be focusing on his obvious dislike of Gabriel, but
since I believe it resides more around a macho-pride thing, I keep my focus
on the lingo I’m still learning.
At home, a tool is a useful apparatus.
Cash’s screwed-up face announces it means something else to him. “It
is someone who screws people over. A douche. A prick. A—”
“I get it. You don’t need to continue spelling it out for me.” I switch his
expression from annoyed to panicked when I mutter, “Unless you want to
add English to your tutor schedule. I heard they were reading Virginia
Andrews this semester—”
He shuts me up by tossing me the ball and demanding I take my shot.
“Just the net, right?”
Something flares through his eyes before he nods. “If you hit the net,
English remains off the table.”
 The rise and fall of his Adam’s apple is unmissable when I clarify, “And
you’ll teach me how to kiss?”
“And I’ll teach you how to kiss.” His voice is throaty this time around,
demandingly deep.
“Okay.” I breathe out my nerves, even with me being unsure they are
nerves, before peering up at the net dangling several feet above my head. I
don’t know whether Cash’s lack of help this time around is because he
doesn’t want to hold true on his promise or because he has more faith in me
than he should have.
I’m smart. Smart enough to realize this is a bad move. I want Gabriel’s
attention, but do I want to achieve it like this? Do I want to use one man to
gain the attention of another?
No, I don’t.
I don’t want to use Cash like that. I don’t care how cocky he is or how
little someone like me could hurt him, I refuse to be an active participant in
anything that will harm an intended target.
So, with my mind made up, I botch my shot, then drop my bottom lip as
if I am devastated.
The already low hang of my lip droops even further when I spin to face
Cash. His devastation appears genuine, and it doubles the output of my
heart.
Why would he be upset? He got out of this lightly, didn’t he?
When Cash notices my watch, he smooths the lines on his forehead by
plastering a fake grin on his face, then he says, “You can’t win them all.”
After bobbing down to collect the ball, he takes the perfect shot. However,
he doesn’t relish the victory. He commiserates it. “I know that better than
anyone.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 8

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

“W hat the fuck are you reading?” Kamil snatches an original copy
of Flowers in the Attic out of my hand before slumping into the chair next
to me. “This is that incest book, right?” He flicks through it like he can read
a million words a minute. “They cut out so much of the good stuff for the
movie.”
“There’s a movie?”
My hopes are dashed when he replies, “Yeah, but if you’re reading this
for an assessment, you should stick with the book.” His brows furrow
before he says, “Unless you watch the original movie. It stuck pretty close
to the storyline.” He tosses my book back to me. “Why are you reading this
anyway? I thought you said Einstein wasn’t from that part of the South?”
I grin when he uses McKayla’s nickname. She hates it, but I think it
suits her perfectly.
You can be perfect without craving perfection.
“She’s not.” I huff out a big breath before sinking low into my chair. “I
lost a bet.”
“You participated in a bet?” When I jerk up my chin, Kamil drags his
head to the left before veering it to the right. “Where the fuck is Milo I-
don’t-gamble Mancini? He doesn’t even play truth or dare.”
 “Because the dares are lame, and everyone who plays truth or dare
fucking lies. Yourself included.”
“Me?” He fans his hand across his thrusting chest. “Never.”
He’s still chuckling when I spot McKayla exiting the building I’ve been
camped out the front of for the past twenty minutes.
When Kamil spots the head gesture I use to summon McKayla to my
side, he mutters, “Your bet was with her, wasn’t it?”
I stray my eyes to his. They’re dull with confusion. “Yeah, why?”
“No reason.” He holds his hands out in front of himself before slowly
backing away. “I was just curious.” Once he is far enough away for me not
to inflict any harm, he asks, “Are you bringing her to the game?” He rolls
his eyes at my confused expression. “The poker tournament you organize
every year. Don’t tell me your forgot.”
“I didn’t forget. I just…” When McKayla cozies up to my side, her ruse
improving for each day we undertake, I use her as an excuse for my
daftness of late. “I just hadn’t had the chance to check McKayla’s schedule
yet.”
She peers up at me blinking and baffled, but she plays the fake
girlfriend ruse to perfection. “It’s my fault. I had to shuffle things around to
fit in an extra English tutor session.” I inwardly gag at her reminder I bet
more than I could afford to lose while she adds, “What are you trying to
squeeze in?”
Kamil answers on my behalf. “Poker tournament at the end of the
month.”
My interests are as piqued as McKayla’s when she asks, “How much is
the buy-in?”
“We don’t have one.” Kamil nudges his head to me. “Sir anti-gambler
says a winner’s trophy should be enough.”
I unconsciously draw McKayla in tighter when she exclaims with
excitement, “There’s a trophy?”
 After laughing about her clear excitement, Kamil says, “So I take it I’ll
be saving you a spot?”
“We’ll be there.” McKayla swallows her eagerness before lifting her
eyes to mine. “If that’s okay?”
I twist my lips before nodding. It’s my event, so the least I can do is
show up.
Regret slams into me hard and fast when a second after Kamil leaves,
my niceness bites me on the ass. “We should study now to make up for the
two-hour session we will miss for the tournament.”
“I’m not studying now.”
“Why not?” I roll my eyes when she waves goodbye to Gabriel, who is
watching us from the stairs of the building she just exited, but my
annoyance doesn’t linger for long. McKayla barely flaps her fingers two
times since she’s too interested in negotiating with me. “You need to ace
your next test, Cash. Without a passing grade, you’ll—”
“Be benched,” I interrupt, my words low. “But I don’t have my books
with me. I—”
“Trained for three hours. I know.”
When I peer down at her with a leering expression spread across my
face, she rolls her eyes this time before pulling away from me. “I don’t keep
tabs on your schedule.” Her next words are only meant for her ears, but I
still hear them. “Unlike half the cheerleading team.”
I race to catch up with her, my pace slow since my legs feel the weight
of lead. “I didn’t think cheerleaders would be into drama…” Except that
one time.
I’m pulled from the thoughts that will see me get sinbinned when
McKayla replies, “I didn’t hear it from them.”
“Then…” I leave my question open, more than aware she has the brain
to answer any I have.
 “Gabriel mentioned you usually have a flurry of cheerleaders in tow at
any training session.” I don’t know whether to grit my teeth about her
underhanded confession that she’s been schmoozing with Gabe behind my
back or grin at the jealousy in her tone. I go for the latter when she adds,
“Which is odd considering when I went to your practice, we were the only
two people there.” She couldn’t sound more peeved if she tried.
I’m lost as to why. “Shouldn’t that make you happy?”
Her wavy brown locks slap her cheek when she spins to face me before
walking backward. “That you don’t want to be seen with me?”
Confusion almost knocks me onto my ass. “What?” I don’t give her the
chance to settle my bewilderment. “I’m here, aren’t I? In the drama quad,
picking you up.”
“Because you want me to tutor you. Then once that’s over, you’ll
disappear like you did the night you helped with my car.” I realize she’s
more upset than jealous. The unconcealed pain in her eyes exposes this,
much less the low hang of her bottom lip.
“I can’t deny that was my plan when Professor Ren first suggested I get
a tutor.” When she gets set to run again, I weigh down her legs as ruefully
as mine by adding, “But that’s changed now.”
“It has?” Her voice is as high as her arched brow.
With my grin too sleazy to showcase without displaying a creep, I slant
my head to hide it. She has no fucking clue about the number of qualities
she has. They’d have any man overlooking her shit fashion sense. She’s
smart, empathetic, and real fucking pretty.
But since I can’t tell her that, I ask, “Who put this shit in your head?”
“No one,” she replies before she makes a break for it.
“Bullshit.” Again, I jog to catch up with her, grimacing when my tired
joints scream in protest. “You’ve never once brought up anything like this
the past week and a half, but now suddenly, after talking to Gabe, you’re
doubting my intentions.”
 “I’m not doubting your intentions.” She takes a breather before
confessing. “I’m doubting mine.” I’m convinced she’s succumbed to the
Mancini charms until she cuts me down three feet. “Do I want to secure
Gabriel’s attention because you helped me, or do I want to do it on my
own?” Mistaking my forlorn look as panic about my scholarship, she adds,
“I’ll still tutor you no matter what, Cash. I don’t bounce on my obligations.
I just…” She drifts her eyes in the direction Gabriel was standing. He's no
longer there, but you wouldn’t know that by her loved-up expression when
she devotes her focus back to me. “I don’t want to use you.”
I half laugh, half groan. “How are you using me? I haven’t done
anything.”
“You got Gabriel to talk to me. He’s never done that.” When she
continues down the path, I follow her like a lost puppy. “He didn’t even
know we had joint classes.”
“Because he’s a douche.” When she glares at me, silently bidding for
me to be serious for once, I add, “And perhaps I want you to use me.” My
waggling brows should announce the reason for the hitch in my tone, not to
mention my inability to sit still when raunchy thoughts enter my head.
“Have you ever considered that?”
I’m not expecting her to answer me, so you can picture my shock when
she murmurs, “No, I’ve never thought about it from your side.” After taking
a couple of minutes to deliberate, she backflips on her earlier worries.
“Your dorm or mine? The library cubicles are booked out months in
advance.” After closing her eyes, she says a not-so-quiet prayer. “Please say
your place. Eden still hasn’t gotten over your intrusion into her space last
weekend.”
“Ahh… my place isn’t really a dorm, and it isn’t suitable for a study
session.” Before the worry in her recently reopened eyes can fully emerge, I
add, “But I’m sure we can find somewhere quiet to study.”
I curl my arm around her shoulders to lead the way.
 McKayla’s brows furrow further the deeper we merge into campus. I
usually direct her away from the stadium on study days, not toward it.
As the roof of the stadium comes into sight, the truth smacks into her.
“We’re going to the court?”
“Uh-huh.” I open the door of the stadium and gesture for her to enter
first. “It’s quiet, the bleachers can act as desks, and my brain seems to work
better here.”
I’m anticipating for her to laugh or at the very least rib me about my
jock ways, so you can picture my shock when she twists her lips in a totally
fuckable way before dumping her backpack onto the first row of bleachers
and heading for the rack that holds the basketballs on non-training days.
She’s far too short to consider basketball as a career, but she looks good in
the space. Like she’s always belonged here.
“I thought you said your sports days are over?” My ego was burned
when she botched her shot last week, but it soared back to raring heights
when she muttered half a second later, “Best out of three?”
I told her that it was too late, that she’d blown her shot, but we
underwent a handful of rounds anyway. Her second and third shots were
even more dismal than her first. It wasn’t from a lack of trying. She simply
has no upper body strength and is really fucking short.
Although she gave Reynolds a run for his money, she called defeat on
all things sports related when she could barely lift her pencil at our study
session the following morning.
“Oh, they are.” McKayla plucks a ball off the rack, then spins to face
me, her smile uncontained. “But this isn’t for me. It’s for you.”
“Me.” I gesture my hand to myself. My lips purse when she bobs her
chin, but she doesn’t hand over the ball. “I’m fucking good, but I’m not at
Einstein’s level just yet. If you want me to take a shot, you need to hand me
the ball.”
 “I will.” Her plan is unearthed when she mutters, “When you get my
question right.” She moseys to stand next to me, her tiny hips seductively
swinging. “But if you get it wrong, you should be warned.” With the hand
not clutching the ball, she rolls up her sleeve to show her nonexistent guns.
“I have a pretty mean right hook.”
Although I am loving the banter we’ve been tossing around nonstop the
past week and a half, I’m too shocked not to seek clarification for her plan.
“You’re going to punch me if I don’t get your answer right?”
“No.” McKayla’s long enunciation of a short word makes it seem as if
she says so much more. “The ball is.” When I stare at her, lost and confused
but somehow sexually aroused, she adds, “If you get the answer right, you
take a shot. If you get it wrong—”
The light finally turns on. “You’ll peg the ball at my head?”
“Bingo.” She looks pleased while tossing me the ball, which I dunk
even with us being at almost halfcourt. “Now onto the hard stuff.” It dawns
on me that my comment last week about her mouth being designed to be
devoured wasn’t a lie when she taps on her puckered lips while thinking of
a question. “Did you score seventy-six or higher in elementary algebra?”
“What?”
I duck too late. The ball smacks me right in the chops before McKayla’s
next question stuns me further. “Were you hoping I would hit the net last
week?”
Fuck yes!
But since that isn’t the game we’re playing, I go with a well-rehearsed
line. “What?”
Since I’m prepared for her response, I dodge her throw this time around
—by an inch—if my calculations are as precise as the disappointment on
McKayla’s face.
Does she want me to teach her how to kiss?
 McKayla ensures she can’t miss the second time by stunting me so
much I freeze. “Which number is the sum of its multiples when you add the
single digits together?”
“What the fuck are you talking about—”
Smack.
A ball to the head is painful, but it clicks my brain on.
“A sum of its multiples when you add the single digits together…”
McKayla has another ball at the ready and her arm cranked back, but before
she can smack it in my face, I discover the answer in the bottom of the
sludge in my head. “Nine. The answer is nine.”
“Correct.” She looks more pleased than annoyed while tossing the ball
into my chest instead of my face, and for some reason, it has me paying
more attention to her next question than the ease of my shot when it
bounces off the backboard and slips through the net.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 9

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

D isappointment slams into me hard and fast when our entrance into the
gymnasium has my ears bleeding from shouted cheer chants. With our first
tutor session at the court being a raving success, McKayla has conducted
every session here the past week, but I forgot about cheerleading practice
today.
The disappointment marring my face jumps onto McKayla’s when I
question, “Your dorm?”
“Eden…” She breathes out slowly, her minty breath fanning my lips.
“She’d have a coronary.”
I jerk up my chin, mindful her roommate is as stiff as a dead person
when it comes to following the rules. I’m not a part of her dormitory, so
according to Eden, I’m not allowed within two feet of McKayla’s room.
I hate to wonder what her stipulations would have been if I had done
more than tuck McKayla in that night two and a half weeks ago.
“What about the library?”
Locks of the glossy hair she left down today fall in front of her pretty
eyes when she shakes her head. “The study nooks book out months in
advance, and although I have the regular midday spot we’ve been using
lately locked in, we can’t rock up five hours late and expect it to be waiting
for us. You’re popular, Cash, but you’re not that popular.”
 She giggles like a schoolgirl when I say, “Wanna bet?” while fake
dragging her in the direction of the library. “I’ll have the librarian eating out
of my hand in under a second.”
Hesitation slackens my strides when McKayla barks out, “The Librarian
is eighty-seven.”
Her laughter I strive to hear every tutor session doubles when I mutter,
“And?”
My beanie sits on my head wonky when she tugs on my hair sticking
out the bottom. “And I’m reasonably sure she’s only ever seen long hair on
a girl.” After dragging her hooded gaze over the blond wisps of hair curling
around my ears, she adds, “Do you not recall her miffed stare last week?”
“I thought she was cracking onto me?”
Through a heavy bout of laughter, McKayla replies, “You think
everyone is cracking onto you.”
I make a ‘duh’ face. “Because they are.”
She laughs even harder but doesn’t deny my claim.
She can’t when it’s true.
After a deliberation way too short for how sticky it makes my
underarms, I ask, “Do you have any objections to a closed-door study
session?” When McKayla peers at me with lines indenting her forehead, I
enlighten, “My place isn’t quiet, but no one will be game to open my door if
I place a sock on the doorknob.” Since my confession doesn’t elevate her
confusion, I rip the Band-Aid off in one fell swoop. “They’ll think we’re
fooling around, and the bro-code means they can’t interrupt us.” I curse her
humble upbringing when confusion remains her strongest expression.
“Fucking. If I take you back to my room and place a sock on the
doorhandle, they’ll think we’re fucking.”
She chokes out her reply, “All because you put a sock on the
doorknob?”
I nod, my ick level too high for a better response.
 After licking her lips, she asks slowly, “Will that bother you?”
“That people will think we’re fucking?” When she jerks her chin up, I
push out, “Hell no. Virgins are the cream of the crop.” I throw my head
back and close my eyes, mortified I blurted that out with no consideration
to how she may feel hearing it.
Before an apology can spill from my lips, McKayla asks, “I told you
I’m a virgin?”
Fuck. That word out of that mouth. It should be illegal.
I return my head to its rightful spot before shaking it. “Not in so many
words. I kind of figured it out.”
She bows a brow. “How?” Hopeful she’ll find the answer herself, she
drops her eyes to her linen all-in-one outfit and bland flip-flops. “Do I have
a sign that states naïve virgin pinned to me?”
Her eyes snap to my face when I mutter, “You said you’ve never been
kissed.” I scrunch up my face before halfheartedly shrugging. “The two
kind of go together. Even a douche like Gabriel couldn’t deny that.”
McKayla closes her eyes and counts backward to ten before popping
them back open. “Don’t worry about the study session. You don’t need it.
You’ll be fine.”
I stop her from fleeing by tightening my grip on her shoulders then
directing her away from the gymnasium. “I need the brownie points. My
tutor is a fucking Nazi.”
She ribs me but doesn’t pull away, her curiosity too high to discount.

A chuckle rumbles in my chest when McKayla’s entrance into my room

slows to a snail’s pace. As her eyes scan the back wall, she murmurs, “Now
the nickname makes sense. What is Milo? And why do you have so many
tins of it?”
 I wait for her to face me before placing a sock on the door and closing
it. I won’t touch her. Forcing myself onto an uninterested party isn’t how I
operate. I just want to give her the chance to save her reputation before it’s
too late.
When an objection fails to spill from her pouty lips even after staring at
my closed door for what feels like an hour but is barely a second, I answer
her question, “It’s my favorite drink from Australia.”
“It’s a drink?” The hue creeping up her neck doesn’t match the easy
nature of her tone.
As I notch up my chin, the chuckle I held back earlier ripples through
my lips. “Yeah.” I stop, quirk my mouth to the side, then say with a shrug,
“Kinda. You’re meant to have it with milk, but just like the Nutbush, a real
Aussie will tell you the milk is the side dish of this meal.”
I nod when McKayla waves her hand at a tin not filling the wall of tins
at the back of my room, wordlessly requesting to touch it.
With interest, I watch her pry open the lid with a spoon before sniffing
it.
She doesn’t look impressed.
Her screwed-up nose doubles my grin.
“Can you eat it like this, straight out of the tin?”
“You can, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” When her eyes ask the
question her mouth refuses to release, I say, “It is as dry as fuck without
milk.”
Remaining quiet, she watches me open a bar refrigerator under my desk,
pull out a carton of milk, then snag a clean glass from the makeshift
kitchenette above my microwave. “For a guy with an entire frat house at his
disposal, you have quite the setup.”
“I like the comforts of home.”
I grin at her when she murmurs, “Hence the hundred tins of Milo.”
 I notice her scent is a little more flowery today when I gesture for her to
move in close for a lesson on how to make a true glass of Australian Milo.
“Any Aussie mother will tell you that two tablespoons are plenty—”
“Tablespoons? As in the big ones?”
After nodding in appreciation of her supposed daftness, I continue, “But
a true native knows the only way you’ll consume two spoonsful of Milo is
if you use a ladle.”
That gets a giggle out of her… until she realizes I’m not joking.
“That’s a lot of Milo.” McKayla laughs so hard she almost snorts when
I place a quarter cup of milk onto the half-full glass of Milo. “That ratio is
way off. It can’t taste good.” Her laughter snags halfway out when I pull the
damp Milo-coated spoon out of the mix and direct it toward her mouth. “Is
that right? You haven’t mixed it properly.”
“It’s fine. Trust me.”
She does, although hesitantly.
I don’t wait for the Gods of Nestle to tiptoe across her taste buds. I
devour the clumps of malty goodness she left on the spoon before digging
in for a second helping.
“Oh… my… god…”
When McKayla steals my spoon to help herself to another mouthful, I
say, “Good, right?”
She nods.
“It’s weird but good at the same time. Kinda like The Flowers in the
Attic.”
I’m envious of her tongue when it delves out to collect a crumbling of
Milo from her lip before she breaks them into a smile. “I told you if you
looked past the incest and child abuse, you’d enjoy it.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” After gathering a second spoon so we can share
the drink I made, I correct, “I didn’t say I was enjoying it.”
 She shrugs off my confession as if it is untruthful. “Yet you bring it up
in every conversation we have.” Which, in case you are wondering, is
approximately four hours every day. Sometimes more.
Since McKayla’s sass is in abundance this afternoon, I attempt to bring
it down a notch. “Because my tutor loves including lessons in every
interaction we have.”
She doesn’t deny my claim. She simply shrugs before plopping her
backside onto the edge of my bed. After a beat, she murmurs, “I like Milo.”
Her eyes glisten in the lighting above our heads when she lifts them to me.
“But I prefer Cash. Do you care what I call you?”
“Nope.” I talk through the large scoop of Milo I stuff into my mouth.
“As long as it isn’t something hideous like Einstein.”
McKayla’s snarl could only be hotter if it was done without a massive
smear of murky brown goop across her front teeth. She looks like she
belongs in the alleyway of a bar with hissing cats and a banjo playing in the
background.
When I raise my hand to her face, she blinks in rapid succession.
“You’ve got… um… you have Milo on your teeth.” I don’t know what the
fuck my hand is doing. I can’t drag my thumb along her teeth to remove the
stain.
My tongue, though…
I shut down my inappropriate thoughts when McKayla grimaces before
she scrubs her tongue along her teeth, then she hunts for her backpack. “We
should probably get a wiggle on. Your bedtime is rapidly approaching.”
Although thankful she isn’t going to point out the obvious tension
between us, I can’t let her off the hook. “Ha ha, Miss Smarty Pants.”
I regret my reminder about her brain power when she pulls out a
calculus test. It appears as if I am set to be tortured for another two hours,
but I’m saved by an unlikely source. “Do you ride all those boards, or are
they just for display?’
 As I shift my eyes to the display stand for my skateboards, I say, “I ride
them.” I twist my lips after a truth spills from them. “Well, I did. I haven’t
had time the past couple of months.”
I return my eyes to McKayla when she asks, “Could that contribute to
your stress?”
“I’m not stressed,” I bark out with a laugh.
She acts as if I never said anything. “Do you think you could teach
me?”
“To skate?” When she nods, I do the same. Then I choke on my spit
when she dumps the calculus test on my bed and leaps to her feet. “You
want me to teach you now?”
Again, she nods.
“I thought you said we needed to study?”
She fans her tiny hands across her waist. “And I thought you said
creativity is intelligence having fun.”
My brows crumple. “I said that?”
I’m certain she has the wrong person, so imagine my shock when she
jerks up her chin. “It might have been while I was holding your head
ransom to a basketball, but wise, nonetheless.”
The truth smacks into me like a freight train. “English tutor session?”
She grins and nods. “So, what do you say? Shall we play hooky or do
calculus?”
“Do you really have to ask?” When she heads for the door, I stop her.
“But we can’t go out that way.”
McKayla pulls her brows together so tightly lines indent her forehead.
“Why not?”
I nudge my head to the door like it’s see-through. “The sock?”
“Yeah?” Her confused face is as cute as fuck. Her lips are almost too big
for the petiteness of her nose and cheekbones, but somehow, they assist in
her pulling off the ‘innocent’ vibe.
 Even more so when I double their plumpness. “I put it on the door.”
McKayla looks at me like I have some screws loose while repeating,
“Yeah?”
“Which means we can’t leave this room for at least an hour.” I talk extra
slow, certain her overworked brain needs a moment of reprieve.
“An hour?” When I nod, she barks out, “Why?”
I should have taken longer to configure a response. “Because unlike
you, my brain isn’t the most active muscle in my body, and I don’t want
anyone wrongly thinking it is.”
It takes McKayla a few seconds to click on, but once she does, I get an
anatomy lesson instead of an assurance she isn’t about to ruin my reputation
by making it seem as if I am a Three-Pump-Paul. “A brain isn’t actually a
muscle. It is an organ.” After locking eyes, she informs, “The only muscle
tissue it has is in the middle layer of the arteries that carry blood.” She
inspects my skateboards before plucking one off the rack with a red stripe
down the middle. “The same can be said for your penis.” Her grimace is
only half its strength since I can’t feign a disinterest in her commentary. “It
is a spongy tissue that fills with blood when a person gets an erection.”
Heat creeps across her cheeks when I ask, “Then how does it flex?”
The battle for her not to drop her eyes to the crotch of my sweatpants is
seen in her eyes when she replies nonchalantly, “There are muscles nearby
that make movement possible.” I can’t hide how impressed I am when she
adds, “They’re the muscles that help you pee.” The crackling of energy
bouncing between us simmers a tad when she murmurs, “So if you don’t
want urine on your slippers when you’re old and senile, do Kegels as often
as me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind in another sixty or so years.”
“It will be too late then.” After drinking in my smile long enough for
her lips to curve in a similar fashion, she nudges her head to the main
window of my room. “What about the rose trellis? Have you ever scaled it
before?”
“No.” My tone is a mix of amused and eager. “But I’ve never needed to
flee my room before, so I’ve had no reason to test its durability.”
My lips curve in appreciation of the jealousy in McKayla’s tone when
she asks, “What about girls sneaking in? Surely, that’s happened on more
than one occasion.”
Her eyes roll skyward when I reply, “You’d think so, but no. That’s
never occurred either.”
Desperate to hide the heat creeping up her neck, she paces to the
window. “What are your thoughts? Will it hold me, or am I going to turn up
to class in a back brace tomorrow morning?”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” She looks set to tear me a
new butthole, but before she can, I climb out onto the roof’s pitch, then
straddle the trellis. I bounce like Tigger, sending sprigs of my usually
straight hair bouncing into the air. “Seems pretty sturdy.”
“It won’t be if you keep bouncing on it.”
With a shrug like the worry in her tone isn’t warranted, I descend the
trellis.
The climb is so simple, my feet hit the dewy ground long before
McKayla’s head bobs over the railing. She looks terrified, but I don’t think
I’ll face too many issues coercing her over the ledge. Her adventurous side
is dying to break free, and since I’m skilled at unlocking anything
nonacademic, I’m the ideal person for the job.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 10

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

“T
you fall.”
oss down my skateboard, then hook your leg over. I’ll catch you if

If Cash weren’t grinning ear to ear during his last sentence, I might have
immediately jumped to his command. Since he is, I shout, “Are you sure
it’s safe?”
When he nods, I send a quick prayer to my mother for the all-in-one
outfit she purchased while shuffling close to the trellis. My outfit’s romper
design saves Cash from being flashed my panties when I toss his skateboard
into a bush below, dangle my feet over the edge as suggested, then
commence my slow descent.
My legs shake with every nook of the trellis I scale.
I’m not scared of heights.
I am allergic to bees, and the rose bush is covered with them.
“Stop panicking. They’re not bees,” Cash shouts half a second later, his
voice echoing in the quietness of the night.
Although I appreciate he remembers our conversation earlier this week
about my fear of bees, I shoo away one of the ‘pests’ before replying, “How
do you know that? You can’t see them from down there. They’re big, scary,
and this one has stripes.”
“They’re not bees, Einstein, because bees can’t fly at night.”
 I freeze for a moment, shocked. “They can’t?”
How do I not know this? I’m studying to become a vet.
“No, they can’t.” The high pitch of Cash’s tone exposes how much he
loves teaching me a broad range of things. Just not kissing—unfortunately.
“But they can crawl, though, so maybe get your ass down here before you
find the straggler who’d rather slack off instead of studying.”
Reading between the lines, I snap out, “I’m not slacking off.” A grimace
hardens the features of my face when a branch digs into my thigh. “My
tummy is full of Milo. I need to work it out of my system before I fall
asleep. How bad would your reputation be if they heard snores bellowing
out of your room within minutes of you placing a sock on your door?”
I can’t see him, but I picture his shoulder touching his ear when he
mutters, “I think I could live with it. Every guy wants to cross off fucked-
her-comatose from their list before they’re thirty.”
After cranking my neck back, I shoot daggers at him. “You could have
told me that five minutes ago… before I started scaling the trellis.”
Strands of my hair catch on the prickles of Cash’s three-day-old beard
when I lose my footing. I almost plummet a dangerous four feet but am
saved from having a muddy backside by Cash catching me as offered.
Although the positioning of his hands has my temperature rising, I act
nonchalant. “I think I broke your trellis…”
My words trail off when the faintest brush hits a portion of skin high on
my thigh. I assume it is a struggling bee hitchhiking a ride home but am
proven wrong when Cash murmurs, “You’re bleeding.”
After peering down at the leg the rose bush snagged partway during my
climb, I say with a pfft, “It’s just a scratch.”
You wouldn’t believe me if you could see the mortified expression on
Cash’s face. Anyone would think half my leg has been sawn off. His cheeks
whiten to match the wispy clouds in the sky, and his throat works through
numerous swallows.
 “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”
Ignoring me, he undoes all the craftiness we just undertook by marching
me into his fraternity house, plonking my backside onto the kitchen counter
housing dozens of red cups and empty bottles of beer, then fetching the
first-aid kit out from underneath the sink.
His caring side is unexpected, but I can only accept so much
mollycoddling. “If you bring out iodine, I won’t be the only one housing
wounds.”
Cash misses the threat in my tone. “Wound ointment. Good idea. I think
I’ve got some in the bathroom.”
“I don’t need wound ointment. It’s just a scratch.” After popping my
thumb into my mouth to moisten it, I run it across the half-inch scratch.
When the removal of the dry blood causes more to trickle out, I announce
defeat, “Okay, I might need a Band-Aid. But that’s it. No burnie fires of hell
required.”
When I hold out my hand palm-side up, wordlessly requesting Cash to
hand over the first-aid kit, he does—begrudgingly.
I roll my eyes when he murmurs, “If it gets infected, and you lose your
leg, remember, you chose the no-ointment option.”
More strands fall in front of my eye when I shake my head. “I won’t
lose my leg.”
After fishing out a Band-Aid, I tear it open before peeling back the
protective layers.
I’m about to slap it over the scratch when Cash shouts, “Let me. Your
hands are dirty.”
I stare at him, shocked by his germophobic behavior when he scrubs his
hands under the sink tap like he’s about to perform open-heart surgery.
Once his hands are red from being scrubbed so hard, he removes the
Band-Aid from my grasp, then bobs down low so he can get the placement
just right.
 So low, I feel every shallow breath he releases as he endeavors to match
the sterile part of the Band-Aid with my micro scratch. They make the
coolness of the night a forgotten memory and adds a pink hue to the skin
circling the scratch.
If he can’t hear my heart thudding, he’ll soon see it since every vein in
my body is working overtime, including the one at the back of my knee he’s
gently grasping.
Not wanting to make a fool of myself, I say, “Just slap it on. It isn’t
rocket science.”
When I force him to do precisely that, I push down on his hand a little
too firmly, sending it skidding close to an area of my body thudding as
brutally as my heart.
The tips of his fingers are a mere inch from my pussy.
And he isn’t pulling his hand away.
What the?
As my eyes slowly lift to Cash’s face, my heart thudding as strenuously
as my throat struggles to swallow, I drink in his almost still chest and
overworked veins in his neck. He looks as on edge as me, but his backside
isn’t balancing on a marble counter. It is swaying dangerously close to the
minute gap of air wedged between us, hogging the last smidge of space.
When our eyes eventually lock, the tension shifts to catastrophic. He’s
still looking at me in the same manner he does when I show him a complex
puzzle isn’t so complex when you stop fearing it, they’re just numbers, but
there’s something different about his eyes. They’re more hooded than usual,
almost glossy.
The breath he releases when I lean into his embrace sends a fluttering of
butterflies scattering across the lower half of my stomach. I assume he’s
swooping into caress my face. I had no clue he’s attempting to remove a
twig from my hair, otherwise I wouldn’t have stupidly tilted his way.
 I showed my hand first, and the poker tournament doesn’t start for
another nine days.
“I need to go.”
Cash’s groin only just misses the wrath of my knee when I jump down
from the kitchen counter and make a beeline for the door.
I’m so eager to leave, I forget we’re meant to be sneaking out the back
entrance. I naively veer for the front door.
My trek through the bustling living room is quick, but not quite fast
enough. Kamil spots me first. His wave alerts the other twelve or so men
surrounding him to my arrival. They stare at me in silence, quickening my
pulse even further.
Mercifully, Cash swoops in and saves me from myself for the second
time. “Hey, Einstein. I thought we agreed to meet at your place tonight?”
Someone whispers, “She only just got here? Then who was the sock
for?” Kamil shuts him up with a whack in the stomach, his punch stern
enough to stop anyone else from backing up his claim.
When Cash arches a brow, wordlessly demanding I support his ruse that
I’ve just arrived, I stammer out, “U-um. Yeah. I came to tell you I can’t
hang out tonight. I have to…” If I had been raised anywhere but on a
massive ranch in the middle of nowhere, I might have had an idea of what
normal people do on a Tuesday night. Since I don’t, I blurt out the first
excuse that pops into my head. “… wash my hair.”
Several of Cash’s frat brothers hiss and catcall about his supposed
‘burn,’ but Cash keeps his focus on me. “I can do that for you.”
Okay, perhaps his focus wasn’t on me. It was solely fixed on his
reputation.
Pity for him I don’t have any qualms about a girl having dating rules.
“You could… but then you’d have to break the ten-date clause you
instigated the day you begged me to go out with you.”
 His roommates holler and scream. Even a handful of them jump to their
feet like my confession rendered them incapable of staying seated.
As a range of comments about Cash being pussy-whipped filter around
the room, Cash mouths, “You’re killing me.”
Serves him right for how high he made my temperature soar when he
was barely touching me. The tension has been hissing and cracking between
us nonstop the past two weeks, but tonight, it felt almost palpable.
Although I could leave him hanging on a limb, I soften his fall by
extending an olive branch. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you cross
off today since I canceled on you.” After pivoting around and heading for
the door, I murmur, “Now you only have nine dates until you can prove that
the little ‘incident’ tonight was a one-off.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 11

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

W hen McKayla exits my frat house, closing the door behind her, I get
ribbed from all sides. I’m called a pussy-whipped idiot, a love-sick fool,
and even someone tosses in advice on how I can ‘up my game’ before we
reach date ten, yet all I can do is smirk like a smug prick.
I let McKayla scale the trellis because I didn’t want her getting ragged
on about being easy, yet she served me my ass on a platter before leaving
with her dignity intact.
Mine is in the toilet.
I’d care a little more if I weren’t loving her sass. Her many hidden
attributes are why I call her Einstein. He never conformed to the norm
either, and it is what made him a brilliant man.
After getting in on the action of messing up my hair and leaping onto
my back, Kamil weakens the chance of ‘pussy-whipped’ being engraved on
my door by the end of the night. “All right, all right, all right, enough of the
antics. I’m fucking starved.” After inconspicuously nudging his head to
McKayla, who is beginning the five-block walk to her dormitory, he adds,
“Didn’t someone mention something about it being Taco Tuesday?”
The mention of tacos gets them going almost as much as McKayla’s
insinuation I couldn’t get her off. They holler and cheer while making a
beeline to the kitchen, saving me from making a spectacle of myself for the
second time.
I am an ass, and I can play the douche card better than any man here,
but I can’t let a girl walk home alone. I haven’t been able to since an assault
my freshman year. Kamil’s sister hasn’t been the same since that night, and
I don’t want anyone to go through what she went through, let alone
someone who’s only just experiencing life outside her family’s safety net.
Once I’m confident I am not being side-eyed by any of my frat brothers,
I bolt outside like an ice cream truck is speeding down the street.
“McKayla, wait up.”
Her pace slows, along with the noticeable shake of her legs. It’s clear
she’s had the campus safety talk at least once.
She waits until we butt shoulders—figuratively. She’s way too short for
that to happen naturally—before lifting her eyes to mine. “I shouldn’t have
done that. I just…”
Just like she won’t let me off easy when I tell her I don’t know the
answer to the question in front of me, I don’t let her act daft either. “You
just…”
I assume she’s going to say I needed my ego knocked down to a
manageable level, so you can picture my shock when she says, “I leaned
in…” She groans before adding, “And you weren’t cupping my jaw to stare
lovingly in my eyes.” Her next sentence is barely audible through her
groan. “You were pulling a twig out of my hair.”
“It wasn’t a twig. It was a leaf.” I talk through the contents of my
stomach now in my throat from her whacking me in the gut when I
continue, “And it was an afterthought.” When she stares up at me, blinking
and confused, I confess, “I got caught up in the moment.”
I laugh when she says, “Of putting a Band-Aid on someone?”
“No. The…” I make a hand gesture. It doesn’t alleviate her curiosity in
the slightest. “The heat. The buzz.” I narrow my voice to a whisper before
muttering, “The flexing.” I curse her innocence to hell when she still can’t
read between the lines. “You made me hard, Einstein.” With humor, I aim to
lessen her stunned expression. “So maybe some of what you said back there
was true.” I nudge my head to my frat house. “‘Cause it was close. I could
have blown my load in my pants, and my fingers were inches from the
prize.”
“It was barely an inch.” McKayla gulps loudly before shaking her head.
“Not that the facts matter. Please continue.”
We stroll for a couple more feet before I say, “So I leaned, you tilted,
then I went for the leaf.”
You’d swear she isn’t as smart as her SATs state when she summarizes,
“So you wanted to kiss me?”
I’m an ass for contemplating, but wouldn’t it be worse if I nodded like
the desperation that tore through me didn’t deserve a moment of reflection?
“Yeah, I did,” I eventually confess before reminding her that only the
nice guys are meant to win. “It’s been so long, even the fire hydrant looks
inviting to me.”
When her eyes follow the direction of mine, and she spots a stray dog
going to town on a red fire hydrant, she doubles the length of her tiny
strides, meaning we’ll make it to her dorm long before she can call me out
as the liar I am.
I wanted to kiss her—desperately—but the nice guy is meant to win,
and I am not him.

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Chapter 12

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

T ires screeching then popping under the pressure booms into my ears a
second before I’m shoved from the side. Cash’s shunt is so firm I land
several feet away from the truck that’s careened from the other side of the
road, mounted the gutter, and crashed into the tree two blocks from my
dormitory.
The impact is so thunderous it takes several long seconds for me to
realize Cash’s shouts aren’t in concern about the harshness of his shove.
He’s abusing the driver still stuck behind the wheel, telling him how his
stupidity could have resulted in the loss of life.
“Do you have any fucking idea how close you came to hitting her?” He
thrusts his hand in my direction during the end of his sentence, its shake
obvious. “You could have fucking killed her!”
“Cash,” I shout when his anger sees him pulling the driver out of the
wreckage and adding to his bruises with his fists.
Mud slips off my backside when I scamper to my feet and race around
the hanging-open driver’s side door of the truck. Cash’s dithering mood
makes sense when the strong scent of alcohol filters out of the truck’s cabin.
There are several open bottles littering the floor and even more in the tray.
I praise the lack of length in my strides when Kamil and several of
Cash’s frat brothers arrive on the scene only seconds later. “Whoa. Whoa.
Whoa. Milo, back up.”
Kamil pulls Cash off the barely conscious driver before straying his
eyes to me. My brows furrow when he stares at me for several long
seconds. The mud on my backside makes it look as if I pooped my pants,
but he isn’t staring at my butt. He appears to be looking straight through
me.
“Oh shit,” I murmur when I follow the direction of his gaze. The driver
wasn’t the only person in the truck. He had a passenger who must not have
been wearing her seat belt since she was flung several hundred feet through
the air. “Call 9-1-1.”
Animals and people are very different, but our vital organs are almost
the same. They function in the same manner, and keeping them working is
the only task when you stumble onto a wreckage where a person doesn’t
have a pulse.
“Tilt her head back,” Cash shouts, his voice as shaky as the hands I’m
compressing down on the blonde’s chest.
With his focus no longer on the driver, Kamil lets Cash go. He drops to
his knees on the opposite side of the passenger before tilting her head back
as suggested.
“Compressions are more important than breathing for her. If we can
keep her heart pumping, she could survive.” Cash unplugs her nose before
wordlessly seeking instructions on how he can help me keep her alive. “Can
you compress her chest?”
As he lifts his chin, he shuffles closer before mimicking my position.
Once he has her chest rising and falling in the same pattern as his chest, I
rip off the belt of my onesie then tourney it above the large gash in the
woman’s leg. It is a lot deeper than the wound Cash tendered to only
minutes ago and far more life-threatening.
When my cruel tug causes the woman to whimper in pain, I instruct,
“Stop chest compressions and check for a pulse.”
 Tears prick my eyes when my suggestion isn’t needed. The woman’s
eyes pop open as she sucks down breaths like she’s aware how close she
came to taking her last one.
Although her consciousness is a good sign, we still have to move fast to
save her leg.
“We need to pack the wound.” I stray my eyes to my outfit that will
leave me naked if I were to remove it to Cash. “Your shirt. Give me your
shirt.”
The woman’s sobs break my heart when I stuff Cash’s shirt into her
wound, but I continue, mindful a little bit of pain now will save her a heap
of heartache down the road.
“Now apply pressure to the wound,” I instruct when Cash helps me
shove in as much of his cotton shirt into the gaping wound as physically
possible. “It’s okay. Stay still. The paramedics are almost here,” I assure the
blonde when her whimpers double the shakes hampering Cash’s body.
His tall height and athletic build make him appear as big as a giant, but
right now, he seems more like a scared, frightened boy.
“Over here,” I shout when I spot a paramedic emerging from the back of
the truck.
When he drops to his knees beside me, I rattle off everything we’ve
done the past ten-plus minutes.
“How long was she unresponsive?” he asks while setting up heart
equipment on the footpath’s edge.
“Two, maybe three minutes. It wasn’t long. We started chest
compressions immediately and tourneyed her leg around five minutes ago.”
My eyes snap down to the scratch on my leg when the paramedic’s
double layer of latex gloves has him stumbling to remove the cover of his
syringe. When I noticed splotches of blood on and around the Band-Aid
Cash applied, I sigh in relief.
 I didn’t consider the consequences of working on a patient without
proper protective equipment. I just wanted to save her life.
“You did good. We’ll take it from here.”
Before I can return to my feet, a second paramedic says, “Make sure
you pass on your details to the officers. We will do a full blood workup and
advise if you need to be tested.”
Even knowing he has no reason to fret, I nod. “I don’t have any open
wounds.”
“And him?”
I realize how bloody Cash’s hands are when the paramedic nudges his
head at them. They’re coated in blood, although I’m reasonably sure none
of it is his.
“I think that might be the driver’s blood?” Since I’m unsure, I sound
that way. “But I’ll make sure we pass on our details.”
He nods, pleased by my maturity before he does all the necessary
checks so he can move the patient onto a stretcher and load her into the
back of the first responder truck.
“Where are you taking her?”
Once he has the portable equipment switched out for wired ones, he
asks, “Do you know her?”
Hair falls in front of my eye when I shake my head. “But I’d like to
check on her.”
He smiles like I gave him the key to the kingdom. “We will take her to
St. Mary’s. Tell them you saved her life. It should see you spared the ‘only
family’ spiel.”
“Thanks, I will.” I return his smile before stepping back so a first
responder can join him in the cab and his partner can climb into the driver’s
seat.
I watch their departure until the lights are mere flickers in the distance
and the adrenaline surging through my veins almost becomes too much to
bear. There’s a thrill associated with every tragedy that keeps your legs
moving despite their request to collapse. It’s usually closely followed by
remorse.
Although, as my eyes stray across the carnage still unveiling itself, I
wonder if I have experienced my emotions the wrong way around. Even
with both motorists’ lungs still accepting air, the mood is somber and dark.
Even more so when I spot Cash’s stalk back to his frat house.
“Cash.”
My feet don’t budge an inch when my elbow is seized in a firm grip,
and I’m held back. “You should probably give him a minute.” Kamil looks
even more remorseful now than he did when he spotted the female
passenger several feet behind me. “This will be hitting a little too close to
home for him.” My brows barely taper, but they must spell out my
confusion. “He’ll tell you when he’s ready.” He stops, scrunches up his
face, then continues, “Or maybe he won’t. He doesn’t expose that side of
himself very often.” The harshness of his tone seems nowhere near as
impacting when he murmurs, “Although he may for you.” He shrugs as if
silently deliberating with himself before saying, “But I’d still suggest giving
him some time. His head space isn’t good right now.”
“How long do you think he’ll need?”
Again, he shrugs. “A week. A month. Who knows?”
“He doesn’t have a week, Kamil. Not if he wants to play.” I asked
Professor Ren why Cash was so desperate for me to tutor him. At first, she
made out it was because he loves numbers as much as me. It took one side-
eye for her to cave.
If Cash doesn’t pass his next test, he can’t play at all this season. If ever
again.
It is as simple and as heartbreaking as that.
“I know. I just…” Kamil strays his eyes in the direction Cash just
walked before breathing out slowly. “Just give him some time, Einstein.
He’ll come out soon.”
It kills me, but I jerk up my chin.

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Chapter 13

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

W ith my adrenaline still high and my curiosity eased within an hour

of the crash victims arriving at the hospital, I toss off my bedding, then slip
out of bed.
Both the driver and the passenger will survive their injuries, although
the driver will need extensive dental work to replace the teeth he lost during
‘impact.’
Since it was only Kamil, Cash’s frat brothers, and me who witnessed
Cash’s beat down at the crash site, the first responders assumed the driver’s
bloody mouth was caused by him head-butting the windshield his girlfriend
flew out of when they collided with the tree.
In a way, they were lucky. If they weren’t so heavily intoxicated, they
would have fought the bone-crushing pull of the accident more, and their
injuries could have been far worse.
That’s why drunk drivers rarely die in traffic incidents. Their sluggish
movements follow the twists and turns of the wreckage. They don’t fight
against them as someone with a normal blood- alcohol level would.
It takes me searching my side of the dorm from top to bottom before I
recall the last place I saw my backpack. I left it on Cash’s bedroom floor.
It could remain there until the morning, but with it barely hitting nine
and my impatience as perverse as my wish to make sure Cash is okay, I
throw a jacket over the outfit I placed on after showering for almost thirty
minutes before trudging out the door.
As I cross the grassed lawn at the front of my dormitory, I tug my jacket
in close. It isn’t cold. I just can’t drum out my mother’s warnings about
maintaining my safety while walking through the campus.
It is unfortunate that we’re no longer in a time where you can wander
freely and not have to wonder if your outfit is too risqué for men who
should know better than to judge a woman on the clothes she’s wearing.
I’m partway down the cracked footpath that almost claimed my life
when my name gets called. When I pivot toward the voice, shock rains
down on me.
How did I not recognize his voice? I was once obsessed with it.
Am still obsessed with it, I think.
“Hey.” Gabriel catches up with me before adding a smile to his
greeting. It doesn’t increase my pulse as it once did. We’ve talked a handful
of times the past few weeks, but our conversations were rarely friendly. He
bitched more than anything. He hates everyone, and it seems as if the
feelings are mutual. “Are you heading out?” When I nod, he echoes one of
the many cautions Cash has given me the past week and a half. “You really
shouldn’t walk alone. The campus isn’t safe at night.”
While he gestures for me to lead the way, I reply, “I left my backpack in
Cash’s room. I need it to study.”
I don’t recognize his tone when he asks, “You were in Cash’s room?”
“Yeah. To study.” I fight my lie for almost twenty seconds before it
wins. “We were meant to study, but I asked him if he could teach me how to
ride a skateboard, so we left, hence my backpack being left in his room.”
Gabriel’s voice is brittle with laughter when he asks, “Why in the world
would you want to learn to ride a skateboard?”
“Why not? It seems fun.”
 “Fun.” He chokes on the word like I couldn’t possibly comprehend what
it means. “I can think of far more fun things to do than break my neck on a
stupid board on wheels.”
I shrug. “Each to their own.”
My brush-off of his opinion hinders the air with murky awkwardness.
Mercifully, the trip to Cash’s frat house from my dorm isn’t long.
“Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No.” I step around Gabriel before stopping in front of him. “That isn’t
necessary.”
He stares at me as if I am insane. I learn why when he murmurs, “That
is a frat house.”
“It is,” I parrot. “And I’m okay with that.” Cash has tickets on himself,
and he doesn’t lack an ounce of confidence, but I’ve not once felt
uncomfortable around him.
Tingles, yes.
Uncomfortable, no.
If I had met him outside of his environment, I’d be none the wiser that
he’s a jock.
Well, if you exclude his long hair, love of sweats, and obsession with
sports.
“I’ll see you at class tomorrow.”
Gabriel looks annoyed by my underhanded request that he leave, but he
gets the hint—eventually.
Regretfully, I’m given my marching orders not long later.
“He’s not there yet, Einstein.” Kamil exits the house, closing the door
behind him. “And I’d offer to get your backpack, but I’m not sure I’d even
survive the carnage right now.” Mistaking the worry on my face as
something else, he offers, “You can take my textbooks if you want? I won’t
even object to you highlighting every important passage and jotting down
the formulas in the spine.”
 That gets a smile out of me. “Thanks, but I’d rather stick to my no-notes
study rule.” After releasing the air trapped in my chest with a sigh, I
murmur, “Tomorrow?”
He twists his lips before reluctantly bobbing his head. “Perhaps.” He
whacks me on the back like he does Cash a hundred times each training
session before twisting the doorknob. “I’ll let him know you dropped by.
Might do him some good to know you were worried about him.”
“I’m not worried. I am…” I act like I didn’t say anything. “Bye.”
I only get two feet away when Kamil asks, “Where’s your escort?”
“Ah…” My eyes lock with the trellis attached to the side of the house
before the truth leaves my mouth. “He’s down there.” I hook my thumb to
Gabriel still milling around.
He’s too busy talking on his cell phone to notice my gawk, but his
presence snuffs Kamil’s wish to give me a campus safety rant. “Maybe
don’t tell Milo Gabriel was your escort.”
“What is the go with them two? Do they have a beef?”
“One, no one says beef anymore.” After drinking in my miffed
expression, he continues, “And two…” He leaves me hanging until I almost
asphyxiate. “That also isn’t my story to tell.” He grins at my glare before
reminding me to be cautious.
“I will.”
I am a big fat liar.
A second after he closes the door, I slip down the side of the front
porch, stuff my foot into an opening of the trellis, then begin a Spiderman
climb to Cash’s room before Gabriel can spot me.
“Shoot,” I gabber to myself when my eagerness to clamber onto the roof
lining sees my thigh awarded its second nick of the evening. It isn’t as long
as the first one, but a little deeper.
My nose tingles when I hoist up Cash’s window so I can squeeze
through the opening. Like the truck, his room reeks of alcohol. It is coming
off every surface, and it is even more notable when I inch closer to his bed.
Cash is lying on top of the bedding. His beanie is pulled down over his
eyes, he’s clutching an empty bottle of whiskey, and snoring like a trooper.
While grinning about the email Eden shoved in my face the morning
after Cash walked me home for the first time, I scoop down to collect my
backpack from the floor. Cash suggested she bring home headphones before
reminding her that a shared dorm is exactly that—shared.
I loved that he stood up for me even with us only just becoming friends.
I’m scared to within an inch of my life when my wrist is snagged in a
firm grip, and I’m yanked forward. But before a single pop of noise can
escape my mouth, Cash’s grip loosens and his nostrils flare. “Einstein?”
After pulling up his beanie so it sits high on his head, his bloodshot eyes
rake my face before slowly gliding down my body. “What are you doing
here?”
“I forgot my backpack…” While dropping my eyes in the direction he’s
staring, I stop talking. The scratch on my leg is visible, and just like earlier,
Cash acts as if I’m about to lose my leg.
The soup I gurgled down before bed sloshes in my stomach when he
scoops me into his arms and gallops down the stairs. He bypasses his frat
brothers in the living room and makes a beeline for the kitchen, groaning
when he realizes the first-aid kit is still out.
For a person who is clearly intoxicated, he barely sways while fishing
iodine out of the cupboard above the refrigerator and soaking a cotton
gauze pad with it. It alters his scent so much I wouldn’t have known he was
drunk if I hadn’t spotted the empty bottle in his hand.
My eyes bulge when he stuffs the knuckle of his index finger into my
mouth before demanding I bite down.
“I’m not going to bite you,” I mumble over his finger. “It doesn’t hurt
—”
“Bite!” he screams, scaring me for the second time.
 My teeth dig into the leathery skin on his finger when he drags the
iodine-soaked cloth over my scratch. It burns. Not enough to need a gag,
but it is achy, nonetheless.
Once half my thigh is stained with yellow liquid, Cash removes his
finger from my mouth, then fetches a Band-Aid out of the first-aid kit.
My heart slithers to my gut when the removal of the first protective strip
comes with a confession, “I told him if he didn’t keep the wound clean,
he’d lose his leg.” He laughs as if he’s saying something funny. “He didn’t
listen.” He pulls off the second strip before lining up the Band-Aid with my
scratch. “If he had listened to begin with, he wouldn’t have been in the car
with her that night. He would have been with me. Two spots back. Nowhere
near that fucking tree.” I hiss when he presses down on my thigh a little
firmer than necessary. “But he went with her, and now I’m meant to live his
life.”
While recalling a saying my father always said to me when I got upset
that I didn’t go to school like normal children, I quote, “You don’t have to
live anyone’s life bar your own.”
Cash locks his glassy eyes with mine, the silence almost deafening.
Learning someone I’ve been crushing on for years isn’t close to who I
thought they were should scare me from speaking my mind, but the
absolute desperation in his eyes to be freed of guilt keeps me talking. “It
was his choice, Cash.”
“It was,” he agrees, slightly slurring.
“Then why are you taking the blame for it?”
I don’t know if my question knocks him back two spots or the alcohol
trekking through his veins. “I’m not. I am just… I…” He huffs then
confesses, “I don’t want to be him either.” He could still be talking about
our first unnamed tormentor, but the way he said ‘him’ this time around was
different. “I love him as much as he does the Nutbush, but I don’t want to
be him. I don’t want to be used.” Sparks of the Cash I’ve been wrangling
the past three and a bit weeks form before my eyes when a cocky grin
notches one side of his mouth high. “Unless I’m being used by you… I
think I could handle that.”
His underhanded compliment soars my ego, but I keep my excitement at
bay—almost. “I think you’re drunk.”
A tingling sensation I’ve never experienced before meeting Cash ignites
between my legs when he murmurs, “But I still think you’d let me.”
I arch a brow as if the innuendo in his tone didn’t send goose bumps
racing to the surface of my skin. “Let you do what?”
When he weaves his fingers through my hair and balances his forehead
on mine, I close my eyes and search for his familiar scent choked under
years of controversy.
Eventually, I find it, but I only get to relish it for half a second before
Cash’s murmured comment forces my eyes back open, “You’d let me kiss
you without winning a bet.”
“What? No.” My inner body temperature soars. “Don’t be silly. We’re
friends. Study partners. I-I’m your tutor. Surely, that would be against the
rules.”
“It’s not,” he says matter-of-factly, his tone far smoother than the
rickety high pitch of my voice. “I checked.”
When he drops his hand from the back of my head to my jaw, his
bloodshot eyes should have me immediately pulling away. He’s intoxicated.
Drunk. He won’t even remember it in the morning.
So maybe I should do it? Perhaps I should let him kiss me and get the
crazy tension crackling between us out of our systems.
What?
That’s a horrible idea, and I’ve never been more ashamed that the
thought came from my head.
“I need to leave.” Cash crashes into the kitchen cabinets behind him
when I leap down from the counter to place some much-needed distance
between us. “We have a study session tomorrow at two.”
“I don’t think—”
I squash my finger to his lips, alerting the deviant side of my head that
we’re not as far apart as suspected, shutting up his excuses while also
noticing how plump his mouth is.
He has extremely kissable lips, and they make me hate my morals.
After shaking my head to rid it of inappropriate thoughts, I repeat,
“Tomorrow at two.” When I see indecisiveness brewing in his eyes, I add,
“And if you’re not fifteen minutes early like you have been the past three or
so weeks, I’ll show up here with a trunk full of balls for your face.”
He throws his head back and laughs as if I am joking.
I’m not.
“You’re desperate to play. I’m desperate to watch you play, so failure is
not an option. Comprende?”
I feel like a badass bitch when Cash slurs out, “Capiche.”

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Chapter 14

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

I ’m bitch slapped awake by something skidding across my lips before

thudding into the wall next to my head.
It is closely followed by a shouted question. “What is the billionth digit
of Pi?”
“What—”
Smack.
When my blurry eyes sluggishly open, the first thing they lock onto is a
basketball balancing on my chest.
What.
The.
Fuck?
“What is the only even prime number?”
I stray my eyes to the voice, my face screwing up when I spot McKayla
standing at my door with a basketball in her hand, at the ready.
“What the fuck are you doi—”
Smack.
“Two. Two is the only even prime number.” I call Kamil a snitching rat
under my breath when he hands McKayla another ball, wordlessly
encouraging her to continue with her study campaign.
 Her next question would be simple to answer if my head wasn’t trapped
in the past. “What time were you meant to meet me today?”
“My head isn’t—”
Smack.
“For fuck’s sake, McKayla. Sometimes you just need to take a day off
—”
Smack.
“Stop pegging damn balls at my head.”
Smack.
When I glare at her, warning her I’m two seconds from pinning her to
my bed with my body, she returns my stare as if it has no sting whatsoever
while saying, “Answer my questions correctly, and you won’t get hurt.”
I mock her with laughter. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.”
Smack.
Her throw this time around knocks the words right out of my mouth.
“What time—”
“Two. I was meant to meet you at two.”
She looks like she hit the jackpot. “And what time is it now?”
“I don’t fuckin—”
Smack.
After returning my head to its rightful spot, I peer at my phone on my
bedside table. “Three. It is three twenty-seven in the afternoon.”
“So that makes you how late?”
Disappointment hardens her features more than my angry tone when I
snap out, “An hour and twenty-seven minutes.”
“And how will you make up for my wasted time?”
“I don’t know.”
This time, I’m awake enough to catch the ball she pegs at me before it
gets close to my face.
 Her gaping mouth pops a brilliant idea into my head. “Maybe I should
kiss you like you were begging me to last night.”
Her shock morphs onto my face when she asks, “Which time?”
My cock twitches along with my sluggish brain. “There was more than
once?”
Smack.
“For fuck’s sake. Stop using my head as a backboard.”
McKayla’s shit-eating grin takes care of my anger, shifting all the red-
hot fury to an area much lower in my body. “I will. When I run out of
balls.” She peers down the hallway before shifting her eyes back to me.
“You still have a little while to go.”
When I join her in the doorway to glance down the hall, I take a
moment to relish her pleasant scent. My frat brothers are lining the stairwell
to my room, each holding a basketball.
Traitorous bastards.
“I told you I’d show up with a trunk full of balls if you stood me up.”
McKayla balances one ball on her hip before giving me a halfhearted smile.
“I didn’t lie.”
“When the fuck did you say that?”
She looks like she wants to peg the ball at my head again, but she holds
back the urge—barely. “Last night. I came to get my backpack.”
The truth smacks into me when I stray my eyes to her bag on my floor.
“Now your scent makes sense. I thought I was imagining it.”
Does that mean the other thing I imagined also wasn’t a dream?
“Did we… ah…” I do the ick hand gesture again.
McKayla reads it in the manner intended. After yanking my hand down,
she tells my frat brothers their efforts are no longer needed.
Her sweet-as-pie accent and friendly grin have them leaving before the
movie’s credits have even commenced rolling.
 “We didn’t do anything,” she announces once we’re alone. “Except
agree to continue with tutoring as scheduled so you’ll ace your next exam.”
I understand her eagerness. I’ve quoted a wish to pass the past few
weeks, but my head isn’t in it. I can’t stop seeing my brother lying lifeless
outside of my mother’s BMW the night he went home with her after my
game. He knew she was drunk, yet he still got in the car with her.
I was first on the scene of their accident, but since I was the only person
there, I couldn’t save Trenton’s leg like McKayla did the blonde’s late
yesterday.
Only his life.
I hate the fog in my head when McKayla murmurs, “It was his choice,
Cash.”
“It was. I just…” I scrub a hand across my tired eyes before saying, “I
could have stopped him.”
“It was his choice,” McKayla repeats again, sterner this time. “Just like
it is your choice to wallow in self-pity or to strap on your big-girl panties
and put the adrenaline of last night to good use.” She thrusts the ball she’s
been clutching the past ten minutes into my chest before saying, “If you
don’t want to play ball, pick another profession. If you don’t want to ride a
skateboard, buy a bike. But don’t bounce on your obligations. That just
makes you look like a dick.”
“A flabby bit of tissue that’s controlled by an entirely separate entity?”
Our conversation seems nowhere near as serious when she says with a
grin, “By multiple separate entries.” She taps my temple with her index
finger before heading for the door. “If your flab is half as impressive as you
make out, I’ll meet you down in my car in ten.”
Her quick pace slackens when I mutter, “Will ten minutes be long
enough? This is a frat house. There are no big-girl panties around here.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” My laughter echoes down the hall when
she murmurs, “Kamil’s pedi is better than mine.”
Confusion rings in my tone when I ask, “I thought we were studying
today?”
McKayla’s eyes drift from a paintball arcade set up downtown to me.
“We are. Just figured this would make it more fun.” After peeling out of the
driver’s seat of her stinky car, she advises, “For each question you get right,
you’ll be awarded one paintball.”
“And when I get them wrong?” I ask, aware she is all about praise and
discipline.
Her smile competes with the bright afternoon sun. “I get your
paintball.” She must hear my confusion because she spins to face me before
walking backward. “We’re on opposing teams today.”
I love the competitiveness on her face, but it doesn’t alter the facts. “I’m
not shooting at you with a paintball gun. Those fuckers hurt.”
McKayla loves my underhanded protectiveness, but her competitive
side is far more flourishing. “One, why are you assuming you’ll be the only
one with balls?”
I glide my hand down the front of myself, doubling her amused
expression.
Her gag is super cute. “Two, you’d have to catch me to volley me with
shrapnel. And three…” She waits and waits and waits before finalizing her
reply, “I was taught if you fire a weapon, you shoot to kill.”
I swallow, suddenly conscious it isn’t competitiveness highlighting her
features.
It is absolute assuredness.
“They have a no-head-shot rule here, right?” When she spins back
around before somehow doubling the length of her strides like her legs are
nowhere near as short as they are, I race to catch up with her. “Right?”
“I don’t give a fuck what you say.” My words are barely audible through
the thick plastic face pane of my helmet. “Those questions were not
standard mathematic questions. Even Einstein would have struggled with
them.”
“Einstein flunked math.”
I grin at McKayla’s Darth Vader voice before shaking my head. “That’s
an urban myth. People say it purely to make themselves feel better. He was
as good at math as he was in science and physics.” When she peers at me
from beneath her helmet, I tap my knuckles on the top. “You’re not the only
one capable of researching subjects we’re not familiar with.”
Guilt darkens her eyes, but before I’m tempted to ask her how much she
unearthed about me when she googled me last night, I enter the paintball
field to scope the premises. I need a good hiding spot because I have three
measly paintball pellets. McKayla has dozens.
I crank my neck back when McKayla’s robotic voice trickles through
the holes drilled into my spacesuit helmet, “You can run, probie, but you
can’t hide.”
Probie? Who the fuck is probie?
I duck behind a hollowed-out wine barrel when I spot specks of
McKayla’s hair sticking out the bottom of her helmet, then commence
lining up my shot.
My head has barely peeked above the top of the barrel when my vision
is blurred by a bright orange splatter. I’ve taken a direct hit to the head, and
McKayla immediately claims the victory. “Game over in under thirty
seconds. Maybe I should let the rumors be upheld? That’s an embarrassing
effort, probie.”
Incapable of standing by and letting someone cheat, I stand from my
crouch position and say, “Because you cheated—”
 Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Paint splatters on my chest, my heart, and a section of my thigh a mere
inch from my groin.
“Jesus Christ, McKayla, you almost took out my dick!”
My eyes bulge when she murmurs, “Only almost? I was aiming for
castration.”
After gulping like a bitch, I bolt for the fort on my left, dodging a
hundred and one paintballs on my way. McKayla shoots me in the ass,
back, and thighs before forcing me behind the rickety material by
splattering the back of my helmet with a rainbow configuration.
“You are so going down,” I snarl out, my competitive side finally
merging from the dark pit.
Like a Terminator who respawns when hit, McKayla accepts the shot I
fire at her shoulder with only the slightest backward nudge before she
continues her military stalk of the paint-soaked grounds.
“Don’t make me do it, Einstein.” I’m panting so hard, the mask of my
helmet is fogged, and my armpits are wet, but I’m still grinning like a
fucking loon. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. “Don’t make me
take you out with a kill shot.”
“I’d like to see you try.” McKayla’s visor is just as clouded with
condensation, her smile just as large. “You’re shit with angles and moving
targets, so you’ll never make it.”
It dawns on me that’s the reason she shoots so well.
She brings mathematics into everyday tasks.
My brain should be fried after the workout she gave it in the makeshift
reception area of the paintball arena, but miraculously, it sets to work on
where I should aim to make contact with a moving target.
 Once I’m confident I have McKayla’s teachings down right, I caution,
“This is your last warning, Einstein. If you surrender now, I’ll spare you the
embarrassment of taking you down with only one pellet.”
I have to recalculate my prediction when she stops in the middle of the
field to prop out her hip. “You got shot between the eyes, probie. You’re
already dead.”
“Not necessarily,” I argue. “I read a book where the main character’s
brother survived a gunshot wound to the head.”
Even from a distance and with her face covered by a thick pane of
plastic, I can see her furrowed brows. “That’s not possible.”
“According to you. But not all of us use one hundred percent of our
brain capacity. Some of us are more than capable of getting around with
half a brain.”
Bang.
Another direct hit to my head.
“You’re a fucking psycho.” I’m dissing her, but in reality, I’m loving
her gall. She knew she needed to bring her game face today, and she
brought it out with all the bells and whistles.
“Says the guy who has yet to take a shot.”
“I hit your shoulder.”
Her sass almost bowls me over when she replies, “You did? When?”
Through the biggest smile I’ve ever worn, I warn, “That’s it, Einstein.
Time to teach you a lesson.”
I fire another shot, then feel instantly guilty.
It smacks McKayla right in the tit and has her bending in two with a
howl.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t aiming for your boob. I was—”
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
 I’m shot on repeat by a snickering McKayla who lured me out of hiding
by feigning an injury.
Like a drama geek with too much time on his hand, I overemphasize my
death, jerking back with every paint pellet that dots my overalls until I land
on a soft bedding of straw.
My ‘dead’ vantage point comes with perks. It has my eyes landing on
water balloons filled with paint to replicate grenades.
After stuffing a handful behind my back, I lay as still as possible,
playing dead.
McKayla buys my act.
She doesn’t have a choice, considering she is out of bullets.
“You can’t win them all,” she murmurs before offering me a hand.
After unsteadying her military stance by accepting her hand, I pull a
water balloon out from behind my back and direct it at her face. It pops
without fault, splattering half her face with bright yellow paint.
She barely registers the goop gliding down the front of her visor when I
hit her with a second grenade. This one, I mush into the face glaring at me
in shock.
“You… you… you…” When she spots the bucket of ‘grenades’ at the
side of us, she finally completes her sentence. “You’re dead.”
After a second paintball grenade to her head, I scoop up another three
before bolting for shelter under a barricade in the middle of the course.
McKayla is hot on my tail two seconds later, her aim nowhere near as
precise since she has to throw her weapons instead of aiming them.
“Who is the probie now?”
I’ll need to probe paint out of my ass when she pegs me right in the
butthole. Paint sloshes through the thin material that’s meant to protect us,
slowing down my sprint so suffice it to say, McKayla catches me on the
way down.
 She digs her sock-covered shoe into the back of my knee, doubling my
fall before climbing onto my back like a monkey. Then she splats an
overfilled balloon onto my head like an egg.
When the paint bouncing off my helmet see her covered in as much
goop as me, I howl like a fucking wolf before continuing with my earlier
dramatics. Except this time, I take McKayla down with me.
“Death by sacrifice. The only real way to go,” I groan out dramatically
while flopping onto my back so McKayla doesn’t cop the brunt of our fall.
She lands on top of me, our difference in height undeniable when her
knee brushes my groin during impact. It is a close call, but not scary enough
for my body not to respond to her closeness.
She’s right here, lying on top of me, panting hard. Her cheeks are red,
her body is slicked with sweat, and although my deviant head could be
making up her scent, she smells exactly how you’d envision she’d smell if
you’d just taken her to the brink of ecstasy.
When my cock twitches in response to my thoughts, McKayla’s eyes
lock with mine through the murky streaks of paint careening down the front
of her helmet. Our stare down doubles the output of her heart and has it
beating so ruefully, I feel every throb of her pulse. It is as desperate as the
throbs of my cock, a manic, uncontrolled pace that has me forgetting my
woeful mood.
I’m hungover and remorseful, but feel like I am in the prime of my life.
And the knowledge has me acting like I’m not the worst man on the
planet for McKayla.
It has me wanting to be the first in a long line of much better suitors.
“Einstein—”
McKayla must feel the same tension. Not even a second after I angle
my head to the side to better align our lips, she lunges forward, smacking
our helmets together so loudly, an attendant enters the field to make sure
we’re okay.
 I don’t buy his act. There are cameras propped up throughout the field.
He’s here to make sure we don’t stain the props with more than Fluro paint,
but McKayla can’t spot a fool a mile out—hence, her crush on Gabriel
Fucking Sutton. “Yep. We’re great.” Her grimace is so soft, that if our
bodies weren’t plastered together, I wouldn’t have noticed it. “Just out of
ammo.”
Refusing to let our fun afternoon end on a low note, I mutter, “Says
you,” before I snatch up another ‘grenade’ and mush it over her head.
She giggles at the attendant’s shocked face from being sprayed with the
shrapnel of my detonation before she scoops up the entire basket of water
balloons and chases me down.
When paint-filled balloons fly at me from all directions, I dive for
cover.
Regretfully, this time, I don’t roll onto my back. I land on the straw-
covered pallet face-first, and since I’m hard from imagining the many ways
I could alter McKayla’s scent, my cock takes the brunt of my fall.
While rolling onto my back, I groan like I’m dying, my moans gargled
through my balls now sitting in my throat.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” McKayla dumps her basket of ‘grenades’
onto the paint-splattered ground before dropping to her knees next to me.
“Did you break something? Is your leg okay?”
I realize she knows the extent of my brother’s injury when she rips off
her helmet before dropping her eyes to the skin just above my left knee—
right at the spot where Trenton’s leg was amputated.
“My leg is fine.” My scrunched-up face softens when the humor of the
situation dawns on me. “Well, kinda. My middle leg isn’t doing too good.”
I fall in love with McKayla’s innocence when she murmurs to herself,
“Your middle leg?”
“Middle leg.” When I drop my eyes to my crotch, she follows the
direction of my gaze.
 My pain is forgotten when her cheeks turn the color of beets before she
snaps her eyes back to my face. “You hurt your…. penis?”
Blood once again rushes to the area she’s referencing, proving it still
works, but since this throb is different, I admit, “Yeah. I swear I heard a
crack.”
I’m joking, but you wouldn’t know that from McKayla’s response. “Oh
no. We should get it checked.”
“I’m joking.” I’m proven a liar when I attempt to sit up. My head is
woozy, throbbing as much as my cock. “You can’t break your penis.”
The color drains from my face when McKayla replies, “Ah… yeah, you
can.”
I stare at her with scrunched brows. “You only said yesterday that a
penis is flabby tissue controlled by muscles close to it.”
“Flabby tissue that is filled with veins. Veins pop under pressure. A
popped vessel is classed as a breakage, so yes, probie, you can break your
penis.” She stands before once again offering me a hand. “If you don’t want
permanent issues down there, we should get it checked.”
“I’m not flopping my dick out for a random stranger.”
I realize I underestimated McKayla’s wit when she snaps out, “Why
not? Is that only appropriate on the weekends?”
She melts under the heat of my glare. “Despite what the rumors say, I
am not a slut.”
Physically repulsed, she gags. “Don’t use the S word. It is worse than
the C word.”
After mimicking the arm she curls around my waist but several feet
higher, I say, “If you don’t like the C word, don’t ever visit Australia. If
they don’t call you a cunt, you’re not their friend.”
When the paintball owner spots my slow hobble to the registration area,
he is quick to snatch up the non-defamation clause we signed upon arrival.
He has no reason to fret. I’d rather die of an internal dick hemorrhage than
admit I took myself out with a whack to the nuts, especially since I’d have
to admit my tutor made me hard by doing something as simple as breathing.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 15

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

A fter pulling to the curb at the front of Cash’s frat house, I remove my
seat belt then twist my torso to face him. His cheeks are still white, and the
bag of ice the paintball owner gave him has melted into the crotch of his
pants.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get it checked?” I choke over my
words when I realize we’re talking about a part of his body I have no
experience with. “I could take a look. I-if you want. I’m studying to be a
vet, but you often call yourself a pig, so…” A shrug finalizes my reply.
Cash glares at me like he did the other hundred times I suggested he go
to the ER before he tosses open the passenger side door and gingerly climbs
out.
After embarrassingly almost kissing him, I’m also desperate for a quick
exit, but my hopes are dashed when I spot Cash’s hoodie in the back seat of
my ride while seeking an opening in traffic.
He loves his hoodies as much as he does basketball, and although I’d
love to add one to my collection, I’d rather he gift it to me like he did his
poncho.
After snatching up his hoodie, I shadow his slow walk inside.
Kamil spots Cash’s slow stumble before I can catch up with him. “Why
the fuck is he walking like that?” He tosses the last crumbs of a bag of
Cheetos into his mouth before shifting his eyes to me. “You know the rules,
right?” When I stare at him, mute and confused, he barks out with a frisky
wink, “If you break it, you pay for it.”
Even with the timing wrong—Cash could be seriously injured—I grin.
“McKayla didn’t break my penis.” Cash’s usually deep voice is low
with pain. “But I think I did.”
“Then why did you make me bring you back here? You should be at the
ER.”
Kamil backs up my worry. “You should listen to her, Milo. A broken
cock isn’t a laughing matter.” You wouldn’t believe the worry lines etched
on his forehead if you could hear how brittle his voice is with laughter.
Cash shoots daggers at him. “It’s not broken. It is just really fucking
sore.”
I wonder what major Kamil is undertaking when he asks, “Sorer than
normal?” He must spot my shocked expression as he’s quick in his attempt
to ease it. “Blue balls are a major issue amongst twenty-two to fifty-five-
year-old men.”
“Cash is only twenty-one.” I learned that after I googled him last night.
I wasn’t snooping. I was merely… snooping.
His brother’s accident was horrific, but I’m lost as to why Cash blames
himself. He wasn’t driving. He was first on the scene. And if it weren’t for
his quick actions, his brother would have died.
“Yeah, but he has something us seniors like to call acute malutitus.”
“Acute what?” I’ve not heard of his last word, and I read encyclopedias
for fun as a child.
“Acute malutitus is—” Cash attempts to shut him up by throwing a
pillow in his face. It doesn’t work. “When you don’t come for several
months.”
“Months?” That couldn’t be helped. My shock spoke before I could shut
it down.
 “Yep.” Kamil gets battered with the pillow another three times before he
completes his statement. “He hasn’t…” spit flies in all directions when he
mimics an explosion, “… since he broke up with Vivienne.”
I get hit with another severe case of verbal diarrhea. “Why haven’t you
taken care of business yourself?”
Cash’s eyes shoot to me, but Kamil’s focus remains locked on him.
“Yeah, Milo. Why haven’t you masturbated? Choked the sausage? Stroked
the slong?”
Cash glares at him to step the fuck back before enlightening through a
groan, “It does nothing for me. It’s boring by yourself.”
“Tell me about it.”
I want to die a thousand deaths.
I was meant to say that in my head.
“I assume.”
Shut up, McKayla.
After hooking my thumb to the door, I push out, “I’m going to go.”
With Cash down for the count, Kamil takes up the campaign to derail
me. “You can’t drop a bomb like that then leave, Einstein.” He protects his
package like Cash wasn’t being honest when he said I wasn’t responsible
for his swollen appendage before adding. “You haven’t been kissed, had
sex, or played with yourself.” He mentally ticks off each item, his voice
shuddering during ‘played.’ “Am I missing anything else?”
“Yeah…” Cash adds, his voice now primed more with anger than pain.
“Tact.”
He grimaces while standing from the couch, but his speed while guiding
me around Kamil and to my car would have you none the wiser to the
injury he recently sustained.
“I wasn’t meaning it in a bad way,” Kamil shouts once we’re halfway
down the footpath. “But maybe achy nuts wouldn’t be an issue if you
agreed to tick off a handful of items from both your lists.”
 Cash continues walking as if he didn’t speak.
I wish it was as easy for me to shut down my annoyance. “Why did you
tell him I’ve never been kissed? And I thought we agreed to keep our
arrangement between us?”
“We did,” Cash agrees, his voice uneased. “And I don’t know how he
found out about your first point.” When anger highlights my cheeks, he
pushes out, “Why would I lie, Einstein? I’d sink without your help, but if I
didn’t agree to help you get Gabriel Sutton’s attention, you wouldn’t have
agreed to tutor me.”
“Yes, I would have,” I deny, my lie almost honest. “Now.”
“Now…” His hand shifts from his crotch to his heart. “But I didn’t
stand a chance back then.”
“That’s because I didn’t know you back then.” I head to the driver’s side
of my car, my footing suddenly light. “I also didn’t have the time to tutor. I
still don’t.”
A blob of red paint down one side of his hair shimmers in the sun when
he slants his head and says, “But you find the time now because you like
me.”
My gag sounds authentic. “I wouldn’t go that far.” After hitting him
with the eye roll to rival all eye rolls, I open my door and slip behind the
steering wheel, grinning when I notice the cab smells nowhere near as bad
now that his cologne is imbedded in the passenger seat.
After ensuring my smile has vanished, I lift my head to Cash. He’s
watching me like he knows the reason for my smile, so I wipe his grin right
off his face. “Midday tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
He twists his lips to ponder before he slowly bobs his head. “I’ll be
there.”
I can’t hold back my smile this time around, so I set it free.
Groaning, I push back at the hand digging into my back. It is so early, the
roosters aren’t even crowing, so why the hell am I being shaken awake?
“Just another hour, please, Dad.”
I’m shunted so hard, I almost headbutt the wall of my room. Its bland
and uninviting palette reminds me that I’m not in my childhood bedroom or
at one of the many ‘campers’ scattered around my parents’ rural property. I
am at school and being awoken by my super cranky roommate.
When I roll over to face Eden, she thrusts her cell phone into my face.
“Tell him I want to know who gave out my number by nine a.m.”
Stealing my chance to ask who she is referencing, she scuttles back to
bed.
Just as sluggishly, I press her phone to my ear. “Hello.”
My pulse flutters when a familiar voice grumbles down the line, “If you
breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll flunk my next test and tell everyone
you’re the worst tutor I’ve ever had.”
Cash’s threat makes me smile more than sweat. “Well, actually, that
would work in my favor, so please inform me what am I telling and to how
many people?”
“McKayla…”
Since he sounds in pain, I cut down my wit to twenty percent. “I won’t
tell anyone… except my pussy. But she weighs more than me and never
leaves my room, so she won’t tell anyone.” When Cash takes a moment to
deliberate, I realize what I said. “My cat, she is a Maine Coon who thinks
diets are for nancies…” I pause to take a breath before getting to the point.
“Anyway, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
My mouth gapes when he murmurs, “Swear on your undergraduate
grades.”
“I’m not—”
“Swear, McKayla.”
With a huff, I mutter, “I swear.”
 When a prolonged length of silence lingers between us, I pull Eden’s
phone down from my ear, returning it with only a second to spare. “Can you
take me to the ER? I’m reasonably sure I broke my dick.”
“You broke it?”
“Yeah… I think…” Cash groans like the image in person is far worse
than how he describes it. “I don’t think your dick is supposed to look like an
oversized eggplant when its soft.”
“I don’t think your dick is meant to resemble an eggplant ever.” When
my reply gains me Eden’s attention, I lower my voice, then say, “I’ll be
there in five minutes.”
Taking Cash’s second groan as confirmation of our engagement, I
disconnect our call, toss Eden’s phone onto her bed, then change out of my
pajamas.
“Who was that?” Eden asks, her voice nowhere near as miffed as it
usually is.
“Ah…” I toss on a pair of linen pants and a loose shirt before replying,
“Chris from agricultural studies. One of the bulls is having issues with
his…” I wave my hand at my crotch like I have a monster dick behind the
seam of my pants.
“Oh.” She appears disappointed. “You were talking about a bull?”
“Yeah.” Aware how important the next two tests are for Cash, I snatch
up my backpack just in case his visit to the ER runs into overtime and we
miss our study session. “It isn’t like a human would have an eggplant for a
cock.” When it dawns on me that I’m waiting for her to confirm my
assumption, I shake my head to rid it of an image it has no right to consider
before heading for the door. “Sorry for waking you.”
I wonder how badly the axis of the world is when Eden replies, “It’s
fine.”
Cash is waiting for me on the footpath outside of his frat house when I
pull up in front. Although, for how low his hoodie sits on his head and the
harsh bend of his back, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize who’s
approaching me.
“Did anyone see you?” he asks from his station outside of my car.
I scan the area before shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” His climb into the passenger seat of my car is slow, and each
movement is made with precise accuracy. “Let’s go.”

With Cash in obvious pain and the waiting room empty, he’s taken straight
into a bay at the local hospital. I assume I’ll be shown the way out before
anything ‘invasive’ occurs, so you can picture my shock when the nurse
immediately asks Cash to drop his drawers.
I’m facing the wall, but I can’t help but snoop on their conversation. “Is
that size normal?”
Cash’s reply doubles the output of my heart. “The length is typical—”
“During erection?” the nurse double-checks.
“Yeah,” Cash confirms. “But the thickness and coloring are off.”
I almost sneak a peek when the nurse says, “Brings new meaning to the
eggplant emoji.” But I hold back—just. “How did this happen?”
Since she peered my way during her question, I shrug. “We were
playing around, and he fell.”
“Fell…” When I nod, she asks, “On a hard surface?”
I nod this time. “It had a bit of bush and straw stuff lying around, but it
was mainly flat.” Before I can work out why confusion is marring her face,
I add, “He heard a pop.”
“You did?” The nurse’s eyes are back on Cash. “Was the swelling
immediate?” Cash must nod because she soon breathes out, “You may have
broken your appendage.”
 “See. I told you you can break your penis.” I snap my eyes to Cash,
quickly detouring them when I realize he is still without pants. I never knew
I was a butt girl until now.
He has a mighty fine ass.
“Is that something you can fix?” Cash sounds terrified. “Or is my dick
going to fall off?”
The nurse laughs. She is the only one. While laying on top of Cash this
afternoon, I was picturing things I shouldn’t have been picturing. Most of
them involved the appendage he thinks he has broken. “Some breakages
heal on their own, but others may require surgery.”
“Surgery? You’ll perform surgery on my cock!”
Cash’s hand slips from mine when the nurse guides his suddenly
wobbly frame to the bed at the side of the examination room while replying,
“Only if necessary. Most times, the only instrument needed is ice.”
“We applied ice almost immediately.”
My cheeks heat along with the nurse’s. “That’s good. A perfect solution
for any predicament.” The redness on my face overtakes hers tenfold when
she adds, “Most people finish before addressing the issue.”
“Oh… we… I… we’re not…”
Cash stops my ramble by curling his hand over mine again, but this
time, he squeezes it tight. “Can we just clear one thing up before you work
out if a scalpel is going to slice my dick in two…” I assume he is going to
clarify the fact we didn’t break his penis during a steamy romp or ask if he
can still train this week, but I am left with more questions when he finalizes
his reply, “Will my cock function as normal with or without surgery?”
“Most likely.” She helps lift his legs onto the bed. “You’re a young, fit
male with regular erectile functions—”
“Not that regular.” When two sets of wide eyes snap my way, I gabber
out, “Kamil said it had been a while.”
 Cash continues glaring, leaving the nurse to solve my riddle on her own.
“Either way, I doubt surgery will be required.” Once she has a blanket
covering the lower half of Cash’s legs and a bag of ice cooling the top half,
she says, “But how about we schedule an ultrasound to make sure?”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 16

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

“A popped vein is still a broken penis,” I mumble to Kamil when

Cash hobbles to his bed. “But the swelling is more from blood filling his
appendage than major internal damage.”
“And the pain?” Kamil asks with a screwed-up face and white cheeks.
“Ah… that’s internal as well.” I tap on my forehead to say it is Cash’s
head making up the pain. “The doctor said he can have Tylenol if needed.”
My eyes dart to Cash when he mutters, “I can hear you, you know?”
Kamil laughs when my hand falls from my face before leaving me to
play nurse to our grumpy patient. “Call out if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.” Once he leaves, I devote all my attention to Cash.
“Should I put a sock on the door or are you happy to leave my three a.m.
visit up to your frat brothers to decipher?”
He flops onto his bed before throwing an arm over his eyes. “You
weren’t meant to tell anyone.”
“I didn’t…” My excuse falls short when he shoots me a riled look from
beneath a crack in his arm. “I couldn’t carry you up the stairs, and Kamil
already knew, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for his help.”
Cash’s bedroom is in the attic of a fraternity house that was built over
one hundred years ago. That was more stairs than he could climb without
help.
 When my reply is met with silence, I leave his door partly cracked open
before moseying to his half of the room. “Do you need anything? A drink?
Tylenol? Extra ice?” He faintly shakes his head for each question I ask, but
the brisk movements of his head shake are undeniable when I ask, “Should
I go?”
“No. Stay. I just…”
Confident he needs a minute to gather his bases after what I am sure
would be a scary ordeal for any man, I dump my backpack onto the floor
next to his bed, then peruse his room with more vigor than I did the last
time I was here.
“You have quite the trophy collection. Are all of them basketball?” I
know his answer. The skateboard on the top of the biggest trophy exposes
not all his sports memorabilia is for one sector.
“No.” His voice isn’t as low this time around, almost back to normal.
“A handful are skateboard tournaments, a few are football, and there is an
occasional fishing trophy as well.”
“Fishing? You like to fish?”
The shock in my tone secures his attention, but my smile keeps it.
“Yeah, and I’m good at it too.”
Even though I’m loving his refound cockiness, I roll my eyes as if I am
not a fan. “It’s not like it takes skill to fish.”
“Puh-lease.” He’s up and out of the bed, his swollen appendage still
notable but nowhere near the top of his priorities. “Fishing is a sport, and as
such, requires the same level of skillset as every other sport.”
“You kill a worm with a hook, toss it in the water to make sure it is
dead, then reel it in. There’s no skillset to that.”
Cash laughs at my poor depiction of a sport he clearly loves. “Anyone
would swear you’re vegan for the way you defend the worm.”
His chuckles louden when I murmur, “I would have been given up for
adoption within an hour of announcing that. My parents are ex-cattle
farmers.”
After joining me by the trophy cabinet, he asks, “Ex?”
Hair slips from my bun when I dip my chin. “They now mainly do
wheat and corn.”
“So you could happily declare your vegan status now?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess I could.” After taking a moment to relish his
easy grin, I shift my focus back to the manliest display of masculinity I’ve
ever seen. “What’s with all trophies? Are you overcompensating for
something?”
He clutches his chest. “Ouch…. especially considering you saw how
low the nurse had to swoop to take it all in.”
“I wasn’t looking at her.” Heat spreads across my chest. “I wasn’t
looking at anything.”
“Sure, sure, Einstein.” After dragging his index finger down the
imaginary dip in my nose, he heads back to bed. “I guess you could say I’m
willing to do anything that won’t make me an academic.”
I twist to face him, my movements unsteady. “Why would you want to
take away from that? Having a brilliant mind should be cherished.”
Some could say I’m stroking his ego because it was so badly damaged
today, but that isn’t the case. Every word I’m speaking is gospel. Cash is a
smart man. He just has trouble taking facts off a sheet of paper. The instant
we started using them in real-life settings, his understanding grew tenfold.
Just as the silence becomes excruciating, Cash ends it. “My father is a
brilliant man, but his life isn’t close to glorious.”
“Says you.” When he peers at me with quirked brows, I add,
“Happiness is a state of mind depending on how you view it. If you’re a
negative Nancy, everything sucks. But if you’re an optimist, the sun—”
“Shines out your ass.”
“I was going to say the sun never stops shining, but yeah, your theory
works too.”
 His laugh slackens the tension on his face. “You say apples. I say
oranges.”
“Or eggplants, depending on the day.”
This time, his chuckle fully relaxes the lines grooved in his forehead. “I
can laugh now, but earlier tonight…” he rakes his fingers through his chin-
length hair, “… I seriously thought my cock was about to drop off.
With his room devoid of another piece of furniture to sit on, I plop my
backside onto his bed. “And now?”
“Now.” He takes a moment to ponder. “Now I’m reasonably sure we
need to get you a cell phone.”
“I don’t need a cell.”
“Ah, yeah, you do. It took me two hours to track down Eden’s number.”
He won’t get any sympathy from me. “I live a couple of blocks down
from you.”
I laugh so hard I snort when he says, “If I weren’t afraid of gravel rash, I
would have walked to your dorm, but since I am—” He stops when nothing
but rowdy giggles fill his room. “Why are you laughing? My cock almost
strangled itself to death.”
I laugh even harder.
“McKayla…”
He glares and glares and glares until my laughter becomes contagious.
“It wasn’t fucking funny at the time,” he barks out between fits of
laughter. “I thought I was going to have to star in one of those alien pornos
to make a living after college.”
Cash’s eyes snap to mine when I mutter, “You’ll need more than one
dick for that.” When he stares at me with his mouth gaped open, I say,
“Well, I assume. I’ve not watched alien porn.”
“Yes, you have!”
He attacks my ribs with his torturous fingers, making it extremely hard
to deny his claims. “I haven’t. I swear.” His fingers freeze on my right
ribcage when I push out, “I read it in a book.”
“They have alien porn in books?”
It takes a couple of seconds to settle my heart rate enough to respond,
and even then, it is only a feeble head bob.
“And you read it?”
There’s something different about his tone.
It is deeper and makes my belly tight.
It dawns on me how close we’re laying when my head bob means I feel
him cursing under his breath instead of hearing it. In a normal setting, with
an appropriate distance between each person, I wouldn’t have heard him
utter God’s name in vain. But since he is right here, practically lying on top
of me, I felt every delightful syllable.
I realize Cash isn’t the only one with extra spit lining his throat. His
index finger traces the faint inner workings of my pharynx a second before
his thumb counts the crazy beats of my heart.
“Your heart is racing again,” he murmurs, stating the obvious. “Does
reading alien porn make you that hot, Einstein?”
Before my heart can talk me out of it, I shake my head.
The thudding of my pulse has nothing to do with my summer reading
material, and everything to do with how close we’re lying. It seems as if
we’re back in the paintball arcade, and I’m seconds from making a fool of
myself for the second time. Except, instead of evading disaster, I encourage
it. I push out my breasts, lick my dry lips, then return his stare.
Excluding today, I’ve never laid this close to a man before, and
although his swollen anatomy could be responsible for the thickness
brushing against my thigh, my head and heart are on the same team for a
change.
They both believe I’m responsible for his cock’s throb.
Cash’s breath fans my lips when he asks, “Then what has you all
bothered, Einstein?”
 I can’t answer him.
It isn’t possible.
His voice is too singed with energy not to steal all my smarts.
I can’t see my face, but it must give me away as a second after dragging
his eyes over it, Cash swears again, louder this time.
“Mc-Ein…” He stops, shakes his head, then tries again. Except this
time, he uses actions instead of words.
He drags his crooked index finger down my inflamed cheek, across a
thudding vein in my neck before he treks it along my collarbone, setting my
skin on fire.
“Fuck.” There’s a need in his voice. A sense of urgency. “I’m barely
touching you, yet I can smell how badly you want me.”
I’m about to ask how you can smell someone’s desires, but before I can,
we’re interrupted.
“Figured I’d bring the jug to you so you won’t have to trek to the
kitchen in the morning.” When Kamil spots how intimately close we’re
laying, the hand not clutching a gallon of milk shoots up to cover his eyes
before he pivots around to face the wall opposite Cash’s bed. “Sorry, I
didn’t realize you guys were…” He doesn’t finalize his reply. Thank God.
“Should I go?”
“No.” That was harder to articulate than it should be. “But I probably
should.”
After pleading for forgiveness with only my eyes, I scamper off Cash’s
bed like I have to pry myself out from beneath him, snatch up my backpack,
then hightail it to the door.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 17

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

W orries about a broken cock are a thing of the past. It’s already
ghastly in size and way too fucking purple for a guy with no foreskin, but it
is digging into the springs of my mattress like no amount of kneeing could
subdue its plumpness.
My cock is hard enough to bounce a nickel off and pumping so much
blood I’m shocked I haven’t passed out yet.
I’d probably be out cold if it weren’t for Kamil’s steely glare.
“What?” I hate that he interrupted my chance of sullying Einstein’s not-
so-rosy reputation, but I’m also loving confirmation no serious injury
occurred to my cock.
“Are you really going to let her do the walk of shame?” Kamil’s eyes
drift to the long corridor McKayla is currently walking before he returns
them to me. He looks like he wants to chew me a new asshole, but he plays
it cool. He always does. “Or are you going to man the fuck up and walk
home the girl who arrived here within a minute of you calling her?”
“You heard me calling her?” When his face gives away his response, I
peg my pillow at his head. “Then why the fuck didn’t you offer to take me
to the hospital?”
“Because I wasn’t the first name that popped into your head during a
crisis this time around.” He nudges his head to the left. “She was. That
means something.”
I pfft him. “It is because she’s a girl and you’re not. I didn’t want you
sneaking a peek at my cock.” He rolls his eyes when I murmur, “Your ego
may have never come back from such a brutal beatdown.”
“My ego, right.” Again, he rolls his eyes. “I guess it is lucky she’s just
your fake girlfriend, then, hey? Wouldn’t want her getting the wrong idea.”
This is the second time he’s announced knowledge of my ruse with
McKayla, but the first time I’ve been well enough to respond to it. “Who
told you?”
I haven’t breathed a word of my plan to anyone, and since McKayla has
more at stake than me, I don’t see her being eager to feed the gossip
mongers.
My shock heightens when Kamil replies, “No one.” He scoffs at my
shocked expression with an unconcealed grin. “I know you, Milo. Maybe
not as well as I’d like, but I know you.” His tone gives him away. I’ve heard
that level of cockiness multiple times this year.
“It was Professor Ren, wasn’t it?”
He shuffles foot to foot while rubbing his hands together, a telltale sign
I’m on the money.
“She’s a damn snitch,” I murmur, my voice back to the pained one I was
using earlier.
Kamil tries to rescue Professor Ren from the trench he threw her in.
“She isn’t. She just wanted to make sure McKayla is okay.”
“Why wouldn’t she be? I’m not a douche.” I try to downplay my hurt.
“Well, not all the time.”
“Professor Ren isn’t worried about you.” Kamil works his jaw side to
side before confessing, “She’s noticed that McKayla has gained a certain
someone’s attention the past couple of weeks.”
“Gabriel Sutton,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
 My teeth are almost gnawed to nubs when he doubles their grind. “Your
plan is working, Milo. I’m just not sure why you’re still running with it.
You like this girl.”
Spit flies through the air when I brush off his comment with another
pfft. “I told you after Vivienne’s shit, I’m not going down that road again.”
My knuckles pop when he asks, “Then why do you continually invite
her into your space? You never let Vivienne up here, and you were tapping
that for over six months.”
“Because I… we…” I got nothing but bottled-up annoyance. “Shut the
fuck up, Kamil. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough to know if you send her out there now, she’s fucking
shark bait. Every guy down there will want a piece of her.” My annoyance
is already off the Richter scale, but he keeps pushing until it can’t be
returned to a safe level. “Gabe isn’t the only one paying her attention. She’s
wanted by more than one man, so if you don’t want her, let her walk
through the lion’s den. But if you do…” Not speaking another word, he
once again strays his eyes to the corridor outside my room.
Too annoyed to think straight, I slip out of bed, snag a skateboard from
the rack, then hightail it out of my room.
The only pain I experience while galloping down the stairs is my heavy
balls and even more swollen cock slapping my thighs. I was too bulging
after a shower to contemplate briefs, so I freeballed under my basketball
shorts. It was a smooth nestling that only got better when I noticed
McKayla’s skin is even smoother than my freshly laundered uniform.
“Hey, Einstein, wait up.”
A swollen cock jumps back into the forefront of my mind when
McKayla’s spin to face me has her bulging eyes automatically lowering to
the crotch of my shorts. “Should you be out of bed? Your…” she stares long
enough to make my cock twitch before murmuring, “… needs rest.”
 “It’s rested plenty.” More than I’d like. “And what did I tell you about
wandering around campus alone?”
“It’s five blocks.”
“Exactly,” I push out, annoyed. “Five whole fucking blocks. Do you
know how much shit can happen in five blocks?”
She commences her answer by darting her eyes around the almost
desolate campus grounds. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Trust me. You don’t.” We walk a couple more strides before I make out
I’m not a soft cock crushing on his tutor. “I also think you’re owed a
lesson.” I grin when she peers at me with crinkled brows. “Tit for tat, right?
I teach you something, you teach me something.” Once her smile is as big
as mine, I add, “You taught me to never be on the wrong side of a gun and
you… so now I need to teach you how you can get anywhere faster when
you use wheels instead of your feet.”
When she spots my skateboard, the coloring I worked hard for drains
from her face. “My car. It’s just there.” She points half a foot in front of us.
“Oh.” I curse Kamil to hell when the shudder of the curtain on the
second floor of our frat house announces his laughter. That fucker set me
up. “Then I guess we’ll save your lesson for another day.”
“Or…” I turn around with way too much eagerness. “We could pretend
it isn’t four in the morning, and you could show me now?”
“You’re not tired?”
She dumps her backpack into her car before replying, “Not in the
slightest.”
I grin like a soft cock. “All right, cool. Let me grab some stuff first.”
She assumes I’m going to bolt back into the house, so you can picture
her shock when I dig all the necessary learning equipment out of the back
seat of her car.
“I am not wearing chaps to ride a skateboard.”
 I finish squashing her bun with a horse-riding helmet before replying,
“Ah, yeah, you are. I broke my cock fooling around, so you sure as hell will
wear more than a flimsy strip of linen while tackling the dangerous sport of
skateboarding.”
“Dangerous? Please.”
McKayla swallows her sass when her first brace on the skateboard
sends it flying across the footpath and her toppling toward the ground. It
rolls out from beneath her, bruising her backside as much as her ego.
“Any further objections, your honor?”
After dusting off her butt, she shakes her head.

While bending in two, McKayla breathes out a long, heavy sigh. “Why is
my stomach cramping like that? I thought my legs were doing all the work,
but my core is aching.” The smell that had me entranced two hours ago
wafts up again when she straightens her spine and rests her arms on her
head. “I can’t breathe either. And don’t ask me about my ass. It went to bed
hours ago.”
Her reply makes me smile. “I told you it is a full-body workout. Wait
until we get to the tricks. You’ll be crawling into bed.”
“I don’t think I can crawl. That requires too much movement.” After
tossing her riding chaps and helmet into the back of her car, she pivots to
face me. “How’s your…” She coughs. “Better?”
I jerk up my chin. “Helps that we’ve spent the past couple of hours
diverting the blood around all regions of my body instead of one area.”
She completely misses my remark. “That’s good. Your crotch doesn’t
appear as bulky as it was when you hobbled to my car.” She stops, snaps
her eyes shut, then cranks her head back until her face stares at the sky. “I
swear to God, I wasn’t looking. I was just…”
 She’s saved by the bell—literally.
“Is that a cow bell?”
Her smile competes with the brightness of the early morning sun when I
bob my chin. “That means it’s time for breakfast.”
I get caught staring at her gleaming grin when she replies, “It’s the same
at home. Mom rings the bell, and the troops come running.” My stare
weakens her smile, but only by a smidge. “I better let you go. Breakfast is
the brain food of every child.”
After feigning injury about her taunt, I ask, “Wanna join us?”
“No. I can’t. I… ah…” I’m about to accept her denial as a man before
she tacks on her last question. “Would that be weird?”
I shake my head before banding my arm around her shoulders and
guiding her inside. “No weirder than breaking my cock during non-sexual
contact.”
“Dr. Flagstone did say that was unusual.” As my brothers greet her like
she’s one of them, she adds loud enough for everyone to hear, “But I guess
that only counts for probies who don’t have acute malutitus.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 18

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

W hile shaking my head to hide my mammoth grin, I gallop down the

front steps of the mathematics building. McKayla is standing to the right of
the quad, shuffling foot to foot like she needs to use the bathroom. She
appears so nervous, anyone would swear she just sat for an exam worth
fifteen percent of her overall grade this year.
“How did you do?” she asks the moment I stop in front of her, her voice
as high as her brow.
Her cheeks whiten when I halfheartedly shrug. We put in a lot of study
hours the past month, so a lack of effort will never be cited as a reason for
me bombing.
Our flirty banner, though, that could derail any man.
I’m a natural flirt, so making McKayla’s cheeks inflame as often as
possible will always be my main objective when we’re in the same room,
but she’s been giving as good as she’s getting the past week. Take
yesterday, for example. She wore a shirt that reminded me she is a girl. Its
low neckline ensured I couldn’t miss her womanly assets, not to mention its
clinginess.
I spent half our study session with a boner, which meant I endured
numerous blows to the head with a basketball.
 My lack of concentration since our antics on the paintball field should
have seen a big fat F on my test score, yet here I am with a passable grade.
Not that I’m going to tell McKayla that.
I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make her stew a little before removing her
from the cooktop.
After leaving McKayla hanging long enough she’s about to pass out, I
reduce the heat to a simmer instead of a boil. “Professor Ren said the results
won’t be in until next week.”
“Yeah, but she’ll grade on the spot if asked.”
When I pull a face like I forgot to ask, McKayla stomps down her foot
like she’s really mad. She does that a minimum of three times a day.
Not that I’m counting.
“I’m impatient, probie. I can’t wait a week…” Her last two words fall
out of her gaping mouth when I thrust my marked exam into her face. “A
C-plus. That’s up almost ten percent already.” She waggles her brows while
brushing tickets off herself. “I’m a damn good teacher.” We gain the eye of
everyone milling around us when she balances on her tippytoes so she can
throw her arms around my neck. You can’t fake this level of affection. “I’m
proud of you, Cash. That’s a pass.”
It is, and when recalling how badly I was failing before I conned her to
tutor me, I’m proud as well. But I still have a long way to go, so I better
sink my hooks into her before she thinks today’s result is the end of the line
for us. I like having her around. She’s quirky, funny, and when she’s not
lusting over Gabriel Sutton, she doesn’t give off loser vibes.
It’s a nice change compared to the girls I usually hang around with.
“Professor Ren said I need at least a B on my next test to pass this year.”
I scoff when McKayla murmurs, “That’s easily achievable.”
“Says Einstein.”
Her right brow gets lost in her hairline. “Einstein failed—”
 I squash my finger to her lips, hearing it all before. “Yet he still
achieved greatness.” I give her a look as if to say, so it’s okay to let go of the
reins occasionally, before adding, “But a pass means I am clear to play this
weekend.”
That’s why I was so desperate for McKayla to tutor me. If I failed this
test, I was going to be benched for the season opener. She saved my ass—in
more ways than one. “So what do you say, Einstein? Want to watch an
actual game of basketball?” When McKayla takes her time deliberating a
response, I bark out, “Come on. It’s one game.”
“That runs for forty minutes.” She mentally accesses her calendar
before adding, “That’s time I’m not sure I can fit in. My schedule is tight
this semester. I can’t commit that much time on fun stuff.”
“Fun stuff?” While smiling a leering grin, I point my finger at her. “You
said fun stuff!” I leap into the air like I did when my father finally
announced he was divorcing my mother while saying, “I knew you were
digging it.”
“All right. All right. Calm down. We don’t want you pulling a muscle
before your big debut.”
Since her face still displays signs of pondering, I say, “It’s forty
minutes.” The grin I’m dying to see pops onto her face when I mutter,
“What measly fraction of the day is that when you have one thousand four
hundred and forty of them.”
Her mega brain never sleeps. “Two point seven eight percent.” She
takes a breath to make sure her brain doesn’t fry before finishing, “But that
isn’t the point. I—”
McKayla’s reply is cut off when we’re interrupted by a blonde with a
friendly smile. “Are you Cash Mancini and McKayla Jones?”
McKayla answers the stranger with a head bob before I can warn her
that telemarketers are no longer reserved for landline phones during dinner
hours. They sniff you out wherever they can. “And you are?”
 Ignorant to the unease in my tone, the stranger says, “Oh, I’m sorry. You
probably don’t recognize me since I’m not flat on my back, choking on my
tongue.”
Her response riddles me for two whole seconds before the truth smacks
into me.
No fucking way.
That can’t be the girl McKayla saved.
She looks so different. Healthy. Relaxed.
Alive.
“I hope you don’t mind me tracking you down like this. The police
officers were reluctant to give out any details.” I involuntarily bunch my
hands together when she murmurs, “And my boyfriend wasn’t sure I should
be thanking you.” The strain of my knuckles relaxes when she corrects,
“Ex-boyfriend. We’re not together anymore.” She waggles her ring hand in
the air like its emptiness is new to her. “I asked him not to drive that night.
He said he was fine.” She shifts her weight to her good leg before
murmuring. “He wasn’t.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “But I am. Thanks to
you two.”
McKayla hugs her, doubling the wetness in her eyes, but I remain
standing at the side, looking out of place.
I was so angry that night I belted into the driver without considering the
injuries he may have sustained in the crash. I hated that he drove while
intoxicated, but more than anything, I hated that his girlfriend was stupid
enough to get in the car with him.
Trenton did the same thing, and he lost his only reason to live in the
process.
“Why did you get in the car with him? You knew he was intoxicated,
but you still let him drive.”
The blonde looks remorseful, but my angry glare doesn’t soften from
her reply. “Love makes you do stupid things.”
 “That’s not an excuse—”
“Cash.”
“It’s okay,” the still unnamed blonde assures McKayla, interrupting her
as she had me. “Everything he’s wondering, I’ve wondered myself the past
week and a half. I was an idiot.” She locks her eyes with mine. “But that’s
how we learn.”
“It is,” McKayla agrees, drawing the blonde’s focus back to her. “I’m
glad you’re doing well. And thank you for reaching out. I’ve been thinking
about you and your recovery.” When she pulls her in for a second hug, she
stomps on my foot before wordlessly demanding me to stop being a dick.
She pulls me into line like no one else. “Yeah, me too.”
There’s no honesty in my reply, but it has McKayla eating out of my
palm.
Finally.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 19

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

“H ot fucking damn. What the hell is that?”

I open my door wider, wordlessly inviting Cash in before heading to my
bed to gather my purse. “It’s called a dress.”
Since my back is facing him, I release the smile his reply instigates,
“Yeah, but where did you get it from?”
“From my closet.” I stuff a tube of lipstick into my purse like it is
natural for me to do before spinning around to face him. He’s been back to
his usual self the past week, his quick recovery compliments to exceptional
bedside service and country attitude the biggest city couldn’t squash.
My father’s favorite saying is, “Have some concrete. It’ll harden you
the fuck up.”
It is now Cash’s most quoted metaphor.
When I notice Cash’s still appreciative gawk of my outfit, I say, “It was
in the back. You must have missed it the other week.”
That’s a lie, and he knows it. “There’s no way I would have missed that
dress, Einstein.” He bites on his lower lip while dragging his eyes down my
sparkling strapless mini-dress. “Although it is tiny, that is not a dress that
can be missed.”
His reply is exactly what I was aiming for. “Good. Because I didn’t go
to this much effort for no reason.” When his ego bolsters his chest another
inch, I set out to deflate it. It is only fair since he made out wanting to kiss
me was the equivalent of a dog humping a fire hydrant. “You made sure
Gabriel was invited, right? You said you’d check with Kamil.”
“He’s invited.” His tone is deeper now, more fortified. “Although I
doubt he’ll play.” He takes another long glance at my dress. “He doesn’t
have the balls for it.”
“That’s okay. I have enough for the both of us.” I curse my lack of
interactions with people my age when Cash endures the fight of his life not
to laugh.
When he loses, I force out, “Not those balls. I meant gall.” When he
continues laughing, I roll my eyes before exiting my dorm and heading for
the stairs. “And should you really give anyone hell about their balls? Yours
are most likely still swollen.”
“You’d think so,” Cash replies, shadowing my walk. “But inspiration
struck earlier today, which deflated them even quicker than the numerous
bags of ice you kept dumping on my crotch all week.”
For once, I read between the lines. “You masturbated?” I mentally sign
up for etiquette school when his head bob has my mouth speaking before
my brain again. “When? Where? For how long?” Shock almost knocks me
on my ass. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer any of my questions.
That was very rude of me to blurt out.”
Cash doesn’t seem to mind. “It was in the shower this afternoon around
three.” Lines sprout on the sides of his nose when he scrunches up his face.
“It wasn’t a record, but it was okay.”
I realize the heat on my cheeks is partly from jealousy when I ask, “And
your inspiration? Where did that magically appear from?”
He gallops down the stairs ahead of me before spinning to face me. His
grin is hot enough to set the world on fire. “Do you remember how
unseasonably hot it was on Wednesday?”
“It was Wednesday. Not hard to remember that far back.”
 He takes a moment to absorb the full impact of my sassy tone before
saying, “So everyone was wearing teeny tiny little shirts with ample
cleavage showing.”
I think I am smarter than I am. “You have Professor McNamara? I
thought she only lectured history.”
“She does.” He shivers before continuing, “But I wasn’t referencing
her.” He stops, furrows his brows, then asks, “Professor McNamara had her
titties out in class?”
My gag is real this time around, and the urge to vomit doubles when
Cash’s interests pique when I dip my chin.
“Damn. I might need to take up a major in history.”
I whack him in the gut before overtaking him. “You’re disturbing.”
Before he can reply, a man on the lower level of my dormitory wolf
whistles loud enough to pierce my ears. “Holy fucking dynamite.” Since he
can’t take his eyes off the dress I purchased last night instead of studying,
he crashes into the ‘safe campus’ pamphlet table located in the foyer of
every building. “I think I might need to skip the second half of level one
and move straight to level two. Damn…” He licks his lips before moseying
my way. After thrusting out his hand in greeting, he introduces, “Reynolds,
and you are?”
“Not interested.” Although those exact words were in my mouth, they
weren’t delivered by me.
When Cash bands his arm around my shoulders, Reynolds backs away
with his hands held in the air. “Milo… you are sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.” He
follows us out to the entryway before once again walking backward. “I
thought you were doing a charity gig or something last month. I didn’t
know you were holding out on us.”
The way he snickers out ‘us’ makes me sick to my stomach.
Thankfully, Cash hears it in the same manner as me. In quicker than I
can blink, he grips the front of Reynold’s shirt and drags him to within an
inch of his face. “McKayla isn’t part of the game, Reynolds, so stay the
fuck away from her.”
“All right, man. Chill. I was just playing.” He sounds desperate, and it is
understandable when you realize how far his feet are dangling from the
ground.
Cash takes a moment to authenticate the honesty in his tone.
It is a painfully long three seconds before he eventually returns him to
his feet.
After fixing his shirt, Reynolds dips his chin in farewell before sulking
toward his room.
He is only just out of earshot when my curiosity gets the best of me.
“What game were you referencing?”
“It’s nothing,” Cash replies, his voice as icy as the hand he places on my
back to guide me down the sidewalk. “And even if it were, it would never
involve you, so you don’t need to worry about it.”
“Is that really your decision to make?”
I mean in regards to making my own decisions, but Cash doesn’t take it
that way. “Yeah, it is. If you’re with me, you are untouchable. I don’t give a
fuck about the supposed bro code.” Unlike only seconds ago, his voice is
now as hot as lava.
He must feel it too because he removes his basketball jacket before
handing it to me.
When I curl it over my arm, he peers at me with lines marred between
his brows. “I gave it to you to wear, Einstein. It’s cold out, and your dress is
—”
“Tiny. I get it.” While rolling my eyes, I put on his jacket, grimacing
when its waistband sits past my knees. I chose this dress because of its
inappropriate hemline. “Better?”
“Much.” He pulls me toward him in a similar fashion he did Reynolds
so he can do up the zipper. Then, once he’s satisfied I’m wearing the same
frumpy clothes I usually wear, he continues our short trek to his frat house.
It is made in silence, which makes the nerves in my stomach even more
noticeable. The last two times I was around Cash’s fraternity brothers, I
made out I was a sexpot who needed more than the biggest stud on campus
could give her instead of the naïve virgin I am.
I haven’t even been kissed, for crying out loud.
“Maybe we should skip festivities tonight. I’m not feeling good.”
Cash drops his eyes to mine but continues walking. “What’s wrong? Do
you have cramps or something?” He places the hand not circled around
mine onto my head before adding, “You don’t have a temp, but that’s
normal, right?”
“You’re not talking about muscle cramps, are you?”
He screws up his face before shaking his head. “But if that’s your issue,
you can jump on my back. I don’t mind carrying you. You hardly weigh a
thing.”
I almost accept his offer until I remember I’m meant to be mad at him.
You can’t glue your panties to someone’s back when you’re angry at them
for relieving the tension that’s been burning between you the past few
weeks. Furthermore, there’s no way the tight hemline of my newly
purchased dress will allow my thighs to wrap around his back without it
resembling a belt, so I have to keep my feet planted on the ground.
“Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t have any cramps.”
I realize his menstruation question was to push me out of my comfort
zone when he asks, “Then what’s your issue?”
“I’m nervous,” I confess, deciding honesty should always be my
number one policy.
I guess that also means I shouldn’t be so hard on Cash about giving in to
temptation. After a severe bout of flirting during our tutoring session on
Wednesday, I was tempted to give the devil’s doorbell a ring, and I have no
clue what I’m doing.
 Cash sounds genuinely shocked when he asks, “About Gabriel?”
I shake my head. “We’ve talked a couple of times the past couple of
weeks.” I wait for the spasm in his jaw to weaken before admitting, “I made
out to your frat brothers that I’m experienced… when I’m not.”
“And that concerns you because…”
“Because I’ve given them the wrong impression. I’m not experienced.”
Cash shrugs off my worry as if it isn’t factual. “Maybe not at kissing
and all that other stuff.” I almost hyperventilate while recalling how much
I’ve yet to do. “But your smart, you know your way around an insult, and
you’ve not had one issue putting me in my place the past month. I’m sure
you’ll be fine.” He chuckles about my shocked expression before doubling
it. “Just don’t count cards tonight, or I’ll have to call you out as a cheat.”
When my mouth gapes to hide my annoyance that he ruined my plan to
achieve my first and most likely only trophy, he closes it before saying,
“Cheaters never prosper, Einstein.” He soothes the sting of his burn by
adding, “And poker is all about reading people. You seem to be good at
that, so I don’t see you facing too many issues.”
Before I can tell him I nosedive big time every time he’s near, he
increases the length of his strides, bringing mine to a jog.
Then, not long later, we enter the mellow yet still-happening party.
I wait for Cash to remove my jacket and toss it over the back of a sofa
before expressing my thoughts out loud. “I like this vibe better than the last
party we attended. Its more intimate.” When he peers at me with the same
leering expression he wore in my room, I sock him in the stomach. “As in,
there isn’t as many people. The last one was the equivalent of a raging
orgy.”
He freezes, purses his lips, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not going
there. I’ll let that one slide.”
After guiding me to a large poker table in the middle of the den, he
checks that our names are written down on a big black board. When he
spots mine at the top, he guides me to a chair around the table Kamil is
manning. “There aren’t enough chairs for how many players we have, so if
you lose your chips, you have to give up your chair.”
“Sounds fair.” I point to the chair he pulls out for me, shocked I’m first
off the bat.
“Novices go first,” Cash explains after gesturing for me to sit. When I
shoot him a riled look, he grins. “You’re only classed as a novice because
it’s your first time playing here. Once you prove yourself, you’ll move up in
the rankings.” He tucks me in close to the table before pressing his lips to
the shell of my ear, doubling my pulse. “Remember, no counting. If you get
caught, you get spanked with the Kappa Alpha paddle.” His breathy laugh
when I stiffen sends goose bumps scattering across my skin, but since I
need to concentrate, I act as if it didn’t heighten the throb between my legs.
“Good luck, Einstein.”
“Are you not playing?”
Strands of faultlessly straight locks fan the front of his face when he
shakes his head. “I’m at the top of the board, so I’m the last player added.”
He playfully winks before snagging a beer out of a cooler on the kitchen
counter and settling in to watch the game.
I try not to concentrate on how much attention he gains during the first
three rounds. My efforts are wondrous—more because my opponents aren’t
as easy to read as first perceived. Anyone would swear we’re playing for a
Mini Cooper with how competitive the games are. Even the man seated
next to me is wearing big bulky sunglasses.
“Thank God,” I murmur under my breath when I read the dragging of
my opponent’s hand down his jeans in the right manner. He was sweating
over his hand, and I played his bluff.
“Next round,” Kamil announces while pushing all the chips to my side
of the table.
 I peer at Cash to gauge if he is about to join us. I’m left disappointed
when his backside remains planted on his seat. I’m not solely annoyed that
almost every person surrounding him is female. I’m disappointed about the
person filling the chair across from me.
Vivienne has arrived at the festivities, and everyone but Cash has
noticed.
“I thought you said poker events were juvenile and uncultured,” Kamil
asks while dealing out the deck.
“They are,” Vivienne answers with her narrowed eyes locked on me.
“But they also give plenty of opportunity to announce people as the frauds
they are.” When her eyes shoot to Cash, his bounce between us. He looks
worried, and his expression grows more concerned when Vivienne returns
her narrowed eyes to me before she sneers out, “People can fake it all they
like, but at the end of the day, some belong at the table. Others don’t.”
She doesn’t need to announce which table she thinks I belong at.
It isn’t any associated with Cash.
“We’re just playing a game, Vivienne. Calm down.”
I thank Kamil for his effort to defuse the situation with a smile before
shifting my focus to the cards in front of me.
Before, I wanted to win for the trophy.
Now, I want to wipe the smug expression off Vivienne’s face by sending
her packing in the first round.
The next five rounds go as planned. I win them all. But the sixth is a
little harder. Vivienne has gone all in, and although I have more than
enough chips to match her bet, that would only see me standing at her side
instead of in front of her where I really want to be.
I think she’s bluffing, but since I don’t want to cheat to win, I didn’t
count cards as requested. The probability that she has another king to match
the two on the table is low, but I’ve not held a single king this round, so she
could have one. That would give her a three-of-a-kind, which would rank
higher than my two pairs.
After ensuring my expression is neutral, I lift my eyes to Vivienne.
I startle when I catch her glare. She’s staring right at me, looking as cool
as fish in water.
I’m still confident she’s bluffing, but what would I know? I’ve
interacted with more people my age the past month than I have the past
twenty-one years.
I’m a fish out of water, and it is even more obvious when half the party
merges to Vivienne’s side of the table to cheer her on.
Her cards are facing down, so their expressions only alter when
Vivienne continues badgering me as she has the past three hands. “You can
continue bluffing, McKayla, but everyone knows you’re going to lose.” Her
comment seems more about Cash and me than the game. “So why don’t you
quit while you’re ahead, then I won’t need to make a fool out of you.” Her
tone is threatening, but it exposes her first flaw of the night.
She’s badgering me because she doesn’t have a winning hand.
I’m confident in my assumption.
So much so I push all my chips into the middle of the felt table.
“Are you sure, McKayla?” Kamil checks, his brows high. “You have
more than three times her chips. You only need to match her bet. You don’t
need to raise it.”
“I’m sure,” I reply, my voice not as confident as I’m hoping.
I know I have a winning hand. I’m merely on the fence regarding
Vivienne’s insinuation that I’m not good enough for Cash. We’re not a real
couple, so she has no reason to fret, but the way she’s speaking and the
confidence she holds while doing it, makes it seem as if she is aware of that.
If that’s the case, how did she discover our arrangement? Cash said we
shouldn’t tell a soul. I don’t even think Kamil knows we’re faking it.
 I drift my dilated eyes to Kamil when he says, “Okay. Let’s see who’s
eating fake ramen noodles for the next week.”
The crowd hovers in so close, the heat of so many bodies in the one
space is stifling. A bead of sweat rolls down my neck when Vivienne
requests that I show my hand first.
It is against protocol, but the suspense is killing me, so I do as asked.
The crowd ‘wows’ in sync when I place down my hand. Two queens
and a pair of jacks. A respectful and hopefully winning hand when paired
with the two kings on the table.
My mouth gapes along with several people surrounding me when
Vivienne snarls in victory while placing down her hand. She has three of a
kind, and she only needs to use one of the cards in her hand to achieve it.
The king.
Incapable of being a sore loser, I congratulate her on her win.
I wish I weren’t so nondiplomatic when she snaps out, “Leave,
McKayla. This table is only for people who belong here.” Her lashes flutter
when Cash moves in. “Like him.”
Cash misses her comment since Kamil builds the tension by announcing
that it’s time for the undefeated champion to take his seat. But no matter
how much commotion there is, he couldn’t miss Vivienne’s loud declaration
about the king and queen commanding the head of the table. His jaw
tightens as firmly as it does the knot in my stomach, but he still slips onto
my seat when I vacate it.
“No,” Vivienne barks out when I move for the chair next to Cash. It’s
vacant since our opponents lost all their chips in the first three rounds.
“That chair is for players.” She appears nowhere near as attractive as her
flawless skin and faultless locks when she says with a sneer, “Not losers
like you.”
Her bitchy friends behind her hiss while pretending to lick their thumbs,
my scold supposedly hot enough to burn.
 The only thing heating up my body temperature is Cash when he says,
“That chair is for players, but this one most certainly isn’t,” while pulling
me down to sit on his lap.
As his lips press to a portion of skin on my neck like this type of
intimacy is nothing new for us, Vivienne’s eyes shoot to Kamil. “That isn’t
allowed. He can’t play while she’s sitting on his lap. That’s cheating.”
After peppering my neck with enough kisses my head can’t help but
slant to give him easier access, Cash says, “Then we’re even.” I press my
thighs together when he tugs on my ear with his teeth before talking around
the shudder erupting through my body. “Since you’ve been cheating from
the first round.” For how hot his lips make me, his words should be
nowhere near as cool as they are when he whispers, “And for months prior.”
“I didn’t cheat.” I can’t see Cash’s eyes since mine are on the verge of
closing, but his scorn must be scalding because it has Vivienne
backpedaling in under a nanosecond. “This time.”
Now Cash’s dislike of cheaters makes sense.
He’s been cheated on.
I am as confident in my assumption as I was when I thought I had the
winning hand.
After shifting his focus back to my neck like peppering my skin with
kisses is more vital than maintaining his championship, Cash murmurs,
“Then you’ll have no worries with Kamil checking the deck.”
Vivienne scoffs and pffts before she eventually barks out, “Why do you
care so much that she lost? She doesn’t belong here. She isn’t one of us.”
I want to kill her when her question removes Cash’s lips from my neck,
but I leave the task up to Cash since his reply cuts down her attitude to a
measly two percent. “The fact you haven’t realized that’s why I like her
shows how stupid you are. She isn’t you. That’s what makes her perfect.”
She gasps like he slapped her across the face before she shoots out of
her chair like a rocket and makes a beeline for the exit.
 I watch her dramatic exodus with my heart in my throat before dropping
my eyes to Cash. He winks and grins at me before shifting his focus to
Kamil. “You need a new deck. That one is tainted.”
Kamil curses under his breath when he spreads the card across the felt-
covered wood and discovers additional cards, most notably, an extra king.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
Cash tucks a strand of hair that fell during the almost dislocation of my
neck to give his lips plenty of room to explore behind my ear before saying,
“You had it covered.” I barely scoff for half a second before he adds, “Until
you let her think she’s better than you.”
“She is better than me.”
My reply is barely a murmur, but Cash must hear it because my
backside doesn’t get an inch off his lap before he pulls me back down.
I assume he is about to lecture me on why I’m more like Einstein than I
will ever admit, but I get the shock of my life when he murmurs, “If you
don’t want people knowing the ‘little incident’ you referred to the other
week isn’t so little, you need to play the rest of your hands on my lap.”
When I peer at him, lost and confused, he flattens his hand across my
thigh, increasing the throb between my legs, before he yanks me back so
I’m swamped by his body. Except this time, there’s a noticeable difference.
A big one.
He’s hard.
I could get excited. I could act all regal and snobbish, but since some of
what Cash said to Vivienne sounded honest, I just be me. “Do you need me
to find you another fire hydrant? Or are you happy to wait for the dog to be
done with the one out front?”
Cash’s chuckles are so vibrating, they make the situation ten times
worse. As do the words he speaks next, “That one has been a little
overworked, so I think I might just have to use your outfit for inspiration
again tonight.”
 My cheeks inflame, but it has nothing on the heat that roars through me
when I realize our exchange is being eyeballed by more than a handful of
random strangers.
Kamil is right up in the action as well.
When it dawns on him that his watch has been busted, he commences
dealing the final game.
“You can’t honestly expect me to play while sitting on Cash’s lap.”
“Why not?” Kamil asks while winking at Cash like he’ll always have
his back. “From what I heard, you’ve got him at a disadvantage.”
Like a perfectly timed skit, Cash’s cock flexes, and I cave like the virgin
I am. “I fold. I’m done. You win.”
This time, when I slip off Cash’s lap, he lets me go.
Regretfully.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 20

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

T he trophy that’s been a part of my fraternity longer than I’ve been

born is returned to the mantel while Crew, Kamil’s twin brother from
another mother, says, “If you think Kam will let you engrave your name
onto the plague after you cheated, you have another thing coming.”
“I didn’t cheat.”
He waits for me to spin around and face him before arching a dark
brow. “You were counting cards.”
I pfft him. “I didn’t play a hand, so why would I count the cards?”
“Because poker is about probabilities and percentages. All things she
taught you.” He nudges his head to McKayla during the ‘she’ part of her
statement.
Since her belly is alcohol-free, she’s not doing the sprinkler like she did
last month. However, she is still carving up the dance floor with moves that
should never be seen in public.
My father would be so proud.
“But since she’s also teaching you to pull your head out of your ass, he
may let it slide.” My eyes drift back to Crew when he says, “How about we
propose to Kam that tonight was a practice run, and we’ll have the real
event next week to celebrate the season opener?”
 When I lift my chin, agreeing with his suggestion, he pats my back,
proud I don’t want to go down in history as a cheater.
I don’t care about the stupid plaque and trophy. I just couldn’t call
Vivienne out as a cheater without proof. I’d done it once before. It didn’t
end well.
My stomach gurgles when Crew asks, “Do you think she’ll still be
around then?”
The direction of his eyes gives away who he’s referencing, but I can’t
help but act stupid when you spend all your time with a genius.
“McKayla?” When he mimics my head bob, I ask, “Why wouldn’t she be?”
My heart sinks to my gut when he replies, “Because the midterms will
be over, so you won’t need to pretend you’re her boyfriend for her to tutor
you anymore.” My anger boils while wondering who the fuck told him
about my arrangement with McKayla, but it spills over when he adds, “And
I also don’t see him holding back for too much longer.” I grit my teeth when
he nudges his head to McKayla again. She’s no longer surrounded by
sorority sisters hoping to get into my good books by acting as if she is one
of them. Gabriel has singled her out. “He’s so fucking thirsty.”
“But standing at the wrong bubbler.”
“What the fuck is a bubbler?” Crew asks, his voice shouted since I’m
racing McKayla’s way like she needs saving from the big bad wolf.
“Hey,” McKayla greets the instant she spots me, her voice low and a
little snarky. “I was just coming to find you.”
“But I found you first, so…” My eyes are on McKayla, but my words
are for the douche standing next to her.
“So…” She takes a moment to silently demand my focus before
finalizing. “I was wondering if you’re ready to walk me home? I’m
expecting a call I can’t miss.” Her voice is barely a whisper when she
murmurs, “Not if I want to remain breathing.”
 Unsure if her excuse is merely to ditch the leech lingering like a bad
smell, I ask, “Can you take your call here?”
She strays her eyes to the left before veering them to the right. “Ah.
No.” Her face is more riddled with panic now than easygoing. “If you want
to stay, I can walk myself home. I don’t mind.”
I’m about to tell her in no uncertain terms can she walk through campus
alone, much less in the dress she’s wearing, but before I can, Gabriel jumps
into a conversation he doesn’t belong in. “I can walk you home.”
“Oh. Um.” McKayla looks like she wants to say no, but that could be
my ego talking. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I push out at the same time as Gabriel. His response is more
pleased than mine. I sound as if I’m being forced to eat overcooked
broccoli.
After spinning McKayla away from Gabriel, I ask, “Do you want him to
walk you home? If you don’t, just tell me, and I’ll kick the fucker out.”
She peers at me like I’m insane before bobbing her chin. “Isn’t this the
point?” She inconspicuously waves her hand between us during the ‘this’
part of her sentence.
“Yeah. But.” I’ve got nothing except the whiny pleas of a desperate
man.
McKayla smiles to hide the disappointment on her face before leaning
in to kiss my cheek.
It is our first official kiss, and it is dismal.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She waits for me to jerk up my chin like a loser before telling Gabriel to
lead the way through the crowd that doesn’t part when they see him
coming.
They’ve only just cleared the front porch when Kamil scares the living
daylights out of me. He snuck up unaware and presses his lips so close to
my ear, I wonder if he can smell the sweet scent of McKayla’s skin on my
lips. “Are you really going to let her leave with him?” He sounds as
disgusted as I feel when he gags out his last word. “That guy is a fucking
douche. He isn’t the hero of McKayla’s story.”
“I know that.”
He moves to stand in front of me. “Yet you just let her leave with him.”
I did, and I’m an asshole, but I can’t let Kamil know that. “She’s a big
girl, Kam. She can make her own decisions.”
I handed him a brush-off, but Kamil makes out as if I gave him the
encyclopedia to my inner workings. “Ah. Now it all makes sense.”
When he brushes me off with a pfft then hightails it into the kitchen, I
follow him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He hits the bullseye. “You’re not giving her the opportunity to pick
because you’re afraid she’ll pick him over you.” He nudges his head to the
window that reveals McKayla’s extremely slow trek home during the ‘him’
part of his reply.
“Like I need to worry about him. Look at him…” I thrust my hand at
the window. “She’s freezing, but he’s still wearing his jacket. He’s a fucking
douche.”
I snap my eyes back to Kamil when he says, “Because a nice guy knows
you go cold before your girl.”
“I’m not a nice guy, Kam.”
He pats me on the shoulder before whispering, “Keep telling yourself
that, Milo, then maybe one day it will come true.”
With that, he leaves me standing in the kitchen, looking like a fool.
Needing to keep my mind occupied, I clear the empty cups from the
kitchen counter before tackling the mountain load of pizza boxes. It works
until I spot a campus safety brochure stuffed under a used stack of cups.
The first line is one I’ve said many times in the past year. “Never walk the
campus grounds alone.” The second I should have remembered when
McKayla accepted Gabriel’s offer. “Walk in numbers or with someone you
trust.”
Trust. Such a tiny word but so undeserving for a man like Gabriel
Sutton.
“I’ll keep the masses out of your room,” Kamil shouts when I sprint
past him on my way out the door.
I run like I didn’t run five miles this morning, reaching McKayla’s dorm
in just enough time. She’s standing on the stoop of the stairs, saying
goodbye to Gabriel.
Just the fact he didn’t get an invite inside her building dampens my
worry, not to mention McKayla’s obvious disinterest in Gabriel’s telltale
signs that he’s sniffing around for a farewell kiss.
His stance is uneven since he’s counterbalancing his weight in
preparation to lean in and kiss her. However, McKayla’s body is tilted back,
and her arms are folded in front of her chest.
A clear fuck-off sign if I’ve ever seen one.
“Do it,” I whisper, encouraging Gabriel’s foolhardiness. “I want to
watch you burn.”
I hate my inability not to seek revenge when Gabriel’s tilt forward
doesn’t see McKayla immediately inching back. She remains motionless,
completely still, her head only moving when Gabriel’s lips are a mere half
an inch from her mouth.
Her neck crank has her busting my watch. Not only do her eyes bulge
out of her head, but the vein in her neck I can assure you tastes delicious,
also works overtime.
She stares at me long enough for Gabriel to follow the direction of her
gawk. Mercifully, it occurs a second after I sink back behind a big old tree.
“Yeah, great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shuffling feet follow McKayla’s farewell, then not long later, a solemn
Gabriel veers past me to return to his side of campus.
 “Jesus Christ, McKayla,” I stammer out when she scares the shit out of
me for the second time tonight. “I need to put a bell on you people.”
She grins as if appreciative of my near coronary before asking, “Just the
net, right?”
“What?”
While barging me toward the closed stadium doors of the basketball
court like she is double her height and weight, she repeats, “Just the net.
You said all I need to do is hit the net.”
My brows hike high on my face when the side entrance door of the
stadium pops open at McKayla’s unvoiced request. Coach leaves the doors
unlocked for me to train during the day, but I didn’t know the option was
available at this hour.
I shadow McKayla into the lit-up space while asking, “Are you talking
about our bet?”
“Uh-huh.” She fetches a ball out of the wire basket they’re stored in
after each training session, then moves toward the hoop. “If I hit the net,
you’ll teach me how to kiss.” My cock reacts before my brain, and it gives
McKayla time to fill in the gap. “I don’t want our first kiss to bomb. What if
Gabriel judges our connection solely on that, and I’m too sloppy or too
dry.” Her eyes bulge out of her head for the second time. “And how am I
meant to know the right amount of tongue? Should it lead our kiss or be
held back the first time around? I’m clueless.” She locks her eyes with the
net dangling many feet above her head. “But I’ll have a better idea if I can
just hit the net.”
“You want me to teach you how to kiss Gabriel?” I don’t give her the
chance to answer me. “I’m not going to do that.”
She stops me from leaving by asking, “Why not?”
“Because he’s a fucking douche.”
She has me over a barrel when she spits out, “Which, according to you
and half the school population, was a well-known fact when you agreed to
help me gain his attention. So what’s changed, Milo?”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me Milo because you’ve got your panties
in a twist about me saying no.” With our bet forgotten, she stuffs her hands
under her arms. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me turning you down?”
“Turning me down? You would have had to turn me up to turn me
down.”
My laugh is selfish and full of condescending pride. “I know you were
turned on, McKayla. I could feel the heat of your pussy, both tonight and
earlier this week.”
She pegs the ball she dumped at my head, her aim almost perfect.
Almost.
“You missed the net. Better luck next time.”
Her squeal of frustration is silent until I nudge my head to the door to
give her her marching orders. “Just go. I need some air.”
Although I am well-aware of the benefits of a couple of hours of
solitude, it won’t alter the facts. She isn’t safe here by herself. “You’re not
staying here alone.”
Hair slips off her shoulder when she angles her head to the side and
bows a brow. “Just go, Cash. I can take care of myself.”
She can, but that won’t change my mind. “You’re not fucking staying
here by yourself.”
“Cash—”
“McKayla.” I give her a second to hear the absolute threat in my tone so
she knows how close I am to carrying her out of here over my shoulder
before repeating, “You are not staying here by yourself.”
“Fine.” She throws her hands into the air before marching for the exit.
I follow her, my long strides only halving when she veers left instead of
right. “Where are you going?”
She doesn’t face me while replying, “Back to the party. I most likely
missed my call, and I spent all my savings on a stupid dress when I recalled
how well it worked for Cinderella, so I am going to get my damn prince if
it’s the last thing I do.”

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Chapter 21

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

“W hat did you say to piss her off?”

I scoff off Kamil’s claim that I’m the reason McKayla is downing shots
as if they’re nips of water before replying, “I didn’t say anything.” It is what
I didn’t do that pissed her off. “What’s her count?”
I know his answer. I’ve been watching McKayla as closely as Kamil
since she reminds him so much of his sister, but I’m trying to act
disinterested in her antics that have had my jaw ticking all night.
I had no clue how badly I handled jealousy until tonight.
“Eight. One more and she’ll be over.”
“That’s what I thought.” I slap his back to thank him in advance before
saying, “Keep the dirty fuckers out of my room until I get back. The only
cum I want on my sheets is mine.”
When he jerks up his chin, I head outside to fetch McKayla from the
hive of activity occurring near the pool. It’s too cold for anyone to be
swimming, but the pool lights mingling with the fog offer a set of effects
any DJ would cream his pants for.
I’m six feet away from McKayla when the thud her neck gets every
time I’m in her presence breaks out a funky tune. The thing is, I’m
approaching her from behind, aware she’d most likely bolt if I confronted
her head-on.
 She’s done it numerous times the past three hours.
My jaw works through a stern strain when I follow the direction of her
gaze. MacDouche has returned to the party, carrying favors. He has Red
Twizzlers in his hand—McKayla’s favorite snack when she’s studying. “I
noticed you were out during our latest study session.”
“Our?” I murmur to myself, shocked as hell. I thought I was McKayla’s
only student?
McKayla swoons when Gabriel hands her the Twizzlers.
She fucking swoons.
“You shouldn’t have. I’m trying to cut back.” Although she’s telling him
no, she bands her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a thank-you
hug.
He’s too short for her to pull him down.
After inching back, she asks, “How did you know I was here? You
walked me home.”
I physically gag when Gabriel replies, “A little birdie told me.”
When he locks eyes with me over McKayla’s shoulder, I don’t know
what game he’s playing, but it has McKayla fooled. Not only does shock
register in her hooded gaze when she believes his silent claim I encouraged
his return to festivities, so does hurt.
“Oh. That’s so sweet.” She returns her eyes to Gabriel but keeps her
words loud enough for me to hear. “I didn’t realize you two were close like
that.”
“We were once.” Gabriel barely hides his smugness while replying,
“But then our lives went in opposite directions.”
Like you’re fucking teeth are about to be.
“Play it cool, man,” Kamil suggests, once again sneaking up on me.
“Don’t let that fucker get you booted again.” The erratic beat of his heart is
exposed when he curls his arm around my shoulders. “He’s not worth it,
and McKayla knows that. She’s just confused.”
 “She isn’t the only one.”
After giving me time to cool my turbines, Kamil defuses a volatile
situation. “Hey, Einstein, didn’t you promise me a recap of that book I was
meant to read for our next assessment?”
Incapable of ignoring someone in academic need, McKayla says, “Oh...
um… yeah. Did you want to do that now?”
“If you’ve got time?” Kamil drops his bottom lip before bringing out
the big guns. His begging eyes. “I’m really behind.”
“Okay.”
She’s almost free of douche canoe before he lassos a rope around her
waist and pulls her straight back in. “Is that English lit?” When McKayla
nods, Gabriel replies, “I’ve got the mock exam in my car if it will help.”
He’s acting like the nice guy, but he’s an even worse pick for McKayla
than me.
Well, so I thought.
McKayla swoons again, making me wonder if I’ve read any of her signs
correctly the past week. “That’ll be a big help. Thank you so much.”
When he tootles off to fetch the mock exam like it’s a personalized
invitation into McKayla’s panties, McKayla heads my way, her slow
stumble only cut off by another person not worthy of her time.
“Why are you still here?” Vivienne snaps out, her voice so loud the
party-like atmosphere dulls to a white noise hum. “You were meant to leave
hours ago.”
I miss what McKayla replies. I’m too busy watching Gabriel’s return to
the festivities. Our frat house is one of the biggest on campus, so there’s no
way he made it to his car and back already. He’s also returned empty-
handed, and his smirk is the same one he gave me when I walked in on him
and Vivienne fucking in the pantry of our frat house.
With the images of me beating the shit out of Gabriel after dragging him
off Vivienne, and the subsequent charges and suspensions I faced after the
incident, it takes me a little while to discover the reason for splashing water
to be sounding in my ears.
Despite the cool evening, someone has gone for a swim, but my gut is
telling me it wasn’t their choice.
“Oh my God, can she not swim?”
My eyes dart from Vivienne, the tormentor, to the pool when numerous
slaps boom over the laughter projecting from the small swarm of bullies.
Mousy brown hair floats on the rippling water’s surface. It is just above the
shimmery sparkles of a dress far too risqué for the modesty of its owner.
McKayla.
My brain screams her name on repeat as my sluggish legs finally kick
into gear. I barge Vivienne and her friends out of the way before diving into
the pool, uncaring that my phone is in my pocket.
The bright lights of the pool and my surging panic hinder my efforts to
find her, but I don’t give up. I’ll sink to the bottom of this pool from a lack
of oxygen before I’ll ever float to the top without her.
Mercifully, the odds are stacked in my favor when Kamil and Crew leap
into the frigidly icy waters, doubling my efforts to find McKayla.
“Milo,” bubbles through the water, stealing my focus from the images
of my brother’s girlfriend lying dead on the pavement only feet from the car
my mother crashed. I was the first one on the scene, and with my mother
screaming obscenities about her totaled BMW, I had to pick between saving
my brother or his girlfriend of two years.
I chose Trenton.
Mercifully, this time, I don’t have to pick.
Kamil has McKayla, and he’s racing her to the surface as fast as my
panic is asphyxiating me.
“You were meant to jump in and save her, you idiot,” I hear Vivienne
scream when my head breaks through the water at the same time as Kamil
and McKayla. When she spots our surface, she snaps her eyes to mine. “I
swear to God, I didn’t know she couldn’t swim. I wouldn’t have pushed her
if I had known.”
She’s lying.
How do I know?
She always lies.
Over her lies as much as me, Kamil places a motionless McKayla onto
the marble tiles around the pool before getting right up into Vivienne’s face
like she doesn’t have a set of fake tits keeping them apart. “Get out.”
“I—”
“Get the fuck out!”
I don’t know if he marches her out or if it is his tone that warns he isn’t
to be messed with that gets her legs moving. I’m too busy checking
McKayla’s neck for a pulse to wonder how well he has my back.
Kamil stood by my side through everything. Trenton’s girlfriend’s
funeral, the nineteen-hour operation to unsuccessfully save my brother’s
leg, and the charges of battery that almost lost me my scholarship when the
first thing I stumbled on after returning from the hospital was Vivienne and
Gabriel’s escapades.
He has my back, and now he has McKayla’s.
“You’re all right. It’s okay,” I assure McKayla when a sudden will to
live removes the water from her lungs before my breaths of life.
Even with the color returning to her cheeks remarkably quick,
considering how cold she feels, I request one of my frat brothers to call an
ambulance.
“No,” McKayla murmurs, her voice groggy since she’s still gargling on
salty water. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay. Your lips are almost blue. You’re getting checked
whether you want to or not.”
Through the breathless shudders wreaking havoc with her body, she
murmurs, “Your… dick… was… purple, and you didn’t get it checked…
for hours.”
“I can live without my dick. I can’t live without you.”
After accepting a towel from Crew, I wrap it around McKayla’s torso
before lifting her into my arms and sprinting the five blocks to her car. I
don’t drive. Haven’t since the accident I wasn’t involved in but was very
much a part of, but it will be quicker for me to take McKayla to the hospital
than wait for it to come to her.
My thunderous steps should dislodge any leftover water in her lungs,
but for what they miss I’m sure the shakes hampering my frame will fulfill.
I shudder like the pool was filled with ice while stabbing the spare key
into her stinky ride. It kicks over the first try, but it takes me three goes to
put the drive stick into reverse, and I only achieve that because of the
watery cough McKayla releases. She sounds like she’s drowning hundreds
of miles from the ocean, and the memories it pops into my head are
damaging to my sanity.
With my head locked down, I race out of the parking lot in front of
student housing, then take the most direct route to the hospital we seem to
frequent lately.

“I told you I was fine.” McKayla’s voice is still groggy. I don’t know if it is
compliments to the water she swallowed or because she’s still intoxicated.
It could be a bit of both. She tossed down more tequila than she did water,
but the tequila landed in her stomach instead of her lungs. “Although I’m
super tired.”
“Then we better get you to bed.”
I peer into the back seat of McKayla’s bomb, seeking the owner of the
overprotective voice that just came from my mouth. When I fail to find
anyone, I unlatch my belt, slide out from the driver’s seat of McKayla’s car,
then hotfoot it to the passenger side to help her out.
The smile I’ve been dying to see for far longer than the hour she spent
at the hospital creeps onto her face when I open her door a second before
pivoting around and bobbing down. She didn’t break anything during her
tumble into the pool, but her legs are super wobbly.
“Ah… where are you going?” she asks when I head for my frat house
instead of her dormitory once she’s clinging to my back like a koala.
“Dr. Phipps said you should be monitored.”
Her high pitch rings in my ears when she shouts, “So I don’t choke on
my tongue if I bring up the dinner you didn’t feed me.”
Since I can’t deny her claims, I remain quiet.
Her tone is softer now, almost disappointed. “Eden can do that, Cash.
You don’t need to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you.” I’m appeasing my panic. But since I can’t
say that, I continue my trek, my long strides only halving when I spot
Kamil at the side of the patio, staring at me.
“She good?” You’d assume his question is regarding McKayla’s visit to
the ER. I know that isn’t the case. He’s reminding me of the rules before
ensuring I don’t break them. “She was close to cutoff, Milo.”
“Close but not over. She didn’t have the ninth nip.” I adjust McKayla’s
position to ensure we clear the front door of my frat house before adding,
“You also have my word that I won’t touch her.” The thudding of
McKayla’s heart doubles during my assurance, but she remains as quiet as a
church mouse. “You can trust me, Kam. I won’t hurt her.”
He trusts me, but he takes the rules very seriously—as would any man if
his baby sister was raped on campus. “Do you want to go with him,
Einstein?” He acts as if McKayla isn’t clinging to my back while asking,
“Because all you have to say is no, and I’ll walk you home myself.” He
drops his eyes to me. “And he won’t say shit about it.”
 “I won’t,” I back up when he looks seconds from castrating me where I
stand. My dick only returned to a normal size yesterday afternoon. I won’t
do anything to hurt it again.
When McKayla takes her time deliberating a response, I promise, “I’ll
even leave the door open.”
A reason for her delay is unearthed when she asks, “Are the sheets
clean?”
“Yes,” I bark out with a laugh. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
She gives me a leering look when I crank my neck back to peer at her,
and it has me reading her like a book. “I told you that took place in the
shower.”
Now Kamil is more interested in our one-sided conversation than
ensuring I’m not coercing a drunk girl into my room. “You beat acute
malutitus?” Anyone would swear I defeated cancer for the way he’s acting.
“I thought that was incurable?”
McKayla’s hidden giggles rumble through our conjoined bodies when I
answer Kamil with an eye roll before entering the foyer of our house.
All vibrations quit when Kamil’s smarts kick back in. “If she’s not
drunk, she should have no issue walking to your room, Milo.”
I get his annoyance, and I’d fully back his campaign if it were against
anyone else, but fuck me, he is pushing my limits of understanding tonight.
I can’t get the image of my brother’s dead girlfriend out of my head and
the gurgles she made as she took her last breath, so I sure as fuck am not in
the mood for anything above watching the rise and fall of McKayla’s chest
while she sleeps.
Tiph’s gurgles only lasted three minutes, and no matter how many times
I screamed at my mother for her to compress her chest, she was too busy
worrying about her totaled BMW than the horror her son would wake up to
if my chest compressions were successful.
 She left Tiph to die, and so did my selfishness. I tried to save them both,
but when push came to shove, I concentrated on the person who’d stop me
from sinking.
“It’s fine, Cash. I can walk,” McKayla assures when the glare I hit
Kamil with is as icy as the water she plunged into earlier tonight. “I also
appreciate you looking out for me, Kam.” I didn’t know African American
men could blush until McKayla curls her arms around his neck and hugs
him. “Both earlier and now.”
He accepts her praise with a dip of his chin before briefly returning her
embrace. Then he pivots her to face the stairwell. “You should get out of
here before I bring out the breathalyzer.”
She laughs as if he is joking.
He isn’t. There is still enough alcohol leeching from her pores to make a
nun drunk.
“Are you sure you want me to stay here with you, Cash?” Her last
handful of words is delivered with a quiver when we enter my room. It is
always breezy because of its loft design, but its extra cool since the window
we scaled out of weeks ago is open.
“I’m sure.” I close the window before fetching her a shirt out of one of
my drawers. “The central heating takes a little to get up here, but by the
time you shower and change, it should be reasonably warm.”
Her shocked expression doubles when I close the main door of my room
almost all the way to expose a second door behind it. “So the rose fertilizer
rumors aren’t true.”
“Very rarely are any rumors true.” I guide her toward the bathroom
before switching out my towel for a new one. “Except the ones about my
cock. They’re pretty accurate.”
McKayla rolls her eyes when I hit her with a playful wink. “I wouldn’t
know.”
 I could let her murmured comment go, but with my mind still on the
fritz, I don’t. “Because you want to take what I’ll teach you and use it on
Gabriel Fucking Sutton.” I can’t help the gag that arrives with his name.
“The guy is a tool.”
“Maybe.” She enters the bathroom, her footing unsteady. “But at least
he’s smart enough to know when I’m lying.” As she wedges a big chunk of
wood between us, she murmurs, “You’re close, Cash, but you are not there
just yet.”

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Chapter 22

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 McKayla

A s wisps of steam float around me, I stare at myself in the vanity

mirror of Cash’s bathroom. With my hair too damp to contain, I’ve left it
hanging between my shoulder blades. My eyes are wide and glassy, and my
lips are rosy.
I look remarkably put together for someone on the verge of a panic
attack.
I can’t swim, so when Vivienne pushed me into the pool in retaliation
for ‘stealing’ her man, I thought my life was about to end before it had truly
begun.
My family is my world, and the career I am striving to achieve is what
I’ve wanted to do since I was a child, but everything else, all those little
inconsequential things I didn’t consider until my lungs began accepting
water instead of air, weren’t considered before tonight.
They were left on the back burner, simmering until they resembled the
sloppy mess in front of me.
But do you know what is even more concerning than realizing I’ve
barely lived even with a quarter of the game already over? Knowing the
flashbacks only included snippets of the past month. My parents didn’t
feature, and my brothers didn’t get a look in. Not even my beloved cat got a
nanosecond of time.
 The entirety of my flashbacks was reserved for one man.
The same man I begged to teach me how to kiss another man because I
didn’t want him to know how badly I wanted him to be my first kiss.
I didn’t want Cash to teach me how to kiss Gabriel. I wanted him to
prove the naysayers wrong, to shut up the critics who have Gabriel so
confident we’re not a real couple, he thought he was in with a chance of
kissing me after walking me home.
I wanted Cash to prove the sparks I’ve felt the past two weeks are real. I
just wasn’t brave enough to tell him that after the brutal battering my ego
took during my short stroll home with Gabriel.
For the past thirteen years, I’ve viewed him as the character he played
on Patterson Drive. Dolby was a kind boy with a stutter, but the handful of
times we’ve spoken, Gabriel hasn’t had a pleasant word to say about
anyone. He even announced an issue with Professor Ren, and everyone
loves her.
Even Cash, who according to Gabriel, doesn’t love anyone but himself.
I love drama—daytime soapies are my favorite—but the bitchiness that
comes with an angst-filled storyline isn’t as fun in real life.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when a knock sounds at the door. “Are
you okay, Einstein?”
“Yeah. I was…” I’ve got nothing. I switched off the faucet over twenty
minutes ago but still haven’t emerged from the bathroom.
I’m saved by my wet clothes slumped on the tiled floor. “Drying my
underwear. They’re soaked through.” I can’t see Cash, but I picture his
chuckles when soundless shudders vibrate the door. “Not like that.”
A reason for Cash being the only person featured during the flashback
of my life is revealed when he murmurs, “Pity.”
He keeps me on my toes at all times of the day and night, and the
remembrance—along with the small snippet of alcohol still heating my
veins—has me acting brazen.
 Before I can talk myself out of it, I sling open the bathroom door, prop
my shoulder onto the doorjamb, then declare, “I didn’t want you to teach
me how to kiss Gabriel.”
Cash’s head lifts before his brows crinkle. “What?”
That’s it?
That’s the best he can come up with?
“Tonight, when I said I wanted you to teach me how to kiss. I wasn’t
referencing Gabriel. I just said I was.”
He looks more relieved than annoyed. “Why?”
“Because of this.” I thrust my hand at his shocked or repulsed
expression. I can’t pinpoint exactly which one as I don’t know all his
expressions yet, even with me studying them in depth multiple times the
past month. “And he was the easy excuse. The simple equation.” I groan
before pushing out, “The only person I didn’t need to use my brain on
because I stupidly thought I knew him.” When he remains quiet, the deluge
continues. “You also said we’d go tit for tat. You passed your exam, so it
was your turn to help me ace something. I want to know how to kiss, to
return your teases with an idea about what the hell they mean. I don’t want
to be a dud.”
“You won’t be a dud, Einstein.” His assurance would be more
convincing if it didn’t arrive with a heap of chuckles.
“How do you know that?” When I throw my hands in the air, I sway in
an imaginary breeze. “Anytime I kissed my hand in junior high, it ended up
covered in spit.” I shut up Cash’s chuckles with a stern sideway glare.
“Cash…”
“I’m sorry, okay. I can’t help it.” When worry glistens in my eyes, he
lowers his laughter and adds some sincerity to his tone. “You couldn’t kiss
bad if you tried, Einstein. You don’t do anything halfhearted, so I don’t see
you having an issue with something so simple.” Since his confession only
halves the panic roaring through me, he continues speaking, “But…” He
keeps me hanging long enough for the tension bristling between us to turn
potent. “I’ll teach you how to kiss, if that’s what you want.” When I bob my
head way too eagerly, he says, “Tomorrow… if I—”
Over his dramatics tonight, I hurry him along. “Lose, you will teach me
how to kiss.”

My eyes bounce side to side while watching his head shake. “I can’t lose.”
My thudding heart drops several inches lower when he paces closer to me.
“That isn’t something I can do.” I blink back tears when he stops in front of
me, angles his head so we’re almost eye to eye, then adds, “And shouldn’t
kissing you be in victory, not commiseration? Don’t lower yourself to the
consolation prize, Einstein, when you deserve the top accolade.”
Too drunk on the wooziness his compliment caused to care, I’m about
to make a fool of myself again. I balance on my tippytoes before sealing my
mouth over his scrumptious-looking lips.
My kiss knocks Cash off his feet so well we land on his bed with a thud
before my tongue has trekked halfway across his sternly shut mouth.

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Chapter 23

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 Cash

“W hat the fuck?” My words are switched for a moan when

McKayla drags her tongue along the seam of my lips for the second time.
Her lips are a little tarty from the tequila she downed but one hundred
percent sweet, and the ability to deny that grows even harder when she
straddles my lap then grinds down.
I don’t think she’s wearing any panties, and it takes everything I have
not to check for myself.
It should be obvious. With my boxers’ waistband double the width of
her tiny waist, I sent her into the bathroom with only a shirt. But my mind
has been playing tricks on me all night.
Like earlier, while replaying our fight on the court while sulking at the
side of festivities, I kept hearing the desperation in her tone as if it were
directed at me instead of Gabriel. That she wanted to kiss me more than
him.
After the talk we just had, now I’m even more convinced.
Sending her to shower without any panties could be seen as a brilliant
move on my behalf if Kamil’s warnings weren’t ringing through my head.
If he gets even an inclination as to what we’re doing, he’ll race up here
and drag McKayla off me as I did Gabriel with Vivienne. Since that would
mean McKayla would spend the night in his room instead of mine, I try to
dampen the eagerness beaming out of McKayla.
“Einstein… we can’t.”
I’m saying no, but my actions are on the opposite end of the spectrum.
My mouth opens at the request of her lashing tongue before I bite down on
her lower lip to remind her I’m not the hero of her story.
Kam saved her, then kicked out her tormentor, so shouldn’t he be
benefitting from her sudden wish to live life to the fullest?
Before jealousy can tear me in two, McKayla grinds down again,
forcing a desperate moan to rumble up my chest.
“Fuck.”
I try to simmer down my moans to make out to Kamil and my frat
brothers that I stubbed my toe on the dresser like I do every time I exit the
bathroom, but when my efforts are less than stellar, I flatten my hands on
the mattress behind me and act as if getting a woman off is a one-woman
show.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I rasp out when the reflection of McKayla
grinding against my crotch in the full-length mirror in the corner of my
room hardens my dick to the point I’ll never doubt its flexibility again. It is
strained against the crotch of my sweatpants, striving to break free, the
hardest it’s ever been.
McKayla’s third and fourth grind amplifies the panic in her eyes instead
of snuffing it. She feels me heavy against her, but she’s confused as to why
my hands haven’t left the mattress.
“I can’t, Einstein. I fuckin’ can’t.” The need in my voice exposes how
badly I want to touch her, but just in case, I stray my eyes to the partially
cracked open door and add, “I promised to keep my hands to myself,
remember?” After locking our eyes, I clear away the worry surging through
her hooded gaze. “If I start, I won’t be able to take them off you, so they
have to stay where they are, fisting the fucking sheets.”
 After smiling in a way that removes the image of her lying lifeless at
my knees from my head, she kisses me again. She devours my mouth with
little gasps and controlled movements of her tongue that prove her worry
about her first kiss being a dud was a lie.
She couldn’t kiss badly if she tried.
And don’t get me started on the sultry movements of her hips as her
tongue explores my mouth, or I’ll make a mess of my pants.
I can see the need in her eyes and smell it on her skin. She’s ready to
detonate, and I’ve yet to break my promise.
Fuck a test to prove your competency.
I can adeptly declare right now that I am a brilliant man.
When the mews erupting from McKayla’s chest announce how
desperate she is to let go of the reins, I ask, “Do you want to come,
Einstein?”
The rock of her hips is harder this time around, more urgent. “Yes.” Her
voice is a quiver, and it claims the last of my sanity.
“Then spread your thighs a little wider and drag your pussy down my
shaft until the rim of my cock flicks your clit. That should get you off. For
what it misses, my win tomorrow will take care of. You won’t be drunk
then, so I’ll be able to take my time with you.”
Nothing but shock is heard in her snapped words. “You want to do this
again?”
A breathless moan ripples out of her mouth when I answer, “Fuck yes.”
Satisfied with my reply, she does a long grind down, dragging her
heated slit from the rim of my cock to the base, moaning when the piercing
at the hood flicks against her throbbing clit. “Like this?”
“Fuck.”
I clenched my teeth together when my sweatpants and boxer shorts
combination can’t conceal the heat of her pussy. She is burning up
everywhere, and it takes everything I have not to flop my dick out and ram
home, which is fucked for me to even consider when I recall this is
McKayla’s first time doing anything remotely like this.
Even if it kills me, I need to take it slow.
As I fist the sheets firmer to ensure my hands remain off her body, I say,
“Find the tempo you like, one that will get you off.”
Precum seeps into my boxer shorts when she moans out, “This will
work. I’m almost there. I think.”
I roll my hips upward, ensuring my piercing is felt with every grind.
“Believe me, you’ll know. It won’t be a guess.”
McKayla’s speed picks up, rocking faster and with more intent. I feel
her tension building, almost snapping when she finds a pleasurable rhythm.
Then, not long later, she shatters like glass with wordless, purposeful
shudders.
I don’t stray my eyes from her for a second. I drink in every expression
that crosses her face. Enjoyment. Ecstasy. Wave after wave of relief. I
watch it all while fighting like fuck not to yank my sweats over my ass and
drive into her no-doubt throbbing pussy.
Our fuck would be raw and primal, unhinged. It would be everything I
imagined while stroking my cock yesterday afternoon and perhaps a little
bit more. A brutal storm of ecstasy that would have no end date in sight.
Unlike McKayla’s exhaustion that pulls her under within a minute of
her making a mess of the front of my pants.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 24

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

A n unfamiliar rhythm pounding against my ear wakes me. As manly

blue walls, a spicy scent, and more gleaming trophies than I’ll ever see in
my life bombard me, I lie confused for a moment.
Then reality creeps in.
My moans.
My rocks.
My explosion.
With a gasp, I attempt to jolt into a half-seated position. Attempt
because Cash’s grip of my body is too firm for my shock to dislodge. I’m
lying on top of him, his wish for comfort forgotten for mine. It seems as if
he only shuffled back after I brought myself to the apex of pleasure with the
crotch of his sweatpants.
I’d bury my head in shame if I weren’t being eyeballed by the man I
took advantage of.
“I’m so sor—”
Cash squashes his index finger to my lips, grinning when he realizes
how kiss-swollen they are. “Don’t you dare apologize.” The thudding of his
heart makes sense when he murmurs, “Last night was the sexiest fucking
thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It was?”
 I want to die again.
I wasn’t meant to articulate that out loud.
“Yeah.” His sultry grin restarts the tingles I had no clue would turn so
excruciatingly painful I’d be willing to do anything to chase them again.
“But we don’t have time for a recap. We’re late.”
“Late?” I stray my eyes to the clock, confident someone who heads to
bed before my grandparents doesn’t understand the concept of a sleep-in.
My eyes bulge when I realize it is late in the afternoon. “Oh, my goodness.
What did you do to me?”
“As far as Kamil is concerned, jack fucking shit.” Cash slips out of bed,
then tosses on a shirt he must have lost sometime between me riding his
crotch and waking in his arms. “But anyone else is free for all. Please add to
those slut rumors you’ve heard about me. My reputation could use the boost
when they find out I let a girl sleep over without removing my cock from
my trunks.”
He exudes confidence, and it catapults when he snags up his training
bag off the floor.
“Your pre-season game is today.”
I’m muttering to myself, but Cash confirms my quiet rambling as if it
was a question. “Yep, so you’re in the cusp of witnessing how well weeks
of hard work pays off.”
I’m feeling witty, so I use it to my advantage. “For you. I merely get to
waste two point seven eight percent of my day watching so-called men fight
over a ball.”
I can’t continue faking repulsion when Cash mutters, “Or two point nine
if we run into overtime.”
He tosses a pair of socks in my face when I ask, “And how many
minutes is that?”
“No mathematics. Not now. Not when it’s my biggest head’s time to
shine.” I am completely lost until he murmurs, “We made an agreement last
night, and I fully intend to cash it in.” He waggles his brows at my shocked
expression before heading for his partially cracked open door. After
accepting a bag that’s tossed into his chest, he dumps it on the vanity sink in
his bathroom before nudging his head to the shower. “Five minutes,
Einstein. That shouldn’t be too hard, considering none of your clothes
require an iron.”
I roll my eyes, but in reality, I’m loving that my brazenness last night
didn’t make things awkward between us. He’s so calm and collected while
watching my slow stalk to the bathroom, I ponder how wondrous my
imagination is.
I orgasmed—there’s no doubt about that—but is Cash’s eagerness to
help me do it all over again a dream more real than any reality I’ve faced?
Or is he playing games like Gabriel accused him of last night?

I’m still confused while shadowing Kamil up the bleachers of the basketball
stadium. Cash was super flirty during our short walk, but that’s as natural as
breathing for him. It is his most well-known trait.
Kamil drags me from my thoughts by introducing me to a beautiful
woman with dark skin and crazy curls. “McKayla, this is Jasmine.” He
bumps shoulders with Jasmine before finalizing his introduction. “Jasmine,
this is McKayla, Milo’s girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” Jasmine spits out in shock, her brows hiking high on her
adorable face. “Since when?”
With her stare not pronged with the spitefulness I got hit with when I
arrived hand-in-hand with Cash this afternoon, I slacken the curiosity
grooved between her manicured brows with a well-crafted lie. “Only a
couple of weeks. It’s very new.”
 “But clearly something since he invited you to a game,” Jasmine butts
back in, her brows waggling.
“Milo never lets anyone attend his games. He hates being distracted,”
Kamil announces before telling Jasmine to play nice.
I can’t wipe the surprise from my face. Cash made it seem as if my
attendance was a requirement of our ruse. The knowledge that he doesn’t do
this for all his ‘girlfriends’ is as pleasing as the tingling jolt that rocketed
through my body last night. Perhaps even more so since it makes me
believe Cash’s underhanded claim that last night wasn’t a one-off.
As Jasmine gestures for me to sit on one of the reserved seats one row
back from the court, a door on the other side of the stadium pops open. My
heart does a weird flutter when Gabriel enters the packed stadium. It isn’t a
good spasm.
I feel a little dirty when he rakes his eyes down my body like I am as
sullied as he said I’d be if I ever lowered my standards so much for a man
like Cash Mancini.
For a second, I thought maybe he was judging Cash too harshly. Not
many people see how Cash opens every door for me and carries my books
back to my dorm after each tutoring session. But since Gabriel was more
interested in a kiss for his so-called ‘gallantry’ for walking me home, I
didn’t have time to blurt out all the facts.
I only had enough time to go with my gut instead of my head for a
change, meaning Gabriel’s lips landed on my cheek instead of my mouth.
My intuition paid off when I spotted Cash in the shadows of my
dormitory.
Well, so I thought.
Gabriel had spotted him too, but he didn’t see his stalking as endearing.
He told me he was taking the game too far and that I’d never get as much
out of our agreement as Cash.
 I was shocked at his knowledge he knew about our agreement but also
grateful he had no clue that it was created because of him.
That would have been downright embarrassing.
My thoughts are returned to the present when Jasmine asks, “You know
Gabriel Sutton?”
After returning Gabriel’s unexpected wave, I reply, “Yeah, we ah, have
a handful of classes together.” I almost said ‘I watched him for years’ but
figured it was best to save that for when she isn’t a stranger, and I’m not
doubting an infatuation that started before I understood what it meant.
“Nice.” Her smile is genuine but uneased. “Does Milo know that?”
Again, I nod. “We’ve discussed it.”
It takes Jasmine a couple of seconds to reply, and when she does, it
doesn’t seem as if she said any of the words streaming through her head.
“Good.” After plonking her backside into a seat I’m sure people would pay
a fortune for, she asks, “How much do you know about basketball?” She
laughs when I grimace. “That bad?”
“I’ve never watched a game,” I confess.
She leans in until our shoulders touch, then whispers, “Then you’re in
for a treat.”

I thought sports was boring, that it was nothing more than watching
imbeciles chase a ball in a range of ways. I never took in the atmosphere
and how it sucks you in no matter how hard you fight it.
It is an invigorating time, and I can’t wait to soak it in all over again
next week.
“I told you. Crazy, right?” Jasmine says, her smile as large as mine.
“It is…” I don’t have words to explain how stupidly giddy I feel. My
heart is smashing my ribs, and my insides won’t stop flipping. I feel good.
Great even.
My euphoric high doubles when Cash’s long-range shot ricochets off
the backboard before falling into the net. I’m not solely stoked he got a
three-pointer. I am ecstatic about the wink he hits me with and how
everyone he’s given me tonight has made me the envy of the crowd.
Even Gabriel’s eyes lock and hold with mine for seconds after every
point Cash scores.
After what I expressed before the game and last night, I shouldn’t want
his attention. But for some stupid reason, I do.
It isn’t another neurosis of an unrequited childhood crush but more a
reminder of what Cash said last month.
Men like to be challenged, and there is nothing more challenging than
the competition of another man.
I think.
With my confusion keeping my eyes off the court for the longest time
tonight, I miss the cause of Cash’s distraction, but his opponent uses it to
his advantage. He knocks the ball out of Cash’s hands, dribbles it to the net,
then dunks it.
It is clear they have a beef when he shouts, “You snooze, you lose,
Milo.”
I give Cash a look to say, you can’t win them all before shifting my
focus to a more pressing issue.
It isn’t Gabriel’s quick departure. He’s fleeing like Cash’s distraction
was caused by him.
It is the scoreboard.
The Hawks were in the lead before my overworked brain tried to solve a
puzzle too complex for mankind, but now they’re down by one.
Like a loser who kissed her hand all throughout middle school and
junior high, I cup my mouth then shout. “Come on, Cash. Punish the net.”
Is that right? “We only need another three-pointer. That’ll make us winners,
right?” I ask anyone listening. “Just one more shot. Easy-peasy.”
When the people wearing jerseys opposite to the one Cash is wearing
mock me with laughter, I sink low in my chair, then cover my inflamed
cheeks with my hands.
Jasmine’s laugh rumbles over the roaring chants of the crowd when she
spots my red expression, but it isn’t as ego-deflating as the opposition. “You
know a three-pointer isn’t that easy, right?”
I ponder her question for barely half a second before shaking my head.
“The percentage of three-point attempts has risen the past few years. In
2013, it was twenty-three percent. Now, it is over thirty.”
“Attempts,” she amplifies. “The success rate is nowhere near as high.
Milo is the only exception to that rule.”
I could continue to argue that his percentage brings up the overall
percentage of the team but decide now is not the time for a lesson in basic
math. Instead, I focus on another matter. “Why doesn’t Cash invite anyone
to his games?”
Jasmine takes a sip of her Diet Coke before screwing up her lips,
pondering a response. “How long have you been studying here?”
“I started this year.”
Her tongue delves out to lick up a droplet of Coke from her lips before
she murmurs, “Oh.” Her pause kills me. “Then you don’t know about the
incident.”
Curiosity is heard in my tone. “His brother’s accident?”
Surprise highlights her features. “He told you about that?”
I shake my head before switching it to a shrug. “We discussed it. Kind
of.”
Her smile is her most beautiful feature. It lights up her entire face. “No
one thought he’d play after his brother’s accident, but it was an incident
years before that that forced him to keep everyone at arm’s length.”
 I’m confused, and it is heard in my tone when I murmur, “But up until a
couple of months ago, he was dating Vivienne.”
Jasmine grips my arm then stares longingly into my eyes. “No. Up until
six months ago, he was socializing with anyone who’d successfully hide his
academic brilliance.” She smiles to assure me the worry flaring in my eyes
isn’t necessary. “Then Professor Ren pushed him in your direction.” She
either believes my ruse that I’m Cash’s girlfriend or she’s part of the drama
squad because she has me convinced she’s rooting for us when she adds,
“And look how well that turned out.”
I’m saved from lying again by the final siren. It roars through my ears,
startling me so much, I jump to my feet along with Jasmine.
When she gallops down the bleachers to greet Kamil with a big sloppy
kiss, I join them, mindful I’m meant to be playing the girlfriend role.
Except I don’t lock my mouth with Cash’s. I awkwardly kiss his cheek.
I’m not even sure my mouth lands on him. With how sweaty his cheeks
are, my lips should taste salty, but when I dart out my tongue to replenish
their sudden dryness, I only taste my ChapStick.
When Cash asks, “Are you ready?” I bob my head.
He swings his eyes to Jasmine when she asks, “Are you guys not
coming to Mama’s?”
I realize Mama’s is a pizzeria not a person when Cash replies, “We’ll
come for a slice next time. McKayla and I have some stuff to take care of.”
“What do we need to do?” I ask when Cash circles his hand around
mine and leads me toward the closest exit before his coach has finished
congratulating his team on their win.
Their win!
They won.
Which means…
Oh god.
 Suddenly fretful I won’t be so coordinated without alcohol heating my
veins, I try to lower Cash’s fast pace by suggesting we go to Mama’s with
Kamil and Jasmine. “I’m not a huge fan of pizza, but I’ve never been
invited to something like that before. It sounds fun.”
I trip over my feet when we reach the corridor under the bleachers. I’m
not having a hard time matching Cash’s long strides. It is from spotting
Gabriel standing at the exit, looking ruffled. He must have sprinted around
the stadium, and the reason for his unusual burst of eagerness has me as
keen to grill him as Cash wishes to dodge him.
“McKayla—”
“Not now, douche face.” Cash steps us around Gabriel before making a
beeline for the dormitories on the far side of the campus.
I almost swoon over his eagerness to get me alone, but Gabriel makes
the ripple less notable. “It’s important.”
His confession doesn’t slow Cash down in the slightest. If anything, it
doubles his strides.
“It’s about your parents.”
That whips Cash around in an instant and has him so up close and
personal with Gabriel, I’m confident he will recognize the flavor of his
toothpaste. “You say another fucking word about my father, and I’ll put you
in a grave.”
Gabriel looks scared. Rightfully so. Cash isn’t joking. His grip on my
hand assures me he has what it takes to snap Gabriel’s neck.
“I wasn’t talking about your parents—”
“This time.”
Gabriel shifts his eyes to me before he continues like Cash never
interrupted him. “I was talking about hers.” He licks his lips before
disclosing, “You missed your monthly check-in last night, so your mother
called Professor Walters.” He shifts his eyes back to Cash. “I told them to
try your number, but…” He shrugs like Cash is overplaying their dislike.
 Cash doesn’t buy his nonchalant response. “But…”
“Your cell isn’t working.”
“Because it went into the pool when I dived in to save her.” My eyes
dart between Cash and Gabriel when Cash sneers out, “Unlike you.”
He was there but didn’t help?
That proves I was only seeing him as Dolby. He was only ten, but he
would have never left a girl in need.
Gabriel makes it seem as if our study group in class is more one-on-one
than they are. “Professor Walters knew we hung out, so he asked me to pass
on a message.” After ensuring his comment doubles the tick of Cash’s jaw,
he discloses, “You need to call your parents. It’s urgent.”
“So urgent you had to wait until after the game to tell me?” I sound as
peeved as I feel. He gawked for almost an hour, but not once did he signal
that he needed to speak with me until it appeared as if the Hawks were
going to lose.
Frustrated, I turn my back to Gabriel which shifts Cash’s focus to me.
“Can I borrow your cell?”
My annoyance peaks when he shakes his head. It doesn’t linger for
long. “As douche canoe said, my cell isn’t working. It was in my pocket
when I jumped into the pool after you.”
“You can use my cell.” With students piling out of the gymnasium, I
would have preferred the offer to come from any voice bar the one it did.
Regretfully, beggars can’t be choosers.
After breathing out my annoyance, I spin back to face Gabriel. “That
will be great. Thanks.”
I regret the niceness of my tone when he stupidly points out, “Professor
Walter included the number in his message.” The message he is referencing
shows it was sent two hours ago. Right around the time he entered the
stadium and waved at me.
“I know the number.”
 After dialing a landline number I know by heart, I squash Gabriel’s
phone to my ear, then pace away from the stadium to ensure I can hear my
mother.
To anyone not responsible for eighty percent of the state’s wheat and
corn production, her news wouldn’t be classified as urgent. But to my
family, it is horrific.
“I need to go home,” I advise Cash and Gabriel at the same time. After
returning Gabriel’s phone to him, I shift on my feet to face Cash. “I’ll
forward your study plan to Professor Ren tonight. If you have any issues,
I’m sure she can help you.”
“Don’t worry about my grades. What’s going on with you?”
It is stupid for tears to well in my eyes, so I won’t mention them. “A
massive stormfront is about to cross the state. If we don’t harvest now,
they’ll lose the crops, so it is all hands on deck for the next couple of days.”
Cash is lost, but Gabriel clicks on remarkedly quick. “Do you need
help? I’ve commanded a harvest tractor once a year since I was ten. I know
what I’m doing.”
He does, and that is one of the points I liked about him the most.
He had a country upbringing like me.
“I don’t—”
Cash shocks me into silence. “I’ll come with you.”
His offer doubles the output of my heart, but it won’t conceal the truth.
“But you need to study. Your next exam is for twenty percent of your
overall grade. You don’t have time to cut corn.”
“Farm work means I won’t have to run five miles every morning.” He
curls his arm around my shoulders and directs me away from Gabriel like
his offer isn’t still on the table. “And I’ll have no issues studying since my
tutor includes mathematics in everyday tasks.”
His reply makes me smile. “You absorb more when we’re not exposing
your academic brilliance for what it really is.”
 “So does that mean what I think it does, Einstein?” His armpit feels
more sticky now than it did after his game. “Are we heading south for the
week?”
Disregarding everything but my libido, I dip my chin.
“Yeehaw!” Cash gallops several spaces ahead of me. “Then I better get
my boots.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 25

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

A fter dumping a bag that Vivienne would pack as a carryon onto the
back seat of her smelly ride, McKayla slips behind the steering wheel of her
old VW bug, then strays her eyes to mine. “Are you sure you want to come,
Cash? I emailed a copy of your study plan to Professor Ren in case you’ve
changed your mind.”
She’s worried I only offered to help to squash Gabriel’s endeavor to
spend one-on-one time with her.
She has no reason to fret.
I would have offered even if he hadn’t.
I almost saw her die, and although the life sparked in her eyes when she
rode my crotch to climax, I’m not ready to let her out of my sight just yet.
Yesterday scared the shit out of me. And I’m not solely referencing
McKayla lying lifeless at my side. I have so much information to wade
through, and what better place to do that than in a far away, nonexistent
town many miles from the one that’s caused me so much pain.
College was meant to be my glory days, but it’s given me nothing but an
ulcer.
When McKayla’s throat works through a stern swallow, it dawns on me
that I didn’t answer her question. “I’m sure, Einstein. I’ve got my boots at
the ready.” I tap together the boots Crew gifted me after he spent the
summer at a ranch schmoozing the owner’s daughter. “I’m just gonna need
to borrow a cowboy hat and a length of straw.”
With a grin, she rolls her eyes before stabbing her key into the ignition
and attempting to start her car. I say attempt because the seat is so far back
she can’t reach the pedals.
“I had no clue your legs were so disproportioned to the rest of your
body—”
“Until you felt every damn inch of my middle leg last night.”
Her flaming red cheeks are as hot as fuck, and it takes everything to
remember we’re traveling to help people who mean the world to her. “I was
talking about when you drove my car.”
She giggles when I murmur, “Sure… sure, Einstein.”
Desperate for the afternoon breeze to cool the heat roaring through her,
she kicks over the engine, then pulls onto the street in just enough time.
MacDouche misses her by a nanosecond, and it makes me as smug as I
was when I realized I gave McKayla her first kiss and orgasm in one night.
The remembrance has me desperate to tick off a handful more items
from her list before we return to campus. “Do you want to play a game?”
McKayla’s eyes drift from the road that is quickly becoming unclogged
to me before she bobs her head.
“Have you ever played padiddle?” I grin when she switches her head
bob to a shake. “Anytime you see a car with a busted headlight or taillight,
you shout ‘padiddle’ before stopping whatever you’re doing to touch the
roof of the car.” A chuckle rumbles up my chest when McKayla arches a
brow before cranking her neck to peer at the sky from her roofless ride.
“We will touch the visors.” When she nods in agreement, I add, “Last to
touch removes an article of clothing.”
Her attention snaps to me so quickly she veers us onto the wrong side of
the road. “Hold on, what?”
 I could explain in better detail, but she’s cruising up to an old truck with
a cracked taillight, meaning I can show her instead. “Padiddle!” I tap the
visor extra hard.
“That’s cheating. I didn’t know the rules,” McKayla gabbers out before
she succumbs to the leering waggle of my brows. “Are shoes counted as
one article of clothing or two?”

A cool breeze puckers my nipples when McKayla pulls her beast down a
long dirt driveway. I lost most of my clothes five miles from campus, but
the further we traveled, the fewer cars we passed, meaning I’m sitting in
nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, whereas McKayla has only lost her shoes
and socks.
“We’re off the main road now, so all bets are off.”
McKayla almost veers us off the road again when she leans across the
cab to stop me from scrummaging for my clothes. “All rules must be
stipulated before the commencement of play.” My cock flexes when her
eyes rake my body. “Isn’t that what you told me when I removed my first
shoe?”
“Yeah, but…” I’ve got nothing but a massive wish for a ten-car pileup.
“I said that because I thought you’d be too distracted by my abs to pay
attention to anything else.”
“I was distracted,” she admits, stroking my ego. “But this is one of the
advantages of having multiple simultaneous attention. I can multitask with
success, usually having three to four events occurring at once.”
Her confession shouldn’t make me hard, but it does.
Those lips, her silky smooth hands, and her pussy all operating at the
same time without any fumbles.
Christ.
 I could blow my load right now.
“It comes in handy,” she murmurs, her voice as sweet as sugar. “Like
now.” With her eyes locked on my face, she raises her hand to the visor.
“What the—” I choke on my reply when I stray my eyes to the road.
There’s a rusty old truck in a ditch a few feet up. It looks like it’s been there
for years. “That’s cheating.”
“That’s a win,” McKayla counter bids. “Which means you need to lose
the pants.”
Like the sore loser I am, I grumble under my breath while hooking my
thumbs into the waistband of my boxer shorts.
A bet is a bet, and I follow the rules even when I shouldn’t.
“Nu-uh,” McKayla murmurs, her southern twang on full display. “The
rules are the rules, Cash, and you said the final piece had to be removed out
there.” She drifts her eyes to the portion of dirt her headlights are lighting
up. “You can’t commit to something, then only give ten percent.”
She thinks she has me worried.
Little does she know.
I’m not a shy man.
So, with my grin cocky and my cock confident it’ll have her double-
guessing her ability to multitask, I throw open my door, curl out of the
passenger seat of her car that made my ass dead hours ago, then stand in the
middle of the oval lights bouncing off my gleaming white skin.
I call myself a soft cock when I exhale a quick breath. I’m not ashamed
of my body or the assets God gifted me. I merely can’t forget the last time a
member of my family was in public in the buff.
He had no clue what he was doing, but it didn’t lessen the humiliation in
the slightest. It took weeks for the whispered comments to dull down and
even longer for the online footage to be removed, and he was merely the
father of an up-and-coming basketball prodigy. He wasn’t the so-called star
of the show.
 Desperate to get my head out of the clouds before I’m pulled under, I
grip the waistband of my boxer shorts and yank them to my knees.
The silver barbell at the top of my magic cross piercing only glistens in
the headlights of McKayla’s ride for half a second before it’s lit up by an
entirely different light source at my left. These lights are far brighter than
McKayla’s old bomb and several feet higher.
“Get in,” McKayla shouts when noisy engines sound over the distressed
moos of cows in the distance.
I’ve only just yanked up my boxer shorts and dove into the passenger
seat when McKayla floors the gas. She almost skids out of control, but a
quick gearstick change and weakening of her foot on the gas pedal fishtails
us out of imminent disaster.
“What are they doing?” I ask when she switches off the lights before
sneakily pulling up behind three muddy trucks parked side by side in a large
paddock.
“Cow tipping.”
I don’t get the chance to ask what the fuck that is. McKayla is out of her
seat and marching for the boot of her car before half my confusion smacks
into me.
“You own a gun?” I step back when the full extent of her weapon is
exposed. It isn’t an ordinary gun. It has a long barrel and a sniper scope on
top, but the opening of the barrel is slim. “I’m so fucking hard right now,” I
murmur to myself when McKayla uses the roof of her ride as a bracket
before stalking her targets with her air rifle. “But you’re not going to hurt
them, right? You’re just going to scare them?”
It dawns on me that McKayla has seen a lot more penises than she’s
handled when she fires one shot, then shouts, “If you don’t want the next
one in your rear end, I suggest you remove your clothing, toss them into the
dam at your left, then walk your sorry asses home.”
 A grin I can’t hold back stretches across my face when McKayla shuts
up one of the men’s groans by shooting his hat off his head.
“I told you she wouldn’t stay away for long,” whines the now hatless
man. He strips out of his shirt and jeans before wrangling with his muddy
boots. “I’m not taking any chances. The last time she shot me, I was out for
six weeks.”
Now her comment about firing at football players makes sense.
“How often do they come out?”
McKayla continues peering down the scope while answering my
question, “Up until I learned to shoot, almost every weekend.” Nothing but
annoyance is heard when she adds, “We lost a heifer every month.”
“From them tipping the cows?” When she nods, my lips quirk.
I thought that was an old wives’ tale.
“But with Junior missing the state championships due to a pellet to his
right butt cheek, their visits slimmed down to season openers and
homecoming week.” She pulls back to peer at me. “They must have caught
wind that I had left for school.” Her smile makes my cheeks ache. “This
will ensure they won’t come back anytime soon.”
She fires another shot. This time, she takes down a victim with an air
rifle pellet to his left butt cheek.
“Goddammit, McKayla. They weren’t doing any harm!”
A man with a big white hat and an even whiter shirt glares in our
direction like he can see McKayla through the darkness before he helps the
man she shot to remove his boots before he gets hit again.
“The rules apply to you too, Clayton,” McKayla shouts when only one
man remains fully clothed.
“I’m not—”
Pew.
“Alrighty, I’m stripping. Hold the damn reins.” As he removes his
clothing, Clayton grumbles, “But you wait until your momma hears about
this. Aunt Anna doesn’t like when you’re mean to me.”
“You want to hope Momma doesn’t hear about this, Clay, or she might
stop making you that pickled pork you love so much.” I am obsessed with
the depth of McKayla’s accent. She couldn’t be more southern if she tried.
“But I guess you deserve that since you’re hurting her cows.”
“We weren’t hurting anyone.” His head follows the movement of the
pellet that whizzes past his head. “We won’t do it again. I promise.”
Once the group of eight are stripped down to their boxer shorts,
McKayla restates her demand for them to place their clothing into the dam
at their side, then commence their long walk home. “And don’t think I
won’t be here, waiting for you if you come back before dawn.”
I wait until their grumbles mimic a mosquito whizzing around my head
before releasing the chuckles I’ve struggled to hold back the past twenty
minutes. “That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Although I
would have made them walk naked.”
McKayla shrugs like the thought never popped into her head. “To a
cowboy, losing your boots, hat, and truck in one night is far worse than
prancing around naked.” She packs up her makeshift command, dumps her
air rifle into the trunk, then slips behind the steering wheel. “And their egos
were already bruised.”
Lost, I ask, “Because a girl showed them how it’s done?”
My smile competes with the moon when she answers, “Because you
have more between your legs than all of them combined, so they couldn’t
have missed it when they drove past you.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 26

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

I ’m still grinning like a man who had his ego stroked in the right way
when McKayla veers us past a set of structures dotted back from the road.
Fields stretch as far as the eye can see, but with the sky suffocated by dark
storm clouds, it is as eerie as hell.
“Is that one of your cousins’ houses?” I learned shortly after leaving
Clayton and his friends that Clayton is one of the cousins McKayla
mentioned when announcing she’d never been kissed.
Her recently washed hair streams into my nose when she shakes her
head. “That’s a bunkhouse.”
“Bunkhouse?” I ask, unaware of the lingo.
She turns down another dirt road. “Workers’ cabins. You sleep in them
if the roads become too boggy during the wet season. Well, we did when
wrangling cattle. We haven’t done that since we sold the last of our main
stock four seasons ago.”
Her smile is brighter than a crack of lightning brightening the sky when
I mutter, “Damn vegans. Ruin everything.”
“Kind of like this storm. It looks like a doozy.” She shifts her focus
from peering out the windshield to me. “Everyone wants rain until they
realize they forgot to build an ark.”
 “I don’t think you need an ark,” I mutter under my breath when the
main house comes into view. It is massive. “A yacht, perhaps?”
McKayla laughs before pulling up beside an old oak tree that’s branches
almost touch the two-story manor. “A yacht would be fun, but have you
ever driven a harvest machine?”
“I can’t say I have.” After unlatching my seat belt and making sure my
clothes are on straight since I got dressed in a hurry, I slip out of my seat
before shadowing McKayla up the front porch of her childhood home.
It reminds me a lot of the main home on Yellowstone, except the porch
is larger, and there is more wood and a bigger floor plan.
“How long has this property been in your family?”
After pressing her index finger to her lips, wordlessly requesting for me
to lower my voice, she answers with a whisper, “For centuries. It is one of
the biggest ranches in the country.” Nothing but pride is heard in her hushed
voice. “Do you want something to eat before going to bed?”
Stealing my chance to reply it is barely nine, she tiptoes to a large
industrial refrigerator in the middle of a massive kitchen to pull out a loaf of
bread, lettuce, bacon, and two tomatoes.
“Your family must be true farmers.” When she peers at me with a
crinkled brow, I nudge my head at the bacon she spread across a skillet
before placing it on the gas stovetop. “No man I know sleeps through the
smell of bacon cooking.”
“It’s a daily occurrence here. They’d probably froth out of the mouth if
you turned up with Chipotle.” I grimace, which makes McKayla laugh.
“Exactly.” After moving to an eight-burner toaster on the counter in the
corner of the kitchen, she asks, “One BLT or two?” When I hold my index
finger in the air, she asks, “Are you sure? You’ll need the energy.” I don’t
know what flares in my eyes, but it makes her cheeks gleam for the
hundredth time today. “For the harvest. Breakfast won’t be served until the
first crop is harvested.”
 “Then I guess I better have two.” After flipping over the bacon
crackling and hissing as loudly as my stomach, I ask, “Did you tell your
parents I was coming?” It is my turn to glare this time around when
McKayla acts ignorant. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Because they would have stayed up to meet you.” She spins the top of
the bread bag and knots it before tossing it into the bread bin. “And I didn’t
want to share.”
She socks me in the stomach when I say, “So you are from that part of
the South? I didn’t realize we traveled so far down.”
“I meant this.” She waves her hand between us cooking either a late
supper or an early breakfast. “We’re usually with your frat brothers,
teammates, or—”
“Being kicked out of the library because you don’t know how to laugh
quietly.”
“I do so.”
When she shouts her reply, I grip her shirt, drag her until she is mere
inches in front of me, then push my finger to her lips. “Inside voice,
Einstein.” One touch of her mouth and the tension that’s been eating us
alive the past two weeks returns stronger than ever. “How many guns?”
“Huh?” McKayla murmurs, her smarts blinded by lust.
As my eyes bounce between hers, I ask, “How many guns does your
father own? Real guns, not those air rifle ones that will bruise my ass but
keep it in one piece.”
Her lips raise against my finger. “A few. Why? Are you worried about
another slaughter, probie?”
“Yep,” I admit, nodding. “But not enough not to do this.”
I kiss her.
Not a peck.
Not a sloppy cheek kiss.
 I kiss her as I’ve been dying to do since she spun around and faced me
in the drama quadrant four weeks ago.
And she kisses me back.
It is an embrace that fades the world away and hardens my cock to the
point it is painful. I kiss her with everything I have, uncaring that my
impatience will burn the bacon.
Regretfully, a house of farmers can’t sleep through a smoke alarm.
As McKayla pushes back with wide eyes, a man with arms bigger than
tree trunks and boxer shorts double the width of mine races into the kitchen
with a fire extinguisher in his hand and a snarl his thick mustache can’t
hide.
“Sweet mercy, McKayla. What the hell were you doing to let bacon
burn?” His accent is thick and full of annoyance. “It was only smoked last
week. If you wanted it extra dead, you should have asked Pa to put an extra
bullet in it.”
I’ve never once felt small in my life—until now.
The man ruining the salty strips of goodness with foamy white spray
would have to be at least seven feet tall. And he is almost as wide as he is
tall.
“I got distracted—”
“Distracted while making food? No such thing.” He snaps his eyes to
mine. “So who the heck are you, and what did you do with my baby sister?”
When McKayla’s brother spots my frozen stance, he slants his ginormous
head to the side before hiking a brow. “Oh, darn it, we seem to have gotten
ourselves a roach.” He shifts his eyes back to McKayla. “Should we squish
it or leave it for Pa to take care of?”
“Roddy, play nice.” After squeezing my hand to assure me she can
handle bigfoot, McKayla moseys to his half of the kitchen. “And if you tell
Pa I burned his bacon, I’ll tell him about the time you dated a vegetarian
from Kansas.”
 “You wouldn’t dare.” Roddy’s voice is nowhere near as deep and
demanding as it was only moments ago.
I realize where McKayla gets her gall from when she cocks her hip and
says, “Wanna bet?”
They compete in an intense stare down for what feels like hours but is
barely a minute before Roddy cracks under the pressure. “Look in the back
of the fridge. I hid some pork chops behind the pitcher of milk. It should
hold you over until Ma serves breakfast.” I stand a little taller when he
peers at me over McKayla’s head. That’s how tall he is. He doesn’t need to
peer around her. “And thanks for bringing a rake to the harvest. They
always come in handy during cleanup.”
When he leaves, I lock my eyes with McKayla and ask, “Did he just call
me a rake?” I’m tall, and during most of my primary school days was as
skinny as a bean stalk, but I’ve bulked out a lot the past couple of years.
Not as much as Roddy—clearly—but I have more of an athletic build than
a slim one.
“He did.” After dumping the cold toast into the bin, McKayla heads for
the refrigerator again. “But you should take it as a compliment.” She cranks
her neck back to me, her smile unable to hide how kiss-swollen her lips are.
“Unlike your Australian friends, a tool is a useful apparatus on any farm.”
She doesn’t let my ego get too out of control. “And he could have kicked
you out like he threatened numerous times after I grew into my boobs.”
“Please don’t mention your boobs,” I murmur on a groan. “At least not
until the beanstalk has finished growing so I have a means to escape with
the golden egg-laying hen.”
It takes McKayla as little to click on, but when she does, her smile is the
biggest I’ve seen. “Fee! Fie! Fo! Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 27

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

“T hat’s crazy. I’ve never considered how corn gets from the field
onto a plate until now.” Cash peers out at the 200-acre field we just
harvested. “Imagine how hard it was back in the day without machinery.”
“I don’t need to imagine. This whole part of the South is steeped with
history.” I pivot to face one of the bunkhouses he pointed out yesterday.
“There are camps like this stretched as far as the eye can see, but they
weren’t always workers’ cabins. They were people’s homes. Their
communities. Then the machines overtook.” After removing the gloves
making my hands sweaty, I say, “That’s why we reared cattle for so long.
Wrangling isn’t something that can be done with a machine. It just wasn’t
profitable anymore.”
Hearing the passion in my voice I can’t hide, Cash asks, “Do you think
you’ll ever go back to it?”
“I’m hoping… otherwise, my veterinary degree will be nothing but a
framed piece of paper on a wall.”
“You want to farm?” I can’t tell if it is shock highlighting Cash’s tone or
acknowledgment.
Hair slips from my bun when I nod. “This farm has been in my family
for centuries. I don’t want to see it run by anyone else.”
“What about Roddy?”
 “Roddy is great, but he can’t handle the business side of our industry.
He just really enjoys driving tractors.”
When Cash murmurs, “And weightlifting them,” I laugh.
I run my hand down his arm to soothe his still-stinging ego before
heading back to the ATV. Roddy and Cash undertook an arm wrestle
competition yesterday after supper. It was close… until Roddy started
playing for real. Then it was over.
For once, though, Cash wasn’t a sore loser. He took his defeat like a
man, and it had my mother endearing to him even more.
He’s won the whole family over, and it’s had me remembering the terms
we stated prior to him winning his game, which has me even more
desperate to get back to school.
I love the farm, and it will forever be a part of my life, but only the past
month have I realized how much it stole from me. I have so much left to
experience, and I’m hoping like hell Cash will be a part of that.
When a deep rumble booms above my head, I lift my eyes to the dark
and moody sky. “We should probably head back before the next storm surge
hits.” We harvested so much corn and wheat the day following our arrival,
there are only five paddocks to go. They’re on the far back corner of our
property, and thanks to the hard work of men like Cash, they’re almost
done. “Professor Ren was forwarding a mock exam this afternoon, so I
want to download it early in case the satellite fritzes again.”
We were studying last night when a lightning strike hit the doppler on
the roof. It wiped out our satellite internet and phones that hopefully Benji
has fixed by now.
Benji is my younger brother. He isn’t as big as Roddy, taking his height
from our mother like me, but smarter than Roddy and me combined. He
loves gadgets, so he was more than willing to attempt to rebuild Cash’s
water-soaked phone when I used his damaged cell as a reason for not
informing my family I was bringing home a guest.
 My parents were fine with an extra set of hands—I knew they would be
—but they did have one minor stipulation I didn’t consider. That Cash sleep
in the old servants’ quarters. Every creak of its floorboards ricochets
through the hub of our home, which means the kiss we shared our first night
here has been our only kiss.
The remembrance has me paying more attention to the campsite in the
distance than I gave it previously.
“Do you have any objections to a campout study session?” When Cash
locks his eyes with mine, confused and silent, I nudge my head to the
bunkhouse. “It is quiet, stacked with tinned food, and I never leave home
without my books. I’ve been bogged in before. It took hours before anyone
stumbled onto me, so now I take a backpack of books wherever I go.” Heat
creeps up my neck when I add, “And I think I’m owed a lesson.” I’ve never
felt more brazen than I do right now. “I taught you how to harvest, so now
you need to teach me something.”
Cash reads my metaphor remarkably quick, but his ease of reading me
doesn’t weaken his curiosity in the slightest. “Are there any giants in that
cabin?”
When I shake my head, the tension turns blistering, so I try and simmer
it a little. “Only little ole roaches.”

Nerves take flight in my stomach when I enter the bunkhouse after assisting
Cash in priming and starting the generator. Its noisy rattle as it fires up the
water heater should be too distracting to think straight, but these aren’t the
flutters of a woman afraid of failing.
They’re the tremors of a woman certain she is treading in waters way
out of her depth.
 “Should I brush my teeth?” I point to my backpack. “I have a travel kit
in my bag.”
Cash’s smile sends the butterflies several inches lower. “Do you always
brush your teeth before studying?”
“Um. No, but…” I wish I didn’t see life so black and white when I blurt
out, “We’re not really studying, are we?”
I glare at Cash’s smug face when he chuckles. It’s hot enough to dull his
laughter to barely a hum. “I don’t know what we’re doing, Einstein,
because it really isn’t up to me, is it?”
“Well, kind of. Penetration is hard with a blunt, flappy instrument.” I
shut my eyes and count to ten before breathing out slowly. “I’m going to
brush my teeth.” I march to the bathroom. “And I might also have a shower.
The water boiler is old, but it is so small, it takes no time to heat up.”
“Don’t,” Cash barks out, slowing my strides. “I don’t want to taste soap
and water, Einstein.” There is something different about his tone when he
adds, “I want to taste you.” It is deep and knee-shakingly enticing. “When
you’re ready for it.”
“I’m ready.”
The rain that soaked us during our short trek to the bunkhouse rolls
down his cheeks when he shakes his head, denying my claim. “No, you’re
not. Not yet.”
When he snatches my backpack off the cabin’s floor and hoists it onto a
rickety table at the side of the large room, I inwardly pout. Our kiss in the
kitchen was mesmerizing, but his taste is fading from my lips, so I’m more
than ready for another helping.
I stop searching for a smidge of flavor on my lips when Cash says, “But
you might be after we study a little.” His brilliance is undeniable when he
discloses, “For every question I get wrong, you get to remove an article of
my clothing.”
“And for every question you get right?”
 It is the fight of my life not to squeeze my legs together when he slowly
drags his eyes down my body. My hair is wet and hanging loosely down my
back, my clothes are clinging to my skin since they’re almost drenched
through, and I can feel the heat on my cheeks, so I don’t need to see them to
know how rosy they are. I resemble a mess, but Cash’s eyes hood the longer
he stares.
“I get to remove an article of your clothing.” As his tongue delves out to
replenish his lips with moisture, he returns his eyes to my face. “Deal?”
Confident I have the brainpower to win our game fully clothed, I place
my hand in his to seal our deal with a handshake. “Deal.”

As my wide eyes bounce between the formula Cash jotted down and the
answer in the back of the textbook, my mouth gapes. “There’s no way you
got that right. You must be cheating.”
“How can I cheat, Einstein? The book has been in your possession the
entire game.” Not giving me the chance to formulate a response, much less
announce it, Cash adds, “It’s time to lose your jeans.”
Incapable of not following the rules, I stand from my chair, then shoot
my hands down to the buckle in my jeans.
“Nuh-uh,” Cash murmurs, stopping me mid-unbuttoning. “The rules are
that I get to undress you.” Some of the tension on my face is replaced with
humor when he murmurs, “If I can handle three pairs of socks—”
“If we didn’t wear multiple pairs, we would have had blisters the size of
Texas on our feet.”
He continues talking as if I didn’t interrupt him, “I think I can handle a
pair of low-riding jeans.”
“I really should shower,” I murmur more to myself than Cash when he
bobs down to glide the rigid material over my butt and down my thighs.
 “Nuh-uh,” he murmurs again before inhaling the faintest whiff as his
nose skims the cotton material of my panties. “You smell divine. Like rain,
corn, and…” He raises his eyes to mine, his mouth lifted on one side.
“Books.”
He doesn’t hide his sniff this time around, and it has me torn on whether
I should continue with my ruse of picking the hardest equation in the book
or the easiest.
I hate losing, but would eradicating the tension burning me alive really
be considered a loss?
Since it wouldn’t, I exhale the nerves fluttering in my stomach before
asking a question I’ve been dying to know for the past four weeks. “What’s
your issue with Gabriel?”
Cash stills for the quickest moment before he answers me.
He must really want to win.
“He slept with Vivienne.” He wets his lips before continuing. “We were
going downhill before then, but that was the final straw for us.”
Even though he doesn’t sound overly upset, my heart pains for him. I
can imagine how horrible it would be to be cheated on. “How did you
react?”
After he slants his head to the side and hikes a brow, I stare at him, a
little lost. When his eyes drop to my shirt, I realize he answered my
question correctly, so he gets to remove an article of my clothing.
Smiling, I raise my arms into the air, wordlessly granting him
permission to remove my shirt. It is gritty and stained from a hard day in
the fields, but Cash peers at it as if it is the rainbow after the storm, a prize
unworthy of him. The most gleaming trophy he’s ever won, and his
response settles my apprehensions in an instant.
This feels right, so much so I stand proud and tall when he slowly pulls
my shirt over my head before he dumps it on the floor next to my jeans.
 “Fucking beautiful, Einstein.” He places a sneaky peck on my
collarbone, making me swoon before answering my question, “I reacted
poorly, but at the time, I didn’t realize I was more responding to how my
reputation demanded I should instead of the so-called hurt I was meant to
feel.”
“If Gabriel knew you were together, I say he deserved everything he
got.”
Cash smiles, approving of my reply, before confessing, “He knew.”
“Then he deserved it.”
I peer up at him blinking when he murmurs, “But do I deserve you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“You’re smart.” My ego doesn’t get squashed that he featured my brain
before my body when he drags his hooded gaze down my now-shuddering
frame. “Beautiful.” I shift my eyes from the rock behind his sweatpants to
his face when he murmurs, “And have me so fucking hard, I’m fairly
certain I am going to make a fool out of myself.”
With my confidence bolstered to a point I can’t contain, I do what I’ve
been dying to do the past two days.
I kiss him.
When Cash’s mouth opens at the lashing request of my tongue, I
stumble backward until my pantie-covered backside rests on the table
we’ve been utilizing as a study nook for the past hour. A moan escapes
from my mouth when his fingers move from the back of my head to my
backside. He lifts me to sit on the battered material before wedging himself
between my legs, pinning me between the table and him.
“Fuck, your mouth tastes divine.” He nips at my bottom lip before
soothing the sting of his teeth with his tongue.
When he drops his mouth to my neck, I arch my back and thrust my
breasts out. I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes off him when his lips
slowly move closer to my heavily panting chest. He’s a mere inch from the
stretchy material of my bra, and I’m dying in anticipation as to what he’ll
do next.
“Can I?” As his fingers skim the lace edging of my bra, Cash locks his
eyes with mine. They’re beaming with lust, and they are the most erotic
thing I’ve ever seen.
I change my mind only half a second later. The smile he releases when I
nod is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. It has my clit throbbing in beat
to the crazy thuds of my heart, and my body almost certain greatness is
about to occur.
A growl comes from deep within me when Cash pulls down the cup of
my bra and traps my nipple in his mouth. He rolls the stiffened bud with his
tongue before sucking down hard, doubling its stiffness while also sending
a thrilling buzz through me.
He fondles my breasts until a tight, tingling sensation develops low in
my stomach, then he switches his focus elsewhere.
Although it isn’t on me, it is extremely erotic.
He removes his pants, meaning there is only the thin material of his
boxer shorts concealing the large, thick rod between his legs.
Then his shirt goes next.
The bumps stacked on his abs drench my panties, much less what he
says next, “I need you wet enough to take me, Einstein, but no matter what,
it’s still gonna hurt.” After palming his cock, he adds, “You know that,
right?”
The worry etched on his face smooths when I dip my chin but doesn’t
fully disappear.
“It’ll only hurt the first couple of times. After that—”
“This will happen more than once?”
The shock in my voice has him palming his dick like he’s angry at how
throbbing it is. “Fuck yes.” He drags his teeth over his lower lip before
dropping his eyes to my drenched panties. “Do you really think I’ll only be
able to taste you once?”
Taste?
“Oh…” I flop my head back and peer at the ceiling when he returns his
lips to me. He kisses his way from my chest to my thigh, his hot breaths
dotting my skin, making it seem as if we’re in the middle of a desert. I am
heating up everywhere, and it has me wanting to forget my pledge that first-
timers need to go slow.
“Watch me, McKayla.” The way he growls out my name is so sexy I
can’t deny his request.
When my chin balances an inch above my thrusting breasts, Cash looks
up, gazes into my eyes, then kisses the area of my stomach tightening in
anticipation. Then, once he has me on the verge of begging, he hooks his
fingers into the waistline of my panties and drags them down my thighs.
Shame should inflame my cheeks when he holds my right leg high
enough in the air to expose me, but the lust burning through his lusty eyes
stops me. He’s staring down at me as if I’m beautiful, and I absorb every bit
of pride his desirous watch awards me.
Like his trek from my breasts to my thigh, his trail of kisses from my
ankle to my thigh is just as torturously slow. I don’t think he’s teasing me.
He’s merely taking his time as promised Friday night, devouring me with a
tenderness I didn’t realize a jock would have.
A shiver shudders down my spine when his slow trek reaches the little
apex at the top of my thigh. He smiles against my skin when the lashing of
his tongue on the groove between my hips and pelvis sends goose bumps
scattering across my body before he finally diverts his attention to the area
throbbing with want.
This time, I don’t let him tease me. I can’t handle any more torture.
I weave my fingers through his hair, then pull him onto my pussy,
convulsing when his tongue spears between the dripping folds before his
nose grazes my clit.
“Ohhh…” This moan is more desperate than the first, almost angry.
He works me with his mouth and tongue until I’m on the brink of
climax, then he adds his fingers into the mix.
“Still… I’ll take my time,” he groans against my slicked slit when my
body’s first thought is to reject the sudden intrusion. “But you need to open
up for me. You need to let me in.”
As his tongue flicks at the nervy bud between my legs, he once again
attempts to push a finger inside me.
This time, he enters without so much resistance. The tingles racing
through me are too perverse for me to concentrate on the snick of pain his
entrance caused.
“Good girl, Einstein. Now show me the rhythm that’ll get you off.” He
flicks my clit with three rapid-fired hits, stealing my concentration before
asking, “Ride my face like you did my cock.”
“That… do that,” I stammer out when he does something with his finger
that doubles the shivers wracking through me.
He increases the speed of his pumps, bringing my moans from pants to
almost screams, then only a minute later, a blinding orgasm tears through
me.
As my body shakes and my ears ring in the aftermath of my shouted
chants, my pussy spasms around Cash’s thick finger. It is a brilliant, long
tremor that has me clawing for a sense of normality. I feel like I’m floating
on a lust cloud, both spent but ready for more.
I’m still on the cusp of hysteria when Cash adds another finger into the
mix. He stretches me to the point of being painful, but the lashes of his
tongue and the shudders still reeling my mind push the pain to the
background of my mind. It feels too good to stop him, and a second orgasm
builds as quickly as the first.
“Cash…”
 His groan at my murmur of his name sets me off again. As the room
spins around me, I gasp for air, certain I’m seconds from collapse. It is an
intense couple of minutes that grow even more hazy when Cash stands from
his crouched position, scrubs a hand over his climax-coated mouth, then
slowly inches down his boxer shorts.
I saw his cock a few days ago, but not like this. Not so up close and
personal. Its size is far more confronting when positioned next to my
quaking thighs. It truly is a middle leg.
I’ve heard numerous rumors about the size of his cock, and it appears as
if every one of them are true. It’s thick, long, and accentuated with three
silver stud-like piercings at the top.
“Are they for you or me?” I ask while watching Cash roll a condom
down his shaft. Don’t ask me where he got that from because I am as
clueless as you.
Cash’s grin has me desperate to squeeze my thighs together. “They’re
for you.” Once the latex is strangling the base of his thick dick, he plucks
me off the table and moves us to the double bed still covered with the dust-
proof sheet my mother places on it at the end of every season. “But not yet.
You’re not wet enough to take me yet.”
I glare at him as if he is insane. I’m reasonably sure there is a puddle on
the table, and it has nothing to do with a leaky roof.
My shocked expression switches to needy when Cash sits on the bed
before pulling me down to straddle his lap. He wasn’t lying when he said
his piercings are for my pleasure. When one rolls over my already sensitive
clit, my need to climax kicks into overdrive all over again.
“Yes, Einstein. Ride me.” Cash unlatches my bra before leaning back
and fisting the sheets, leaving the task of getting me off this time to me.
“Then we’re going to do it again, but I’ll be inside you then.”
I shiver at the thought of taking him. He’s too large. Too thick.
Too experienced to stuff this up, so enjoy the crazy wild ride, McKayla.
 Although I should be annoyed by my inner monologue, I’m not. I’d
rather lose my virginity to someone who knows what they’re doing than
fumble my way through an experience I’d rather forget. My cousin, Janice,
lost hers in the back of a dirty truck with a guy who acted as if he didn’t
know her five seconds after the deed was done.
This is so much better.
“Cash…” I murmur when the tingles reactivating inside me startle me.
They feel stronger this time around, more dangerous.
“I’m right here, Einstein. Keep going.”
Hair clings to my sweaty cheeks when I shake my head. “I can’t. I can’t
do it by myself.”
“Yeah, you can.” He licks up a droplet of sweat from the top of my lip
before locking his eyes with mine. “You just need to let go of the reins and
have faith in yourself.” He rocks his hips upward for the next three rolls
before saying, “Then, if you fall, you only need yourself to get back up.”
Goose bumps follow the trek of his hand when he glides it up my
sweaty stomach, past my breasts, before he curls it around my throat. He
doesn’t compress my windpipe like some raunchy novels depict. He merely
holds my gaze while silently encouraging me to use him as I swore I never
would.
“I want you to use me, Einstein.” The shakes ramp up when he
murmurs, “Because we do everything tit for tat, so once you’re done, I’m
going to use you for hours.”
Hours?
“Yes, McKayla,” Cash murmurs when shudders overtake my body.
Stars float in front of my eyes as my body surrenders to the madness
overcoming it. I moan on repeat, my mind and body as exhausted as each
other before I eventually sag against Cash’s thrusting chest.
I’m barely coherent when Cash guides me up so the head of his cock
balances at the entrance of my pussy.
 “Stay relaxed,” he begs when instincts have me wanting to clam up. “I
need you exhausted and floppy to make this less painful.” He grunts his last
three words while thrusting his hips up, impaling me with one ardent thrust.
“Oww,” I whimper, my sob incapable of being held back.
This hurts.
“It’s okay. It’s done. The bad part is over.” Cash kisses the tears that
unexpectedly pop out of my eyes before he switches his focus to my mouth.
I taste their salty flavoring when he spears his tongue inside my mouth
and drags it along the roof. He kisses me until the pain tearing through me
subsides, then he slowly rocks his hips backward before thrusting back in
again only a second later.
This thrust is almost as painful as his first one, but the growl it elicits
from Cash makes the pain nowhere near as noticeable. When he takes me to
the root of his cock, his moan rumbles through our conjoined bodies.
“You’re so fucking tight.”
It is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard, and it drags my head out of the
dark, gloomy cloud that formed as rapidly as my first orgasm. Virginity sex
isn’t meant to be pretty, but I imagine it could be enjoyable if you can work
through the pain.
“Yesss,” Cash hisses into my neck when I meet his next grind with more
eagerness than the first two. I roll my hips in rhythm to his, meaning he
sinks in a little deeper this time. “Ride me, Einstein. Take what you need.”
We repeat the slow movements of our hips over and over again, on
repeat, until the tension hissing and crackling between us explodes. Then
we rock faster. We move as one.
We fuck, and I love every damn minute of it.
“Pull your leg up,” Cash grunts out several pumps later. “It’ll open you
up more for me.”
“More,” I pant. “I don’t think I can open more.” I feel the heat of his
smile more than I see it when I add, “And I don’t think you have any more
to give.”
“Trust me. This will make it feel better for the both of us.” When he
props up my leg so my foot balances low on his sweaty back, he lifts his ass
from the mattress, exposing another two inches of his cock his seated
position hid.
“Oh god.” My eyes roll into the back of my head when he stuffs himself
in deep. I didn’t think climax by penetration was possible, but the fluid and
fast movements of Cash’s hips are proving a liar out of me.
I’m close to the brink, and I’m not the only one noticing.
“Fuck, Einstein.” Cash thrusts harder and faster with every grunt
erupting from his mouth. “You feel so good. I’m about to lose my fucking
mind.”
An orgasm rips through me without warning. My breathing turns ragged
as a zap roars from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and the
exhaustion overwhelming me doubles when Cash thrusts his cock deep
inside me, then stills, holding me as he comes with a hoarse cry.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
As he takes a moment to come down from the euphoria pumping
through his veins, Cash breathes heavily into my neck. His cock is still
throbbing inside me, but the roughness of the last half of our exchange
doesn’t weaken his tenderness in the slightest.
After settling his erratically panting chest with a couple of deep breaths,
he stands from the bed like his legs aren’t close to pulling out from beneath
him, slowly withdraws, then walks us into the attached bathroom like he is
aware there’s no chance I could walk right now.
I balk when I notice streaks of vibrant red blood on the latex circling his
still semi-mast cock. I bled, hence him setting me onto my feet in the
shower stall.
Without an ounce of disdain on his face, he pulls off the condom, knots
it, dumps it into a wastebin at the side of the vanity, then heads for the
faucets hidden behind the shower curtain.
“If you don’t stop staring, Einstein, my cock will never go down.”
My insides tap dance when his cock twitches in response to my reply,
“Is that a bad thing?”
He waits for my eyes to lift from his rapidly rising cock to his face
before answering, “It is if I don’t handle this right.” Confusion must cross
my face because he’s quick to relieve it. “I went too hard too soon.” I shake
my head, but he doesn’t see it. “I was meant to take it slow.”
“And I was meant to cry into your chest while silently vowing to never
have sex ever again.” His lips fight not to curl into a grin when I add, “But
not even the best-laid plans work out the way we intend, do they? We are a
perfect example of this.”
We—such a simple word but significantly impacting when used in the
right manner.
It dawns on me how sweaty Cash is when his sweat-slicked skin teems
into my nose when he joins me in the shower before curling his hand
around my jaw. “We knew what we were getting into. We just had a false
start.”
My cheeks hurt from their fast incline. “A false start? I like that.” I act
more sexually experienced than I am when I rake my fingernails across his
pecs while adding, “But thank God you don’t seem to have an issue with
false starts. No one wants the race over before it’s truly begun.”

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 28

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

M y mother’s eyes shoot to mine when I enter the kitchen to help her
prep platters for the harvest dance tonight. She’s been eyeing me differently
today like she knows something about me has changed. She won’t call me
out on it because she isn’t one of those horrid in-your-face mothers. She lets
her children flourish without hundreds of restraints, easily done since we
live in the middle of whoop-whoop.
“What was that game you were playing out there?” She nudges her head
to a patch of concrete at the front of the detached garage Cash has named
the halfcourt. “I’m not sure I’ve seen a game like that before.”
A smile stretches across my face. “It’s how we study.”
Her tone is as high as her brow when she asks, “You study by pegging
balls at Cash’s head?” She can barely conceal her chuckle when she adds,
“So why are we sending you to a school? Roddy would have happily helped
you study.”
I fetch one of the beans off the platter and playfully throw it at her head
before plopping my backside onto the kitchen counter.
Bad move. Even though Cash was super attentive and gentle after our
romp in the bunkhouse, I am aching like I ran a marathon. You must use
every muscle in your body when you orgasm, otherwise what excuse do I
have for my spasming muscles?
 Spotting my grimace, my mother asks, “Are you okay?”
I nod, confident I’ve never been better. “During our first tutoring
session, Cash struggled with basic equations. He knew the answer but
struggled to show evidence as to how that answer came about.” A smile
creeps across my face. “Then one day the library was booked out, so we
went to the court.”
“Basketball?”
I nudge her with my knee. “What gave it away?”
She smiles like a proud mother before gesturing for me to continue with
my story.
I do after only the quickest fan of my face to cool the heat on my
cheeks. “Cash is a different man on the court. He’s always cocky.” I grin at
my mother’s underhanded mumble. “But there’s something about the
stadium that frees his neurosis. The answers come to him quicker, and he
learns without realizing he is.”
My mouth gapes when she asks, “So he performs for tricks?” After
filling the gap with a sauteed bean, she says, “What? That’s the only way
your father operates.” She moves to the refrigerator to gather up the platters
she made earlier. “Where do you think your philosophies come from?”
Since she isn’t technically asking a question, she continues talking. “They
didn’t come from me.”
She isn’t rubbing my father’s ego. She is being honest. We weren’t
homeschooled by my mother. She is a beautiful woman with a massive
heart, but at times, I’ve often accused her of having a peanut-size brain. My
father taught me everything I know. He is a genius wrapped up in distorted
packaging.
We’re very much alike.
“Although I love the concept and agree his dynamic changed the instant
you handed him a basketball.” She peers lovingly at Cash and Benji playing
hoops on the old ring my father installed when Roddy entered the world
four inches longer than standard newborns before finalizing her reply, “But
if Cash can’t put the theories into practice during an exam, he will struggle
to get a passing grade.”
I wish she was wrong. Regretfully, she isn’t.
I’ve yet to find a way to get Cash to put my practice to paper yet.
Well, except that one time.
“It’s weird,” I admit, my brows pulled together. “Because yesterday at
the bunkhouse when we were studying…” I add on the last part purely for
me. Cash sullied me in a way I can’t wait to recreate. However, I don’t want
my parents to know that. “I hit him with the hardest equations in the book,
and he didn’t falter. But today, when I went back to the practice questions
Professor Ren sent over, he struggled.”
While covering the platters with Saran Wrap, my mother ponders for a
moment. I assume she’s realized the reason for my pause earlier but am
proven wrong when she heads for the makeshift desk at the side of the
kitchen. “Your father has been trialing a new study program for Benji. It
might help Cash.”
The papers she thrusts my way are complicated but exciting at the same
time. “This is a college grade assessment.”
“I know.” My mother waggles her brows, the pride on her face
doubling. “But hand Benji a standard middle-school equation, and he will
struggle for hours before eventually giving up.”
I stare at her, lost and confused as to how Benji can ace tests for people
years older than him but not comprehend math equations for his own grade.
She relieves my confusion two seconds later. “Geniuses don’t see the
world like everyone else. There are many Americans with IQs in excess of
400 who fail basic mathematics.” She shrugs like what she says doesn’t hit
me like a ton of bricks. “But give them a complex equation no one can
solve, and they’ll most likely solve it. Perhaps that’s Cash’s issue. Maybe
the puzzles are too simple, and he needs something more challenging.” I
realize she’s noticed the change in me when she squeezes my hand and
mutters, “Maybe he needs someone like you to push his limits.”
After smiling at my shocked expression, she rips off her apron, tosses it
onto the kitchen counter, then yells to my father that they’re leaving in five.
Once he grumbles back that his look takes time, she shifts her focus back to
me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? You haven’t been to a
harvest dance since…”
When she pauses to ponder, I inwardly answer, “Since Janice lost her
virginity under such horrible conditions, I swore I’d never lower my
standards for anyone not worthy of my time.”
I smooth the grooves down the sides of my nose when my mother
finalizes her answer, “It would have been right around Janice’s sixteenth
birthday. I’m sure she’d love to see you. Dylan has gotten so big. He is
double the height of every other six-year-old.”
“Those dreaded Jones genes,” we say in sync, laughing.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing.” She shuts up my giggles quickly
when she nudges her head to Cash. “You could have the Jones and Mancini
genes to contend with.”
I bark out a reply, “God, no. We’re not at the baby stage yet.”
I want to die a thousand deaths when my reply gives her an in to a
question she’s been wanting to ask all day. “So you used protection?”
My throat feels burning dry, so I swallow before eventually bobbing my
head.
I expect a scold, or at the very least, a stern warning about teenage
pregnancies since almost all my female cousins have had a scare before
their twenty-first birthdays, but all I get is a second pat on my hand and a
murmured, “Good girl.”

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Chapter 29

OceanofPDF.com
 Cash

“A re you sure I’m allowed up here?” I enter McKayla’s bedroom

like I’m not aware of how many guns are in her father’s gun case before
twisting on my feet to face her. “Your dad has been eyeing me weirdly the
past couple of hours.” I lower my voice to barely a whisper. “I swear he can
smell you on my skin.”
“He can’t.” McKayla’s voice is nowhere near convincing. “And it’s
fine. The harvest dance goes for hours, and they’re always the last to
leave.”
“All right.” I enter her room further. “But I really fucking hope he
replaces his bullets with air rifle pellets. I can’t sustain a shotgun wound to
my ass and live. It isn’t possible.”
A grin curls on my lips when McKayla murmurs, “Says the guy who
read a book where a guy survived a bullet to the head.”
“I didn’t read it,” I argue back, my smile picking up. “I know someone
who knew someone who read it.” When I notice several shredded corners of
glossy paper stuck under strips of tape on her walls, I drop my eyes to the
empty bin in McKayla’s room before straying them to the closet. “Did you
have a sudden cleanup?”
“No.” She exits the bathroom, stunning me when I notice the snow gear
she’s wearing before directing me away from a wall I’m certain was
covered with posters only minutes ago. The torn corners are a telltale sign
of a poster being ripped from a wall instead of being removed delicately.
“The tape was old, so it refused to budge when I removed them years ago.”
McKayla is a shit liar, but considering I got a little carried away last
night when I should have been nothing but gentle, I’m not going to call her
out on it.
Well, maybe a little. “Sure, sure, Einstein.”
After guiding me to the desk under the window of her childhood
bedroom, she plonks my backside onto her chair before wheeling over the
one usually located under Benji’s desk.
“We’re studying again?” I have to force my words through the vomit
sitting in the back of my throat. We undertook a two-hour session earlier
today, so I was hopeful her invitation to her room was for a recap of the
event we undertook yesterday afternoon.
Those lips.
That pussy.
Those moans.
Fuck. I’m hard now just recalling them.
“Yes,” McKayla advises, blinded to the disappointment on my face.
“Except this time, when the game is over and you are declared the winner,
you’re going to teach me something.”
“What could I possibly teach you that you don’t already know?” My
tongue thickens when her eyes drop to the seam of my sweatpants, and she
licks her lips. “You want to… you…” I stop making a fool of myself when
humor replaces some of the lust in McKayla’s eyes. “You want to suck my
dick?”
Her head bobs up and down two times before she switches it to a shake.
“I want you to teach me how to please you like you please me.” Like a
temptress who knows exactly how fucking tempting she is, she licks her
lips again before raising her eyes to my face. “If you win…” She takes her
time spelling out her terms like I’m not hanging off her every word. “If you
don’t, we might have to watch a movie or something.”
“We’re not watching a movie.” I pull over the mock exam she prepared,
grinning when the simplest of questions smack into me. This is basic
mathematics 101.
Well, it would be simple if McKayla didn’t request I offer receipts for
my answers.
“I don’t know what they are,” I push out in frustration almost twenty
minutes later. My sheet of paper is covered with equations, but none of
them are right. “Can we move onto the next question?”
I breathe out in relief when McKayla nods. “After you remove your
pants.”
“What?” I call her a cheat under my breath when her eyes lock with my
sweatpants and plain white shirt. I’m barefoot since my boots got muddy in
the downpour, and it’s too warm inside to need a hoodie.
“Now the snowsuit makes sense,” I gabber under my breath before
yanking my pants to my ankles and kicking them to the side. “That
beanstalk better be ready,” I murmur while straying my eyes to her bedroom
door, gulping when I notice it isn’t closed.
“Now this one is a little harder. It might take you a few minutes to solve
it.” I groan when McKayla slips the second question under my nose. It’s a
mess of numbers, letters, and percentages. “Take your time. There’s no
hurry.”
“Says the lady not sitting in her underwear in her girlfriend’s parents’
house.”
Girlfriend? Where the fuck did that come from?
McKayla is quick to cover her shock with pleasure before muttering,
“And as I said, they’ll be gone for hours. We have plenty of time.”
Twenty minutes later, McKayla checks my answer with the back of the
textbook. Her brows are crinkled, and I’m gripping the neckline of my t-
shirt, ready to pull it over my head. If I couldn’t get a basic math question
right, there’s no way I answered this one correctly.
“What the fuck?” I gabber to myself when McKayla closes the textbook
before her hands shoot up to the zipper in her snow vest. “I got it right?”
Her smile is brighter than the moonlight peeking through the curtains of
her room when she nods her head.
“No fucking way.” I backtrack on my reply when the lowering of
McKayla’s zipper exposes she isn’t wearing a shirt. Her bra is lacy, hot
pink, and giving the slightest peek of her nipples, which are standing at
attention. “Where the fuck is the next question?”
McKayla giggles at my eagerness before handing me another quiz. This
equation is longer than the previous one but a little easier to comprehend. It
only takes me ten minutes to finalize instead of twenty, and my swiftness
has me confident McKayla is about to lose her ski pants.
When that occurs, suspicion overtakes my cockiness. “Why aren’t you
accusing me of cheating?”
Her panties match her bra, so you can picture how hard it is for me to
shift my focus to her face when she replies, “Because I know you’re not.”
I love the ease of her answer, but it won’t stop me from asking. “How
do you know that?”
“Because you don’t need a tutor, Cash. You need harder questions.” An
ulcer burns into my stomach when she thrusts her hand at the questions she
prepared and announces, “They’re not college math-level questions.
They’re genius high.”
“I’m not a genius. I am a—”
My jaw works through a stern grind when McKayla interrupts, “Jock
who does anything he can to hide his academic abilities?” She assumes the
mashing of my teeth means she’s on the money, even though she couldn’t
be further from the truth. “Why, Cash? It doesn’t make any sense. You have
a brilliant brain—”
“That will eventually whittle away and die like his.” I thrust my hand to
the door of her childhood bedroom like my father is standing on the other
side. “He had everything. The brain, the looks, the bimbo wife every nerd
wants. And now he has nothing.” I whack my palm on my temple. “His big
brain broke him.” I shake my head, subconsciously knowing what I’m
saying isn’t true but incapable of holding back. “I won’t let mine do the
same to me.” I snatch up my sweatpants and yank them back on with
aggression. “We should probably have an early night. I need to get back to
training before Coach has a coronary.”
“Cash…”
McKayla’s confused tone is still ringing in my ears when I gallop down
the stairs and race for my room under the stairwell, but since she isn’t the
only one stunned by the turn of events, I flop onto the bed and burrow my
head under the pillows before pretending the life I am living is the one I
want.

OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 30

OceanofPDF.com
 McKayla

M y mother’s hugs make the world’s coolest day seem a whole heap
warmer. She wraps me up like she is aware of how hurtful Cash’s silence
was this morning at breakfast before adding a little bit of sugar onto her
endeavor to pull me out of a moody trench. “I packed pulled pork
sandwiches, lemonade, and freshly baked cookies into a picnic basket on
the back seat. Dad also put some gas money in the glove compartment.”
“I don’t need gas money.”
She pulls me back to an arm’s length. “I know. But since neither Cash
nor you will take payment for services rendered, we’re going to pretend you
do.” She hugs me for the second time before shifting her focus to Cash,
milling awkwardly at the side. “You make sure you come visit us anytime
you’re in the area.” We were only here for four days, but that was long
enough to make Cash part of the family.
“I will, ma’am. Thank you for housing and feeding me.”
My mother brushes off his praise as if she didn’t go out of her way to
make her famous recipes every night for supper. “It was the least I could
do.” After balancing on her tippytoes, she hugs him goodbye before
walking us to our car. “I’m sorry your father couldn’t see you off. He had
that last field to harvest.” That’s her way of saying he’s hungover. We
worked from the river system back, so all the land we harvested is now
under water, and the remaining one is far from danger.
Although I know she’s fibbing, I act as if it is my only lifeline. “I can
stay if you need help. Cash could take my car, and Roddy can drive me
back to school.”
My words appear to hurt Cash as much as they do me. He sulks to the
passenger side door of my car, his feet barely lifting from the ground.
My mother must read his disappointment in the same manner as I do. “I
think you’re needed elsewhere, sweetheart.”
Grateful to miss the birds and bees talk she usually gives me every time
I leave for school, I slip onto the driver’s seat then promise, “I’ll call you
once we get back to campus.”
She dips her chin in thanks before shutting my door and waving us off.
The first thirty miles of our trip is completed in awkward silence.
Not even the radio is playing.
It is an excruciatingly painful time that grows lighter when musical
tones float from the back half of my car.
“Is that my cell phone?”
A smile stretches across my face when Cash digs his hand into the
picnic basket my mother packed to pull out his cell phone.
“Benji must have fixed it.” I almost skype about his brilliant mind, but I
hold back when I recall how much of a sour point smarts is for Cash. “Who
is it?” I ask when Cash’s face whitens after peering down at the screen.
“It’s my brother,” he responds before lifting his eyes to mine. “Do you
mind?”
A second after I shake my head, he slides his finger across the screen of
his phone then presses it to his ear. I only hear one side of his conversation,
but it is obvious Cash doesn’t want to do what his brother is asking.
He tells him multiple times that he can’t, he’s not near campus right
now, and that it isn’t his responsibility to fix ‘him’ all the time.
 “I’m not coming home this time,” he eventually shouts, startling me.
“So fucking deal with it.”
More heated words are exchanged before Cash ends their conversation
by tossing his cell phone onto the freeway. It is shattered by the tires of an
oversized truck not even a nanosecond later.
“I don’t think Benji can save it this time.”
I curse my inability not to speak my thoughts out loud until Cash’s
unexpected response trickles into my ear. He isn’t angry or mumbling
moody thoughts under his breath. He is laughing.
He laughs and laughs and laughs until the past sixteen hours seem
unimportant, and the usual banter I love is returned stronger than ever.
Thank God. I was considering a detour to a basketball stadium to smack
some sense into him.
After settling his laughter enough he can speak clearly, Cash asks,
“How is it that you can be so smart yet still so funny?”
I shrug like his compliment didn’t send my head into a spin. “Easy. I got
my smarts from my father and my wit from my mother.”
Cash slants his head and arches a brow. “You mean your smarts from
your mother and your wit from your father, right?”
I shake my head. “No. My mother is a saint, and she isn’t daft by any
means, but don’t ever ask her to be your partner at a quiz night. Not if you
like winning.”
Cash just stares and stares and stares, leaving me to fill in the silence.
“My father, on the other hand, don’t pick any team he isn’t on. He’s
won the state quiz championship four years in a row. And he homeschooled
Roddy, Benji, and me. He is a bonified genius. He just outlets his smarts in
other ways.”
“Farming?”
Smiling, I jerk up my chin. “And ballroom dancing, karate, and
occasionally, he calls bingo at the local hall.” When Cash’s headshake can’t
hide his grin, I ask, “Not what you expected?”
“Not at all.” He sinks low into his seat before angling his torso to me.
“After seeing the way he reacts to your mother’s seafood marinara, I
thought he was a simple man with simple pleasures.”
“He is,” I agree, not the least bit insulted. My father acts like a child in a
candy store anytime my mother cooks his favorite meals. “He just happens
to also have an extremely high IQ.” I’m testing the waters too soon, but
nothing worthwhile comes easy. “Kind of like you.”
His smile drops, but he doesn’t deny my claim. He merely shifts his
focus back to the scenery whizzing by his window, making me hate my
inability not to push.

Nerves take flight in my stomach when Cash walks me to my room.

Excluding our chat, our drive back to campus was relatively quiet. We ate
the food my mother packed at a little gas station a hundred miles from
school, then continued our journey like we never stopped.
It’s been awkward, and I hate it.
“Thanks for walking me in.” After checking that my door is unlocked, I
spin to face Cash. “I should probably take it from here. Eden…” A grimace
finalizes my reply.
His smile isn’t as big as it usually is, but it’s present, nonetheless. “All
right. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Since his reply sounds more like a question than a confirmation, I jerk
up my chin. “Bright and early for a pre-exam study session.” A grin tugs at
my lips when he groans. “Don’t be like that. This is the big one. If you ace
this test, you’ll be free to play for the rest of the season.” I bump him with
my hip before opening my door as quietly as possible. It’s unlocked, which
means Eden is in. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
 He waits for me to break through the threshold of my room before he
spins on his heels and heads down the corridor.
I try not to look too deeply into his sorrow-filled skulk. Tomorrow is a
big day for him, but the more I try to force it to the back of my mind, the
more I toss and turn.
It remains in the forefront of my mind until my alarm clock sounds,
which is two hours too late.
I overslept my body clock, meaning I missed my study session with
Cash.
“Whoa, slow down, Einstein, you might pull a muscle,” Kamil shouts
when he spots me racing across the quadrant, sprinting in vain to the
mathematics building with the hope I’ll reach Professor Ren before she
closes her class for exams.
If my mother’s theory is right, and Cash struggles with basic math
equations because they’re too simple for him, Professor Ren needs to grade
him with a paper from advanced mathematics.
“Wait! Please!” I shout while sprinting for the rapidly closing doors.
A professor assistant holds open the door for me. “Are you a student?”
It takes me a couple of seconds to catch my breath, “No, but I need to
speak with Professor Ren.” I gulp down breaths, soothing the burn of my
lungs. “It’s important.” When I spot Professor Ren behind his shoulder, I
shout her name. “Professor Ren. I only need a minute of your time.”
I stop attempting to climb the professor’s aide like a jungle gym when
Professor Ren gestures for me to enter. “Make it quick,” her assistant
grumbles out, annoyed.
After nodding, I make a beeline for Professor Ren while acting ignorant
to Cash’s heated stare. I would recognize it anywhere. I can barely talk with
thrusting lungs, but I give it my best shot. “You need to grade Cash at a
higher standard.”
 Her eyes dance between mine as she pulls her brows together. “He
barely passed his last exam.”
I twist her away from the lecture hall filling with students before
announcing, “Because the answers were too basic. He needs to be
challenged.”
“He does, hence me sending him to you.” Now it’s my turn to be
confused. “But this isn’t where we should be pushing. If he fails this exam,
McKayla, he’s out of the team.”
“I know.” I sound as pained as the stabbing jab hitting my stomach.
“But I don’t think he’ll pass if you don’t trust me.” When she takes a
moment to ponder, I beg, “Please. I wouldn’t risk his chance of playing if I
didn’t believe my theory.” As she walks me to the door, needing to get the
examination block started, I suggest, “Give him both papers and grade the
higher of the two.”
“I can’t do that—”
“Then what can you do?” My shouted words gain us the attention of
every pair of eyes in the room—including Cash’s. After lowering my voice,
I return my focus to Professor Ren. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want him to fail.
He’ll be lost without basketball.”
She darts her eyes between my glistening set before eventually
succumbing to the silent pleas in them. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I practically squeal my response.
“Okay. But…” She leaves me hanging long enough I almost asphyxiate.
“If this backfires, I will have to tell Cash it was your suggestion to test him
at a higher level.”
“That’s okay. I’m fine with that.” I don’t sound as confident as I feel,
but I play the part well. After thanking Professor Ren by squeezing her
hand, I spin around and give Cash the thumbs up.
His grin assures me I made the right decision, not to mention my detour
through the mathematics department after a grueling three-hour veterinary
bioscience practice exam before another two hours of animal sciences
studies.
My brain is zonked from a lack of nutrition, but its sluggish speeds kick
into a gallop when I hear a familiar voice shouting my name. It isn’t Cash
as hoping, but Professor Ren’s request to speak with me kickstarts both my
heart and my head.
“Hey.” What? I told you my brain is exhausted.
I don’t feel as stupid when she replies, “Hey.” She nudges her head to a
park bench in the middle of the quadrant. “Do you have a second to talk?”
I nod before gesturing for her to lead the way.
I’ve only just plonked my backside onto the recently repainted wood
when she hands me a stack of papers. “This is the results of Cash’s test
today.”
“Oh no,” I push out in disbelief when I notice the below-average score.
It isn’t the pass he needs.
My worry that I’ve stuffed up Cash’s life doesn’t last long when she
hands me another wad of papers. “And this is his score on the test I made
him sit after his first exam.”
After bouncing my bewildered eyes between hers, I drop them to the red
ink at the top. It isn’t a perfect score, but it is pretty darn close. An A-
minus.
“Please tell me these are the grades you sent through to his coach?”
I want to kiss her when she smiles and nods. “But when the head of
mathematics sees his results, he’ll want to move him to the accelerate
program.”
She looks at me as if my IQ is in single digits when I reply, “Good.”
“I don’t think that is what Cash will want, McKayla.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Stealing her chance to reply, I leap up from my
seat and snatch up my backpack. “I’ll talk to him, convince him it’s a good
idea.”
 “I don’t—”
I’m racing for Cash’s frat house before all her reply leaves her mouth. I
can’t believe my mother’s theory was right. Stack that onto the fact Cash
gets to play ball for the season without any stipulations, and I’m so ecstatic
I burst through the front door of his frat house without knocking and climb
the first set of stairs.
“McKayla, uh, hey… what are you doing here?”
I return Crew’s odd greeting with a wave before skirting past him to
tackle the second set of stairs. “I’m here to see Cash. We have celebrating to
do.”
I lose my footing when someone in the distance shouts, “He started
without you.” But it only slows me down for a second.
The sock on the doorknob of Cash’s room though, that ends my steps
entirely.
That’s not meant to be there, is it?
He only places a sock on the doorknob when he doesn’t want to be
distracted.
When he’s fucking.
With my heart in my throat and my brain fritzed beyond repair, I push
open Cash’s door and storm in like I own the place. I take a startled step
back when my eyes stray to his bed. It’s occupied, but it isn’t Cash’s
backside heating the sheets. It is his ex-girlfriend’s. Vivienne.
“What are you doing here? And where is Cash?”
The shower faucet switches on at the same time Vivienne shifts to face
me. Her lips are swollen, and not even nonexistent knowledge in cosmetics
could convince me their swollen state wasn’t manmade.
“McKayla.” She swipes her thumb over her lip, gathering up a blob of
substance glistening on them before saying with a giggle, “Oh my god, you
weren’t meant to arrive until tonight. Not until after Milo told you.”
 I shouldn’t believe a single word fired out of her mouth, but like a child
with her favorite toy stolen, I get desperate. “Told me what?”
She stands from Cash’s bed, fixing her disheveled clothing on the way.
“That we’re getting back together.” Her confession already knocks me for a
six, but the hits keep coming. “He passed, which means we don’t need to
fake anymore.”
They were faking?
“Faking what?”
Vivienne laughs again. “Being apart, silly.” She belittles me as if I am a
child, her lips twitching as she tsks me. “That’s the only way he could
convince you to tutor him. He needed to convince you that you were in with
a chance.”
“That’s not true,” I deny, my tone not as confident as I’d like. “Our deal
had nothing to do with him.”
“I know.” She badgers me with mocking laughter again. “Until you
realized Milo is a far better catch than Gabriel Sutton.” She gags out
Gabriel’s name like Cash always does. “So you thought you’d drag him
home and try to make your ruse real.”
“I didn’t drag him home. Cash offered to come with me.”
She gags. “Puh-lease. Milo hates the country as much as he does whiny
little geeks who don’t know their place.”
Confident of my place in Cash’s life, I say, “You should leave before
Cash arrives. He hates when roaches creep into his room.”
My snapback doesn’t keep her down for even a second. “Roaches who
love him enough to step aside to ensure he can play the season. Roaches
who’ll watch a woman fawn over him even when she knows he is way
above her league. A roach who just helped celebrate his pass by sucking his
cock like you’ve never been given the chance to do—”
Her reflexes aren’t quick enough to stop me from slapping the words
out of her mouth. I slap her hard, and I only feel a smidge of guilt about it.
 After righting her head to its original spot, Vivienne sneers out, “If I’m
lying, how do I know about your deal with Milo?” She has me stumped,
which leaves her to fill in the gaps with nasty taunts. “I know because he
told me after he declared to you that Gabriel wouldn’t be interested in you
without his help, after promising your cred will improve just being
associated with him, and after you made so much of a fool of yourself in
front of Gabriel, you had no choice but to accept Milo’s offer. I know
everything because he came to me to make sure it was okay with me.”
“That’s not true.” I’m too stunned to think up a better response. How
does she know about our conversation if Cash didn’t tell her about it? We
were the only two people in the room. “Cash belittled you in front of
everyone.”
Vivienne shrugs like the pain in her eyes at the poker tournament last
week was nowhere near as obvious as it was. “You’re not the only one
studying drama.”
“If anything you’re saying is true, why would you do this? Why would
you agree to let your boyfriend…” The word tastes bitter in my mouth, “…
date someone else? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Date?” She laughs like I said a joke. “You were not dating, Milo. You
were his pawn. His toy.” With a sneer, she drags her eyes down my body.
“His tutor. Nothing more.”
Before I can deny her false claims, the bathroom door behind me cracks
open, and steam fills the room along with a remorseful-looking Cash.
His eyes widen when they dart between Vivienne and me, but before a
single word can spill from his lips, my eyes zoom into a large red welt on
the side of his neck.
It looks like a hickey.
“McKayla,” he shouts with a grunt when I shove him so hard he topples
into the bathroom with a thud before I hightail it out the door.
 Since I dumped my backpack onto the floor along with Cash’s ass, I
clear the first flight of stairs and am racing down the second when Cash
catches up with me. “Whatever she told you isn’t true.”
His denial makes me angrier. Not at him, but myself because try as I
may, nothing Vivienne said was a lie. I agreed to tutor Cash to help him
pass so he can play.
I did that. He passed, so now our ruse should be over, shouldn’t it?
My hurt catapults when the tormentor from earlier pops back up. “Oh
no… Milo got busted.”
When I shoot my eyes to Cash, he darts his to the man at the back of the
group watching our exchange like it’s an annual boxing match. “Shut the
fuck up, Beanz.”
With his focus on Beanz, I continue my dramatic exit. This time, I make
it to the footpath outside before Cash reaches me again. “McKayla, fucking
stop. Use your damn head. She’s playing you.”
He’s right. She is. But this hurts. Knowing our ruse could be over hurts.
“Did you go to her?”
“What?” He holds his towel in close to his body as his eyes search mine
for the rest of my question.
“Did you go to her? After we agreed to our ruse, did you go to her?”
My heart falls from my stomach when I spot the truth in his eyes.
Vivienne wasn’t lying.
Oh god.
Before I can formulate an appropriate response, it dawns on me how
many people are viewing our exchange. Cash’s frat brothers have spilled
out of his frat house, and almost all the houses surrounding his have twenty
or so spectators.
I’m being humiliated like Janice was at the harvest dance the night she
lost her virginity. Arthur’s friends threw condoms at her feet in front of her
parents before asking how booked her schedule was. They embarrassed her
in front of the whole town, which I didn’t know at the time she should be
grateful about since the town is so small.
Needing to leave before I become a mockery of the entire school, I spin
on my heels and storm away.
Cash doesn’t give up, though. “McKayla, for fuck’s sake, will you just
come inside and listen.”
I continue walking, angering him more.
“You’re acting like an idiot.”
His focus shifts to his frat brothers when I snarl out, “Then that makes
two of us.” I pivot around but continue walking backward. “You’re smarter
than her.” I thrust my hand at Vivienne eyeballing our exchange like she
needs a bucket of popcorn. “And you’re smarter than them.” This hand
thrust is for his frat brothers. “But god forbid anyone finds that out. You
can’t be smart and cool. It’s against the rules. Just like this is…”
Wanting Cash to feel the hurt I’m experiencing, I grab the first person I
see, then lock lips with them.
It is only an innocent schoolyard peck, but my stupidity smacks into me
hard and fast when I recognize the eyes staring back at me.
I once adored them.
I don’t anymore.
As I stumble back from Gabriel, my hand shoots up to scrub his lips
from mine. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences of who I locked lips
with or how it would make Cash feel. I wanted to show that he taught me
that the rules are meant to be broken and we’re not all predestined to fit the
same mold.
But all I did was break us further.
Cash is no longer following me down the cracked sidewalk.
He isn’t even outside.
He’s sulked back to his frat house where he yanks the stereo dial to the
highest setting before announcing that it is “Time to get fucking smashed.”
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 Cash

“B ack off, Kam. I’m not in the fucking mood.” I stagger into my
room. My unsteady footing means I almost put my fist through my wooden
door when I yank off the sock covering it. “It’s not even my fucking sock.”
I laugh like I’m at the comedy club. “How could she not know the
difference between a pair of basketball socks and rugby socks?” Even
though I’m asking a question, I act as if I’m not. “She’s a fucking genius,
Kam. Her brain…” Spit flies in all directions when I make an explosive
noise. “Out-of-this-world smart.” I flop onto my bed before murmuring,
“But she let someone like Vivienne play her as a fool.”
“Play you both as fools.” He helps lift my legs that feel the weight of
concrete onto the bed before removing the nearly empty bottle of whiskey
from my hand. “Gabriel wasn’t standing where he was for no reason. He
placed himself in prime position—”
“To be kissed by her.” I gag. “She fucking kissed him. My Einstein
kissed him.” My anger builds all over again. “I should have rearranged his
face with my fists.”
“Then you would have been kicked off the team for good.”
“Fuck the team.”
Kamil stares down at me like he knows there’s no heat to my words. “If
that’s how you feel, why didn’t you react? Why didn’t you respond like you
did when you walked in on him fucking Vivienne.” My silence seems to
award him a heap of knowledge. “It’s because you know McKayla didn’t
mean what she did. She got caught up in her jealousy and acted on the
instincts of hurt or get hurt.”
“She kissed him. She fucking kissed him.” I fall back with a groan
before throwing an arm over my bloodshot eyes. “And I let the prick get
away with it.”
“Because you want to play.”
For the first time in months, I am honest. “Because I get why he’s mad
at me.” I scoot up the bed before reaching for the bottle Kamil placed on
my bedside table. After taking a hearty swig, I confess, “I picked my
brother over his sister.”
Sutton isn’t Gabriel’s real last name. It is his stage name, so it took me
until the day I faced charges for battery to realize why his face seemed so
familiar when I pulled him off Vivienne.
Tiph was his older sister.
She was his only sibling.
“I tried, Kam. I fucking swear to you I did.” My voice cracks when I
confess, “I just couldn’t keep them both alive. I had to pick.”
“Everyone knows that, Milo.”
“Gabriel doesn’t.” My laugh belongs to a broken man. “And neither
does Trenton.”
“Trenton will come around. It’s still fresh for him.”
“And Gabriel?”
When silence reigns supreme, I lift my eyes to Kamil. He’s still and for
once, silent.
As the tension reaches boiling point, he murmurs, “I don’t know, Milo.
He wants you to fall.” He releases a big breath before saying the last words
I want to hear. “And at the moment, you’re letting him win.”
The following morning, I thump my fist on my bedside table as ruefully as
my temples thump my head. I’m hungover and angry as fuck. Now is not
the time for the seven hundred alarms McKayla set on my phone to go off.
I realize the annoying trill isn’t an alarm when I fail to find my phone.
Someone is ringing the old landline phone, and they better have a good
excuse for waking me.
The groan of a dying man rolls up my chest when my eyes flick down to
the caller ID on the base of the cordless phone and the number flashing up
is recognizable.
Even aware he only calls for an emergency, my greeting is snappy.
“What?”
“He’s been down there for days, Cash. You need to come home.”
“I don’t have time. I have a game, and…” my voice trails off when I run
out of excuses.
That’s all I have to look forward to.
A game.
My life sucks.
“Can’t you sort it out?”
Trenton pffts me. “I lucked out on the smarts, remember? They all went
to you.” Before I can assure him that’s a good thing, he adds, “Come sort
him out, or I’ll bring him to you.”
That secures my attention in under a nanosecond. “You can’t do that,
Trenton. The last time you did that, he walked onto the court naked.”
My father has manic episodes. Most of the time, they’re handled at
home, but a handful of times, they’ve been conducted in public.
The rumors about my big cock didn’t start because I was a manwhore
who flashed his dick around campus. It was compliments to my dad
believing a bee flew under his sweater.
 He’s allergic, so he stripped naked before anyone could assure him that
bees can’t fly at night.
The bug that flew at him in the bleachers was a harmless moth.
I stop recalling the wolf whistles and cat calls that saved my reputation
from being sunk my first year at South Harmon Institute when Trenton
says, “I can’t keep doing this, Cash. I need fucking help. He needs to go
into a home.”
“No. Don’t you remember what they did to him? They turned his brain
to mush.” While remembering the three years my father spent at a ‘hospital’
that was meant to help him but broke him more, I scoot off my bed and toss
on a pair of sweatpants. “The plan is in-house help. We agreed to an in-
house nurse.”
“When you graduate. That’s still months away.”
I shake my head in denial. It is easier than facing the truth. “Scouts are
coming this month. Deals should roll in not long after that. It could be
sooner.” I sound desperate. Rightfully so. Before his accident, all our plans
were on Trenton’s shoulders. I am the youngest, so I only had to watch my
father’s decline. I wasn’t an integral part of it.
When Trenton remains quiet, I try to persuade him over the line. “Come
on, Trenton. It’s a couple of months.” I almost snag him, but he isn’t fully
secured in my trap until I say, “And I’ll come deal with him. I’ll come
today.”
“Today?” he confirms, his voice relieved.
Even though he can’t see me, I nod before galloping down the stairs
separating my loft bedroom from the main rooms of the house.
The further I encroach, the more my frat house represents a house of
death. Bodies are strewn across the floor, couches, and kitchen counters.
Even some random is sleeping on a pool float in the pool.
“Today?” Trenton checks again, put off by the stern swallow of my
Adam’s apple.
 “Yeah… if I can find a ride.”
His rebuttal is the quickest one so far. “No ifs, Cash. Today, or I’m
calling off our deal.”
He hangs up before I can plead for a few more hours.
I consider busing it to the burbs, but there’s no way I’ll make it there
and back in time for my game. My next option isn’t any better. Kamil’s bed
appears untouched like he’s either not gone to bed yet or he didn’t sleep in
his room.
I’ve got no one left to count on.
Except her.
But after last night, she isn’t an option anymore, is she?
My deliberation is cut short when it is interrupted by the last person I
expected to see today. “Where do you need to be, Cash?” McKayla slowly
paces down the stairs like it isn’t odd that she’s waking up at a frat house
before moving to stand in front of me. Her eyes are puffy, red, and show
that she’s barely slept, but she will still turn heads wherever she goes. “I can
take you anywhere you need to go, and you won’t owe me for it.” Her smile
is the fakest I’ve seen. “Then we’re even. You taught me how to react
stupidly to jealousy, so now I need to return the favor.”
It is the fight of my life not to wipe away her tears when a big salty one
plops onto her cheek, but I give it my best shot. I’m pissed and hurt, but
more than anything, I’m annoyed she let someone like Vivienne deceive her
like that.
I thought she was smarter than the woman she portrayed last night.
With my hands balled at my side, I ask, “Why are you here? Did you
stay? Is he here with you?” I don’t need to say Gabriel’s name. My sneered
‘he’ exposes who I am talking about. “If he is, I won’t hold back this time.
I’ll smas—”
“I’m not here with anyone. I scaled the rose trellis. I needed to get my
books.” She lessens the blow of her reply by whispering, “And to check that
you were okay.” With her eyes on her feet, she murmurs, “I doubt someone
like me could hurt you, but I still feel bad about what I did.”
I touch her before I can stop myself.
After lifting her head, I drag my thumb across her lips, removing his
taste from her mouth.
When her tears assist in the scrubbing of her mouth, she mutters an
apology like she knows her betrayal is worse than mine. “I didn’t know it
was him. I wouldn’t have kissed him if I knew it was him. I was just so
angry I couldn’t think straight. My brain fritzed.”
With her confession hitting home harder than she realizes, I accept her
earlier offer. “My brother needs my help. Can I get a ride?”
McKayla nods without pause for thought, unaware that I’m leading her
into a very dangerous trap.

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 McKayla

A n unexpected smile tugs at my lips when Cash directs me down a

leafy street approximately an hour from campus. The homes are dated but
well-loved. They’ve been a part of the community longer than the
university. If the history I read on the campus information page is correct,
most of these residences were built by the professors who lectured at South
Harmon Institute and are now leased by the university to their current
scholars.
“The next house on the left,” Cash advises, his voice still low and
groggy. He seems more worried than jealous, but what would I know? I
stupidly thought kissing a man would bombard him with the same jealousy
I was being smacked with, but all it did was display I’m not worth fighting
for.
I thought I was smart, but the past twenty-four hours have had me
doubting everything.
I settle the erratic beats of my heart with a quick exhale before pulling
onto the curb at the front of a house with a white picket fence, blue shutters,
and a bright red door. It looks like a home any child would love to grow up
in. Even from the outside, you can tell it has a generous floor space, but it
still feels homely and loved.
Not wanting to intrude, I say, “I’ll wait for you here.”
 Cash deliberates my response as if it were a question before briskly
shaking his head. “I want you to come in, then maybe you’ll understand
why not all of us rush to judge other people’s decisions.”
I talk through my heart now sitting in my throat. “I know you didn’t
touch Vivienne, Cash. I just…”
When I fail to find an excuse, I crank open my door, then walk around
my car to join Cash on the sidewalk. Although we’re not on campus, he
holds my hand during the seemingly long walk from my car to the front
door of what I am assuming is his brother’s house.
His clutch alerts me to how nervous he is. Not only can I feel his pulse
surging through his body, but his palms are also extra sweaty.
As we enter the front door, Cash asks, “Where is he?”
A man in a wheelchair with a scruffy beard and an angry scowl replies,
“Where do you think he is?” He must be Cash’s brother, although he looks
much older than the newspaper articles I read about him when I googled
him.
Trenton was struck down in his prime, a young twenty-five years, but
the man before me now seems much closer to forty.
My heart thuds against my ribcage when Cash guides me to a staircase
that leads to the basement. I’m not startled by dark, dingy spaces. They
were my favorite hiding spots when I was a kid. I’m frightened by Cash’s
reply to a female voice shouting his name.
“Not now, Mom,” Cash replies, proving he recognizes the voice.
Why is his mom here? I thought his parents were divorced?
The further we descend the large staircase, the more dust filters in the
air. I assume it is because no one comes down here but am proven wrong
when we enter the finished basement. It is a large, open space that wouldn’t
be so intimidating if every wall wasn’t covered with massive black
chalkboards.
 The dust fragments tickling my nose aren’t complements to bad
cleaning habits. It is chalk dust.
I begin to wonder how deeply Cash’s ruse ran when my eyes scan
equation after equation after equation. Just like the test Cash sat for
yesterday, these aren’t standard questions. Only someone with an IQ over
300 would be able to tackle them, and even then, they’d be challenging.
I sling my eyes to the left when a grumbled voice roars, “The sum of the
positive integers is divisible by n, so the answer should be…” A man I’d
guess to be in his late fifties tosses a table on its end before attacking a
chalkboard with the tenacity of a bull shark. He drags the tip of the chalk
over his findings until they resemble an infant’s drawing. “The answer is
wrong. It’s wrong!”
His tantrum stops when he spots our shadow on the board now free of
chalk. When he spins to face us, I take a step back. His beard is scruffier
than my father’s, and his eyes are wild, but his face is so gaunt it appears as
if he hasn’t eaten in days.
Although his eyes drink me in, he acts as if I’m not a part of his world
when he shifts his focus back to Cash. “Not now, son. I have a problem to
solve.”
Ignoring Cash’s gaped mouth, he spins back to the board and scribbles
an equation from a sheet of paper in his hand onto the chalkboard in front of
him.
σ (n) ≤ Hn +ln (Hn)eHi>
When he sets to work on solving it, incoherent mumbles trickle through
the quiet. It isn’t chalk scratching across the chalkboard nor Cash’s father
rambling to himself. It is Cash’s lips smacking together as he strives to end
his father’s manic episode by solving the puzzle for him.
Unlike the time he nosedived my attempt to learn how to give blow
jobs, he doesn’t jot down his calculations. He mentally assesses them,
which showcases his brilliance in a way you could never comprehend if you
didn’t witness it in person.
He is smart. I just have to pray his brilliance doesn’t dampen his ability
to understand that errors are a part of life.
Cash’s dad only makes it through four sequences of analysis before his
anger gets the better of him again. This time, he attacks a workstation under
an old library lamp instead of a freestanding desk. “The sum of the positive
integers is divisible by n, so the answer has to be…” Once his office is
trashed, he tears at his hair, leaving it on ends. “It is…”
His eyes shoot to mine when I say, “There is no answer.” As he stares at
me with bewilderment in his narrowed gaze, I explain, “That’s the Reimann
Hypothesis. An unsolvable puzzle. People have been striving to answer it
for years. Except…” My heart beats at an unusual rhythm when I realize
there’s something wrong with his formula. “You’ve jotted it down wrong.”
It takes me retching my hand out of Cash’s clasp to be able to approach his
father, and even then, it isn’t done without a heap of nerves shuddering my
steps. “Can I?”
His eyes grow even more wild as he darts them between Cash and me,
but eventually, he hands me the stick of chalk he’s clasping as requested.
“This is the Reimann Hypothesis.” I rub out his calculations and jot
down the formula correctly.
σ (n) ≤ Hn +ln (Hn)eHn>
“You had an extra I instead of an N.” When Cash’s dad snatches the
chalk out of my hand, I say, “But it is still unsolvable.”
Once again, he ignores me.
I understand why when ten minutes later, he says, “Done.” He places
the chalk onto the holder, flattens the hair he made stand on end, then twists
to face Cash and me. “Juice?”
Not waiting for us to answer, much less take in my shocked face, he
zips past us, then bolts up the stairs at a million miles a minute.
 Silence reigns supreme for almost a minute before my brain eventually
kicks back on. “That can’t be right.” I walk closer to the blackboard,
incapable of looking a gift horse in the mouth. “His formula looks right, but
the Reimann Hypothesis has never been solved. The Clay Mathematics
Foundation is offering a million-dollar prize money for anyone who solves
it.”
That snaps Cash out of his trance, but not in the way you’d expect. “Can
you keep that between us?” He lifts his eyes to the roof. “If she knows she
can milk him even more than she already has, his breakdown eleven years
ago will stretch to centuries instead of decades.” He waits for me to nod, his
eyes begging, before he collects the chalk stick from my hand so he can fix
a minor error in his father’s equation. “Now it is done.”

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 Cash

T hink of the most brilliant person you know.

Now times it by a trillion, and you still won’t be close to my father’s
brilliance.
He was the man they raved about, a genius above all geniuses.
Then he solved one too many riddles, and his brain turned to mush. His
psychologist called it a breakdown. My mother said it was because he gave
all his smarts to me.
I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it convinced me that I’ll never try
to achieve over my academic ability.
An overworked brain is worse than an undercooked one.
My parents are living proof of that.
As my father shows McKayla the way to the bathroom, I shift my focus
to the leech who sucked him so dry, the house his parents left him when
they died is the only thing of value he has left. “How much do you need this
time?”
My mother stops picking at the varnish on her over-glossed yet still
chipped nails to lock her glassy eyes with me. “It isn’t what you’re
thinking. The lawyer needs—”
“How much do you need?”
 “Twelve hundred.” She straightens her spine to portray she isn’t shaking
in the aftermath of alcohol withdrawals before adding, “Fifteen, if you have
it.” She scratches at her arm, making me worried alcohol isn’t her only
crutch these days. If I cared more, I’d ask. Since I don’t, I remain quiet. She
didn’t help my father when he solved one too many puzzles. She abandoned
him at the hospital that added to his psychosis. “I’ll pay you back. I just had
a handful of bills come in while I was away.”
“You were locked up, Ma. You weren’t at the Ritz.” After making sure
my father isn’t within eyesight, I request my mother to spin around before
moving for one of the many trinkets lining the top of the cabinets in the
kitchen. My mother is either too drunk to scale a step ladder with the hope
of finding my secret stash of money, or she can’t remember by the time
she’s sober.
More times than not, it is the latter.
I curse a tight preseason training schedule for the lack of funds in the tin
when I pry off the lid. If he didn’t get the pension, there would only be
enough in here for my father to eat for a couple of weeks at most.
“I can only give you eight hundred.”
“But I need—”
I cut her off with a steely glare. “Eight hundred or nothing. They’re
your fucking choices.”
My teeth grit when a deep voice at the side says, “I have two hundred in
my wallet.” Trenton rolls into the kitchen before lifting his eyes to the
woman responsible for him living his life in a fucking wheelchair. “You can
have it if you want.”
“Thanks, Trenty baby.” Mom swoops down to plant a kiss on his cheek
before snatching the bills out of my hand and hightailing it to Trenton’s
room to take every morsel she can get.
When the front door slams shut, a clear sign she’s left, I ask, “How
much have you given her this month?”
 “Not much—”
“How much, Trenton?”
I work my jaw through a stern grind when he answers, “Twenty-four
hundred.”
I inwardly curse before asking, “You know it isn’t going to bills, right?”
He leads with the same excuse he always does. “She’s our mother, Cash
—”
“And she fucking did that to you.” I thrust my hand at the nub below his
groin, its shake undeniable.
“No,” he denies with a shake of his head. “You did that.”
“To save you.”
“When you should have saved her!” His roar startles our father so
much, he shoots his hands up to his ears and rocks back and forth like a
child. “I didn’t ask you to save me, Cash. I didn’t ask you to pick me over
her. You should have picked her.”
“I should have,” I admit while glaring at him like I don’t know who the
fuck he is. Just like our father, he was slated for brilliance, and just like him,
he is wasting it away doing nothing. “But I didn’t. I picked you. I chose
you. And I have to live with that fucking choice every single day.” I drag
my hand across the kitchen table, sending the contents flying onto the floor.
“If you want to blame someone for Tiph dying, look in the fucking mirror,
Trenton. I told you not to get in the car with her. I offered to drive you
home. But you didn’t fucking listen. Yet, that’s my fault, right?”
When I spot McKayla’s slow approach, I steal Trenton’s chance to reply
by snatching up McKayla’s hand and charging for the door. “If you don’t
want me around, write the fucking riddles down right.”
I swear he replies, “I didn’t give him that riddle.” But I can’t be sure
because my stomps to McKayla’s car are too loud to hear anything.
“Where are we going?” McKayla asks after sliding behind the steering
wheel.
 “Anywhere,” I reply. “Anywhere but here.”

I emerge from the dark and gloomy space in my head when a southern
accent similar to McKayla’s but far more twanged greets, “McKayla, honey,
it’s been so long.”
A lady with a checkered shirt and a bright smile leans out of the booth
of an RV park when McKayla replies, “Hey, Cindy. It has been a while,
hasn’t it?” While Cindy replies it’s been far too long for her old head to
work out, McKayla pulls open the glove compartment and yanks out a
bundle of bills.
Where the fuck did she get so much money?
“The ranch was crazy busy, then I went to school, so we didn’t have
much time for fun things anymore.” I crank my neck to peer at McKayla
when she says, “But I’m learning the importance of that now. So…” She
licks her lips before bringing out her pleading eyes. “Cabin thirty-one
wouldn’t happen to be available, would it?”
Cindy grimaces, doubling the thrust of McKayla’s chest before letting
her off the hook. “Of course it is.” She taps on a keyboard inside her box
three times before murmuring, “Well, it is now.”
“Thank you so much, Cindy. I truly appreciate it.”
While refusing to accept the bundle of notes McKayla is holding out,
she replies, “Any time, honey. Just make sure you bring some of your
momma’s famous pies the next time you come visit.”
“I will. I promise.”
With a smile big enough to compete with the early morning sun, Cindy
grants us access to the RV park by raising the gate. I’ve never been to a
place like this before, but I can see how it would be a favorite amongst
families. There’s a pool, two heated spas, a jumping pillow, and right next
to cabin thirty-one is a dusty old basketball halfcourt and hoop.
“I’m not in the right headspace—”
McKayla cuts me off. “You don’t have a choice, probie.” After cranking
open her door, she moves to the trunk. I assume she is fetching the luggage
I left in there last night, so you can picture my shock when she pulls out one
of the many basketballs she stole from the gymnasium the day I broke my
dick. “If you don’t want to know how many balls I can fit in my trunk, I
suggest you quit moping and get out of the car, Cash.”
“I—” I protect my face with my hands when she rears her arm back in
preparation to sock me in the face with the ball. “All right. I’m coming.”
Her technique is all wrong when she bounces the ball like she’s
prepping to take a shot. “Same rules as always. You answer correctly, you
take a shot. You answer wrong—”
“My face will wear a ball imprint for a week.”
Without missing a beat, she shouts, “Bingo!”
Since I got her question right, she tosses me the ball. Even with my
mood down the toilet, it hits the backboard and sinks through the chained
net only a second later.
“Smooth,” McKayla brags, her praise unusual considering how
blistering the tension is between us. Regretfully, this time around, it isn’t
sexual tension. It is frustration. “Now onto something harder.” I expect her
to ask about my father or to hit me with one of the math quizzes she
expected me to stumble on two nights ago, so I’m figuratively knocked onto
my ass when she asks, “The first time you took me to training, you said
basketball wasn’t about the glory and fame for you, that it was so much
more. What did you mean by that?”
I answer before I can talk myself out of it. “It is about freedom and not
being tied down to one thing.”
With a smile, she passes me the ball.
 After sinking it through the hoop, I await another question.
McKayla doesn’t keep me hanging for long. “Freedom from yourself or
freedom from others?”
This one is a little harder for me to answer. “Can I say both?”
Wetness glistens in McKayla’s eyes as she nods. “If it is the truth, you
can say whatever the hell you like.”
“Then I’ll say both.” Her toss of the ball this time around is weak when
I tack on, “And I’ll also admit that seeing you kiss him fucking killed me.”
Acting as if my comment didn’t rip her heart out of her chest, I take
another shot, groaning when it hits the rim and bounces back at me.
“You missed because you think you need to pick a side. That you need
to be either angry or forgivable.” McKayla scoops up the ball before
balancing it on her slim hip. “But just like you don’t need to pick between
academics and sports, you can be anything you want.” Air whizzes out of
my nose when she says, “You want to hate me, but then you realize you
could never hate anyone more than you hate yourself so why waste
resources.”
“I don’t hate myself. I—”
I’ve got nothing.
Not a single thing.
“I don’t want to be them.” I thrust my hand to the left like my
grandparents’ house is just on the horizon. “I don’t want to be broken,
angry, and confused.”
“Then don’t be.”
“You heard what he said, McKayla. You heard how he blamed me for
Tiph’s death. How I picked wrong.”
Her reply shunts me back three places. “I heard someone doing
anything he can to break free from his guilt, to swim to the surface for a
final breath. I heard a man desperate to shift his blame onto anyone else. A
man in grief. He just doesn’t know how to express himself, Cash, because
that would break his heart even more than it would admitting it is easier for
him to blame you for Tiph’s death than it is to blame himself.”
Everything she is saying is true, so I try to make her fumble. “And my
dad, what’s your solution for him?”
I’m not anticipating for her to answer me, so not only does her reply
blow me away, but it also shocks me into silence, “He needs to learn the
same lesson you do. That you can’t win them all if you’re only
concentrating on one thing.”

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Chapter 34

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 McKayla

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One month later…
“H ey, McKayla, wait up.” I twist to face my greeter, halfheartedly
smiling when I put a face to the recognizable voice. It is Gabriel. “Are you
heading out?”
I nod before replying, “Yeah. I have an errand to run.”
When he asks, “Can I come with you?” I peer at him as if he has a
couple of screws loose.
We haven’t spoken since our unexpected kiss. Not a single word, which
should be virtually impossible, considering we have several classes together
and a mutual study group.
I guess he didn’t want to admit that Vivienne and he had been in cahoots
the entire time of my ‘ruse’ with Cash.
Supposedly, the soundproof room is only soundproof from the inside,
which means Gabriel heard every word Cash and I exchanged before he
snitched on our plan to Vivienne.
I don’t know why they worked together. Even Kamil is at a lost, but I
plan to find out, just not now. Not when I have far more pressing matters to
attend to.
The reminder of my hectic to-do-list sees my focus returned to Gabriel.
“Thanks, but I think I’m going to run this one alone.” As I have done all
‘things’ the past four weeks.
My interaction with Cash was heart-tugging and eye-opening, but our
communication ended on that dusty halfcourt four weeks ago. We see each
other around campus and exchange a wave at his games, but other than that,
I’ve been flying solo.
It should be weird, but the independence that comes from being the solo
member of a club has also been strengthening. I’ve grown and matured
more in the past month than I have in the past year, which means I am
starting to like who I am more than being afraid of who I might become.
When Gabriel remains lingering like a bad smell, I say, “I’ll see you
around.”
Stealing his chance to reply, I crank the ignition, then reverse out of my
parking spot, leaving him confused and muted on the sidewalk.
Anyone would swear he’s never been turned down before.
If he were Cash Mancini, I might have believed him.
The drive to a leafy suburb on the outskirts of campus is relatively
breezy. A bird almost takes me out on the freeway, but the stinky interior of
my car soon becomes too much for him to combat, so after a rest on my bag
of books, he makes his escape two miles later.
After parking in the driveway, I snag a bag of groceries from the floor
of the passenger seat, my book bag, and my purse before slipping out of the
driver’s seat and skipping down the cracked front path.
“They didn’t have any grapefruit juice, so I got pear. I hope that’s okay.”
I dump my books onto the entryway table before entering the kitchen to put
away my supplies. “Guys?”
My stomach gurgles when, “It’s not right,” roars out of the lower level
of the house.
I snap my eyes to Trenton, who’s wheeling into the kitchen, before
asking, “How long has he been down there?”
It dawns on me that we’re not alone when Trenton strays his eyes
behind me. When I spin, I spot Cash’s mother sitting on the kitchen counter,
smoking a cigarette. “Around four or so hours.” She licks her lips before
releasing a smoke chain. “You wouldn’t happen to have any money, would
you?”
I do, but I shake my head, adhering to my mother’s warning about never
giving addicts money. Food or water, but never money. “I have juice.”
 Her bitter laugh mocks me. “Juice. Huh.” She leaps off the kitchen
counter before moseying around me. “Call me when Cash gets here. I need
to use the ladies’ room.”
“Cash is coming?” I sound panicked. Justly so. He doesn’t know I’ve
been visiting his family twice a week for the past four weeks.
Trenton nods. “I didn’t have your cell, so I couldn’t call you to calm
him down. Besides you, Cash is the only one smart enough to solve his
riddles.”
Pride is the first emotion that hits me. It is closely followed by worry.
Will Cash be angry that I’m here?
Did I overstep some kind of boundary?
I don’t know what is kosher for fake relationships. I just couldn’t leave
our conversation how it was. His family needs help, and although I’m not
the best person for the job, it is better than acting ignorant.
“I should go.”
I only make it to the foyer of their home when I spot Cash climbing out
of the passenger seat of Kamil’s ride. He pats him on the back, thanking
him for the ride, before turning to face the house.
My ruse is busted when his eyes land on my car parked in the driveway.
You would swear he can smell the stinky interior from a distance for how
tightly he pulls his brows together.
His shock only stills his legs for half a second. He’s back marching
toward the house before I can find an appropriate hiding spot.
He enters while I’m still standing in the entryway, looking daft.
“Hey,” he greets, his voice neither friendly nor cold. It is a bit of both.
“What are you doing here?”
“Um—”
I thank my lucky stars that Trenton’s bad moods are only taken out on
Cash when he jumps in to save me. We’ve become good friends over the
past four weeks. “I asked her to come. I’m getting fitted for a prosthetic, but
it’s a little hard to get to appointments when no one in your family drives.”
I glare at Cash when he murmurs, “Didn’t want to get in the car with
Mom again?” That was a low blow, and he knows it because the words have
barely left his mouth when he backtracks. “Fuck, Trenton, I’m sorry. I
shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Trenton’s narrowed eyes widen when he
shifts them to me. Things have been rough between Cash and him since the
accident, but I was hopeful that would have changed when it was disclosed
to Trenton that nothing Cash could have done would have saved Tiph. She
had massive internal injuries and a nicked artery. Chest compressions would
have killed her faster and more painfully. As cliché as this sounds, she died
as peacefully as she could. “Thanks for your help, Mac. I’ll see you next
week.”
“Next week?” Cash asks as his eyes dart between his brother and me.
I’m a terrible liar, but I give it my best shot. “He has another
appointment.”
Needing to leave before he calls out my fib, I muster up a fake grin,
farewell him with a head bob, then hightail it to my car.
With my nerves rattled, it takes me a little longer to stab my key into the
ignition and fire up the engine.
The delay is for the best when I spot Cash’s mother racing my way.
“Are you heading back to campus?” When I nod, she asks, “Can I get a
lift?”
“Um. Sure.” I push off a handful of study papers from the passenger
seat before leaning over to unlock her door.
I shouldn’t have bothered. She slips into the passenger seat in the
manner Cash exited Kamil’s convertible. Via the roof.
“Do you want me to take you somewhere in particular?”
 Bourbon and a smell I can’t quite recognize fluffs up when she shakes
her head. “No. Campus is fine.”
Although I find it strange that she wants to go to an area designed for
people two decades younger than her, I pull on my seat belt before
requesting she do the same.
She’s peeved by my request but does as asked since I refuse to put the
gearstick into reverse until she does.
Almost an hour later, Cash’s mother directs me to a hip coffee shop I’ve
been dying to visit. It is jam-packed with clientele, most of them students.
“Here is fine.” I’ve barely come to a halt when she throws open my
door and climbs out.
“You’re welcome,” I mumble to her nonexistent thanks.
While seeking an opening, I witness a familiar car pulling into a space a
few spots back. With the wealth at this school, Gabriel’s Bentley doesn’t
stand out. It is the fact Cash’s mother stands by his car, waiting for him to
exit that gains my utmost attention.
A beep startles me back to the present. After signaling for the driver to
go around me, frustrating him since he was waiting for me to exit the only
vacant parking spot, I kill the ignition then enter the coffee shop like I have
a sudden hankering for caffeine.
This is one of the benefits of not standing out amongst a crowd. I order
a beverage then linger to the side without Cash’s mother or Gabriel noticing
my watch.
I crank my neck and stick out my ear when Cash’s mother gets irritated.
“You said you’d give me three hundred.”
“Did I?” Gabriel isn’t the slightest bit ruffled by her annoyance. “I don’t
recall that.”
She tosses a crumbled-up piece of paper onto his half of the table.
“When you wrote this down, you said you’d give me three hundred.”
 He doesn’t even look at her evidence before repeating, “I don’t recall
that.” He drops his eyes to the hundred-dollar bill he placed between them.
“If that isn’t good enough, I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
She snatches up the bill, stands to her feet, then leans over the empty
tabletop. I assume she’s going to batter his ear with the verbal tirade I was
spared during our ride over, so I’m shocked when she asks, “Can you give
me a ride?”
Like the pretentious man he is, Gabriel sinks back in his chair before
making a teepee with his index fingers. “Where to?” He reads Cash’s
mother’s sniff in the correct manner, but instead of telling her he won’t
drive her to her dealer to waste the money he just gave her, he jerks up his
chin. “But we need to discuss new terms on the way there. This isn’t
working as hoped.”
It takes the barista calling my name three times before I shift my focus
from their brisk exit to him. “You’re good to go.”
“Thanks.”
When I accept the iced chocolate with double whipped cream from his
grip, he asks, “Is Einstein your name or are you pre-empting greatness?”
I can’t help my smile when I reply, “It’s a nickname a friend gave me.”
“Cool. I like it.” He farewells me with a smile before preparing the next
customer’s order.
After returning his farewell, I head for the exit, my pace slowing when I
spot a crumbled-up piece of paper on an empty table. It is the note Cash’s
mother tossed at Gabriel.
Too curious for my own good and desperate to rid myself of some
confusion, I snatch up the paper and pry it open.
My heart beats at an unusual rhythm when I scan what is written. Like
the Reimann Hypothesis, it is another unsolvable puzzle, and once again, it
has an error in the presentation of the formula.
 I jot down a mental note to order a cell phone before asking the barista
if the coffee shop has a landline phone.
He jerks up his chin. “It’s out back.”
With my thirst forgotten, I dump my drink onto the counter, then race in
the direction he nudged his head.
Trenton answers a handful of rings later.

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Chapter 35

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 Cash

“T he answer is wrong! It’s wrong!”

“Dad…” He trashes the workstation I only put back together last week
before rubbing out the formula he’s been working on the past two days and
starting again.
He hasn’t eaten, showered, or slept in days, and I’m at a loss on how to
help this time around.
I can’t even solve this riddle, and Professor Ren forced me into
advanced mathematics with a threat that I’d be benched for the season if she
showed them the results of my first test.
“Maybe take a break for a minute. Let your brain rest.”
Keeping his back to me, he replies, “I don’t need rest. I need to solve
this puzzle.” I didn’t think it was possible to hate my mother more until he
murmurs, “Then she might come back.”
My dad was the good guy, the man who was supposed to win.
But my mother was the villain of his story.
They got together when it was the rage for cheerleaders to date geeks.
They knew the jocks’ reign would eventually end not long after graduation,
but a man’s brainpower and the wealth associated with it could last for
eternity.
 She didn’t love him. She loved the thought of him and the lifestyle he
could offer her. And she was living that life for the first ten years of mine.
We had a house bigger than a castle, maids, and butlers. We even had a
driver. Then my mother couldn’t keep her extracurricular activities hidden
for a second longer.
She broke my father’s heart, then the doctors who couldn’t understand
his wish to win at all costs broke his brain.
At first, he wanted to succeed in a way she’d have no choice but to
come back. He strove for greatness, but he set the bar too high.
Every distinction he achieved added another three to his list.
When you are smart, you’re not patted on the back and told, “Well
done.” They expect more of you, they expect better, and their wants don’t
stop until you have nothing left to give but the mumblings of an insane
man.
Jocks’ expectations are nowhere near as high.
Yeah, they’re cheered and revered, but that’s where the expectations
end. They’re not expected to cure hunger or find world peace. They play a
game, and then they go home before they’re eventually written out of the
story for the ‘nice guy.’
It is a sucky role, but when your choices are either float or sink, I will
always pick the one that will keep me afloat.
I shift my eyes from the equation my father is jotting down to the stairs
when Trenton calls my name. “It’s McKayla. She needs to talk to you.”
Even though it shouldn’t, hope highlights my tone when I shout, “She’s
back?”
I climb the stairs two at a time like I didn’t ask a question, my pace
slowing when Trenton replies, “No, she’s on the phone.”
I’m not surprised when he passes me our grandparents’ old landline
cordless phone. McKayla doesn’t own a cell, and even if she did, she
couldn’t reach me with one since I haven’t replaced my phone yet.
 McKayla wasn’t the only one taught lessons during our ‘false start.’ I
learned a lot about myself as well. Most particularly, how much I’ve missed
being me the past eleven years. She was the only one who brought out the
true me, and I honestly don’t want anyone else to experience that side of me
but her.
But that isn’t a possibility anymore, is it? Especially with her knowing
all my family’s deepest, darkest secrets.
After licking my suddenly parched lips, I squash the phone to my ear
and say, “Hey.”
It’s the same pathetic greeting I issued her when I wasn’t expecting to
stumble onto her at my father’s residence but not as hinged with unease.
I wasn’t mad she was here. I was curious.
I avoid my family dynamic as much as possible, so why in the world
would anyone voluntarily choose to be a part of it?
And don’t give me the same shit excuse McKayla and Trenton did
earlier. He is being fitted for a prosthetic leg, but the chief medical officer at
the NBA has that all covered. A nurse picks him up and takes him to every
appointment.
I’ve also missed her like fuck the past month, but I can’t rid the image
of her kissing Gabriel out of my head long enough to admit that to anyone
but myself.
“Hey.”
McKayla gulps down air like she’s running, sending my panic
skyrocketing. “Are you all right?”
The urge to go on a beatdown subsides when she replies, “Yeah… but I
should probably consider taking up a sport of some kind. I barely ran thirty
feet, and I’m exhausted.”
Her reply makes me smile, but I keep that to myself, forever a sore
loser.
 “Anyway…” She takes in another breath. “Your dad’s puzzle. Is it
written down right?”
“I don’t know.” Since the phone is cordless and the base is in the
basement, I return to the dark and dingy space before reading it out to
McKayla.
“What?” I ask when she curses under her breath.
“They’re purposely leading him astray.” I don’t get the chance to ask
who before she instructs, “Replace the third zero with an A.”
“An A?” When she murmurs in agreement, I cautiously approach my
father. He doesn’t like when people interrupt him mid-formula. That’s why
I was so surprised he gave McKayla his chalk last month. I usually use one
of the pieces he snaps during his multiple outbursts.
“What are you doing? Leave it alone…” His voice trails off when my
adjustment to the formula has his brain ticking over at a million miles an
hour. Then, not long later, he murmurs, “Done.” After pivoting to face me,
his eyes nowhere near as pained, he asks, “Juice?”
I wait for his stomps to sound above my head before shifting my focus
back to the phone, “How did you know?”
“Gabriel—”
I can’t hear that name out of that mouth and not respond.
McKayla must hear the balling of my hands over the phone. “I wasn’t
with him. Your mother asked for a ride. She wanted to go to campus.” I
vow to be her personal trainer when she stops to take a breath. “She met
with Gabriel. I think he’s feeding her the wrong formulas to trip your father
up.”
“Why would she do that?” I understand Gabriel’s plight. He’ll do
anything to make my life miserable, but why is my mother helping him?
What does she get out of it?
The light in my head finally clicks on.
“Money. He gives her money.”
 “Yep,” McKayla agrees, sounding as disappointed as me. “And add that
to the funds you give her to get rid of her, and she has plenty to waste on…”
She stops, aware it isn’t her place to remind me of my mother’s bad habits.
“I’m sorry, Cash. I don’t like being the bearer of bad news. I just thought
you should know.”
“I appreciate you reaching out.”
I don’t need to see her to know she’s smiling. I can feel it in my bones.
A second wave of disappointment fills me when McKayla says, “I need
to go. I already stretched my welcome when I requested double whipped
cream, so imagine the owner’s response when he finds out I cleared a
mountain of cobwebs onto his desk so I could use his landline.”
This time, I don’t keep my smile from her. I chuckle down the line
before saying, “Bet he wouldn’t be mad if you cleaned out the cobwebs
between his legs.”
Even aware she’s no longer a virgin, I admire that she still holds some
innocence when she murmurs, “Huh?”
When I hear a man accost her, I say, “I’ll save the anatomy talk for
when you’re not being kicked out of Beanz.”
I picture McKayla’s gaped mouth when she murmurs, “That’s why he
looked so familiar.” Her voice goes deadpan when she adds, “I’m still mad
at him.”
“You’re not the only one.” When her silence announces her confusion, I
confess, “He was the reason for the red welt on my neck. His aim is shit.”
“The red welt on your neck wasn’t a hickey?”
I sound as shocked as McKayla when I ask, “You thought it was a
hickey?” I picture her nodding when a whoosh sounds down the line. “But
you still came to check on me?”
I was meant to ask the last question in my head, but I’m glad I didn’t
when McKayla says, “Anyone who knows you knows you’d never cheat,
Cash.” She groans before murmuring, “I really need to go. Something about
fire codes and long-distance rates.”
“All right.” Before she can hang up, I blurt out, “Will you be at the
game tomorrow night?”
She takes her time replying, and the delay fucking kills me. “Yeah, I’ll
be there.”
“Okay.” I smile like she didn’t tear my heart in two only a month ago.
“I’ll see you there.”
Her voice is more throaty during her reply, “You will. Bye, Cash.”
I keep the phone squashed to my ear until there’s no doubt she’s gone
before returning it to the base and walking up the stairs to join my father for
a glass of juice. When he complained about headaches when I was nine, my
mother constantly told him, “You’re not tired because you work too much.
You just have no energy. Have another glass of juice, then get back to
work.”
He believed her when she said juice was the solution for everything.
We all did until she left him at a mental hospital for three years with no
outside contact.
He’s not been the same man since.
When I spot Trenton at the stoop of the stairs, I expect him to rib me on
my smile being the exact reason I should have picked Tiph over him, but he
shocks me by declaring, “She’s good for you, Milo.” He hasn’t called me
Milo since the accident. “But if you don’t do something to fix the gap
between you two, you’ll lose her for good.” I want to smack him out of his
chair just for putting the thought of McKayla not being a part of my life into
my head, so you can imagine how bad the urge is when he says, “Then
maybe I might need to roll on in and show her the real Mancini genes.
Unlike you, my brain isn’t my biggest muscle.”
I chase him into the kitchen, leap onto his lap, then noogie his head like
he did mine throughout our formative years. “A penis isn’t a muscle nor an
organ. It is a flabby bit of tissue with a ton of veins.”
I howl like a wolf when my father joins our conversation. “That can pop
under pressure. Right, Cash?”
Trenton’s mouth gapes open when I shoot my eyes to our father and
scold, “We were meant to keep that between us.” His panic that I’m mad at
him only lingers as long as it takes for Trenton and me to corner him in the
kitchen and torture him with our ‘claws’ like Jim Carrey did in Liar Liar.
It worked every single time our mother let us down as kids, and it fairs
well this time around as well.

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Chapter 36

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 McKayla

I t could be my imagination, but I swear this time around, when I enter

the gymnasium tonight’s game is being held at, the crowds’ hums dull to
barely a murmur. It only took a day for the rumors about my fight with
Cash to die down, so their silent gawks are a little off-putting.
“Hey,” I greet when I spot Jasmine a couple of rows back from the
court. “How did your exam go yesterday?” She removes a hoodie from the
seat next to her before gesturing for me to sit. “Are you sure? My seat is
right up there somewhere.” I glance at the last handful of rows.
I return my eyes to Jasmine when she says, “Of course.” When I sit, she
discloses, “And I think it went well. I’m confident.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
I brush off her praise with a wave of my hand when she murmurs,
“Thanks to you.”
“I gave you some notes. It was nothing.”
Her reply is gobbled up by the crowd leaping to their feet to cheer the
players spilling out of the locker rooms. Even feeling a little out of place
my first time here alone, I haven’t missed a game in the past four weeks. I
love the atmosphere, and the happiness Cash can’t hide while playing is
merely a bonus.
 “This should be a good game. These teams have been rivals longer than
the campus has been built.”

Jasmine wasn’t lying. The scoreboard has been neck and neck the entire
first half, and it doesn’t look as if it will settle anytime until the final siren.
“I’m going to grab a bottle of water.” I have to shout to project my
voice over the halftime antics. “Do you want anything?”
When Jasmine replies, “No!” I assume she is denying my offer. I have
no clue she doesn’t want me to leave until she yanks me back into my seat
by tugging on my shirt. Upon spotting my shocked expression, she says,
“They’re about to announce the seat number for tonight’s competition. It’s a
big one.”
At every game a spectator is given the chance to win a prize. It is
usually the signed game ball or some South Harmon merchandise, but
tonight they’re offering lifetime tickets to every Hawks’ game.
“I’d be more excited if it wasn’t Cash’s last year at South Harmon,” I
say to Jasmine when I notice how nervous she is. She can barely sit still.
I understand when the MC announces the chair number. It is one chair
away from hers.
It is my seat.
“You should go,” I say to Jasmine. “It’s your seat.”
“No. You’re sitting there tonight. That means you need to get your butt
onto the court.” She snatches my coat out of my hand before pushing me
toward the Hawks’ mascot waiting for me at the end of the bleachers.
I almost lose my footing on the stairs but right myself before he has to
catch me. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a klutz.”
I stare past his massive beak when he replies, “It’s all good, Einstein.”
His voice sounds familiar, but it is muffled by his costume and the cheers of
the crowd, so it could be my hope assuming that instead of my brain.
After guiding me to the circle in the middle of the court, the mascot
fetches a ball from the rack while the MC announces the rules.
“To win lifetime tickets to every South Harmon Hawks’ game…” He
waits for the crowd to stop mimicking the Hawks’ infamous crow before
finalizing, “All you need to do is hit the net.”
“The net?”
He doesn’t hear my question over the shouted encouragements of the
crowd.
“Did he say the net?” I ask the mascot when he hands me the ball.
It must be the night of ignorance because he misses my question as
well. Once he twists me to face the hoop that looks miles away, he steps
back to give me room to move.
The crowds’ chants are inspiring, and they amplify why Cash loves to
play here, but they’re cheering the wrong girl. Not even the giants who play
basketball hit this shot every time, and their legs are double the length of
mine.
A different type of hope trickles into me when the same muffled voice
from earlier says, “Remember to jump a little forward when you take your
shot. Your legs are so short, you need all the leverage you can get.”
A million bees buzzing around my head couldn’t conceal his identity
this time around, not to mention the playful gleam of his eyes through the
mesh in the middle of his beak.
Cash is in the mascot outfit, and the knowledge has me wanting to win
more than anything.
If only I could cheat, then I might be in with a chance.
“I can’t do that. It’s too far.”
“You can, Einstein. You just need to have faith in yourself like you have
had in my family the past four weeks.”
 With his reply brimming with honesty, I put all my faith in his
teachings. I bend my knees, line up my shot, then with more than my
reputation on the line, I leap forward before releasing the ball from my grip.
It sails through the air for almost four feet before its descent
commences.
Too disappointed to watch, I spin away from the massacre.
I only get half a pivot away when Cash bands his arm around my
shoulders and spins me back around. “Having faith in yourself doesn’t
mean you have to go it alone. You taught me that.”
When I shift my eyes in the direction Cash’s are facing, my mouth pops
open. The ball hasn’t flopped on the floor. It’s still sailing through the air,
its movement somewhat stiff and robotic.
“What the?”
A mammoth grin stretches across my face when Cash nudges his beak
to the far-west exit doors. Benji is standing under the bleachers, his
concentration on a homemade remote control he’s commanding.
“You were right,” Cash murmurs, drawing my focus back to him. “He is
a genius.”
Before I can respond, Benji directs my ball through the hoop, which
sends the crowd into an uproar. They cheer. They shout. Then they surge
onto the basketball court like they’re aware the number one player on their
team is the mascot.
Their eagerness to celebrate my win separates Cash and me, but I don’t
mind. I get caught up in the euphoria that lasts as long as it takes for Cash’s
team to claim the victory and for celebrations to start all over again.
“Are you coming to Mama’s?” Jasmine asks after gathering up the
hoodie she removed earlier tonight and handing it to me. “It’s yours,” she
confesses to my bemused expression.
The heart rate I haven’t been able to settle for the past forty-five
minutes kicks up again when I pull open the hoodie. It is the one Cash was
wearing the day he asked me to be his tutor. It even has the same pizza
sauce stain on the left cuff.
“He said you’ve been wanting to add one to your collection to match
your poncho.”
I lower my head to hide my smile before agreeing with Jasmine’s
assumption. “There’s something about the scent of a well-worn article of
clothing.”
She groans like she fully understands what I mean before repeating her
first question, “Mama’s?”
“I’d love to, but…” I stray my eyes to Benji and my mom on the other
side of the court. “I really should spend some time with them since they
drove all the way here.”
“Okay.” Jasmine hugs me goodbye before galloping down the stairs,
bypassing Cash on her way.
After she whispers something in his ear, he locks his eyes with me and
waves. It is the same wave he’s given me every game the past four weeks,
but it feels different tonight. Somewhat personal.
Or maybe that’s my hope speaking again.
I snap my eyes to my side when a familiar voice asks, “Are you not
going out with your friends?”
I greet my mother with a hug before messing up Benji’s hair. “That
would be a little rude, wouldn’t it?” Benji shrugs like he’d diss his family
for his friends any day of the week. “And then I’d lose the opportunity of
asking you how you made a basketball sail through the air remotely.”
“It was easy…” While shadowing my walk down the bleachers, he
gives me every detail of the plan he devised and implemented with less than
twenty-four hours’ notice.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Eden has a new boyfriend, so she’s
rarely in.”
My mother speaks through the window Benji rolled down when he
farewelled me with a raspberry face. “We have a new herd of heifers
arriving tomorrow morning. Since it was my idea to get back into ranching,
I should help your father get them settled.”
“You bought more cattle?”
She smiles like I told her I’m graduating early before dipping her chin.
“We don’t want your diploma going to waste.” After taking a moment to
absorb the absolute joy in my eyes, she nudges her head to my dorm. “Go
on. We’ll have three hundred head waiting for you by summer break. You
need your rest.”
I gulp before waving her off.
A reason for her leaving me unattended outside my dorm is exposed
when I break through the shadows of a big old oak tree far enough to spot
someone sitting on the stoop of the stairs.
The fluttering of my pulse is heard in my greeting. “Hey.”
Cash’s beanie sits high on his head when his cheeks incline in response
to my nonchalant greeting. “Hey.” He stands, being extra cautious not to
topple over the pizza box in his hand. “Can I come in?”
I nod before skirting past him and inputting the pin code. “Eden has a
new—”
“Boyfriend. I heard.”
His grin enlarges when I peer back at him and arch a brow. “Why do I
feel like I’m the last one to find out everything?”
I’m not anticipating a response, but I get one. “Because you don’t take
hints, and you grew up on a ranch surrounded by your cousins not deep
enough in the South.”
He coughs when I sock him in the stomach before he shadows my walk
to my room. Because of the Hawks’ win and it being the weekend, the
dormitory is extra quiet.
After entering my room and closing the door behind him, Cash removes
his beanie, then asks, “Have you eaten?”
He looks disappointed when I nod, so I say, “But I could eat again.”
When I gesture my hand to a portion of carpet under my bed, I plonk
my backside on the far corner before accepting the pizza box from Cash’s
grasp.
My brows pull together when the unevenness of the box’s contents
almost has the pizza flopping onto the floor. Either Cash ate most of the
pizza, or there are only a handful of triangular slabs of cheese in this box.
It dawns on me that Cash pays more attention than he lets on when he
murmurs, “You said you’re not a fan of pizza, so I got you something else.”
I smile like an idiot when he flips open the pizza box to expose a big
creamy plop of pasta in the middle of the box. “Mama’s doesn’t usually do
takeout pasta, so I had to compromise.” He drinks in my smile long enough
for me to be conscious of how big it is before asking, “Do you have forks?”
His smile matches mine when I answer, “I do, but do we need them?
Sometimes messy chaos can be beautiful too.”
His eyes flick to my closet for a nanosecond before he joins me on the
floor.
The pasta is stone-cold, proving Cash purchased it long before I arrived
home, but I eat it as if my stomach is not about to burst out of my linen
pants. The silence this time isn’t awkward. It’s nice.
“How’s your—” I start at the same time Cash says, “You’ve…”
“You go first,” I offer, not wanting to douse the tension crackling
between us by bringing up a sore point.
It is obvious his father’s condition has him panicked he’ll face the same
diagnosis down the road, but I’m hopeful one day he’ll realize his father’s
schizophrenia isn’t from having a brilliant mind. A single gene or organ
isn’t responsible for it. Multiple factors come into play and very rarely are
they hereditary.
“I was going to say you’ve got some chive stuck in your teeth.”
Mortified, I scrub my tongue over my front teeth before bearing them
like a dog. “Did I get it?”
While shaking his head, Cash scoots forward. “You missed a bit.”
I’m not sure how he thinks he can remove the chive from my teeth with
his hand, but I remain as still as a statue when he raises his hand to my
mouth.
I want to die a thousand deaths when he scrubs his thumb along my
teeth. If it isn’t embarrassing enough I have food stuck in my teeth, his
thumb makes a squeak noise with every scrub it does.
“Is it gone now?” My voice is hanging as low as my shoulders.
Air whizzes from my mouth when Cash once again shakes his head.
“As suspected, the thumb scrub didn’t work. I guess I’ll have to try
something else.”
When his fingers weave through my hair, I mutter, “Do I have a twig?”
My words are switched for a moan when his tongue makes the same trek
his thumb just did. However, there’s no squeak this time.
Well, if you exclude my wheezy pants.
His mouth tastes delicious, better than any food I’ve sampled, but I only
get to soak it in for the quickest second before Cash sinks back to his side
of the carpet and returns his focus to the pasta responsible for my near
coronary.
Cash peers up from the carbohydrate goodness when I murmur, “Did
you get it this time?” I stop replicating a mutt with rabies when he jerks up
his chin. “Are you sure? I don’t want to look silly walking around with food
between my teeth. Maybe you should check again.”
Before he can assure me my teeth are chive-free, I grab a handful of
pasta, smack it against my front teeth, then scrub it in like it is the new
formula of a tooth-whitening paste.
I talk through the clumps of pasta dropping down the front of my shirt.
“Because I’m reasonably sure you missed a bit.”
I’ve never felt more stupid, and the blows keep coming when Cash
stands to his feet, then heads for the door. “You’re leaving.”
After lowering his beanie over his head, he replies, “No, we are.”
Not speaking another word, he plucks me from the floor, guides me
down the stairs, then makes a beeline for the entrance. Not even Reynolds’
declaration that he had a killer game tonight slows his strides. He
practically jogs us outside, which means I’m out of breath long before he
pins me to the big oak tree shadowing my building, lifts my head, then seals
his mouth over mine.
He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before, an embrace so
blistering hot, if we weren’t in public, being eyeballed by fellow students,
there’s no way I’d leave our exchange with my dignity intact.
I realize that’s the point when after a final lick of the inside of my
mouth, Cash inches back, rests his forehead on mine, then murmurs, “Fuck,
I’ve missed that mouth. I should have never promised your mother not to
sully you in your dorm.” I don’t get to voice my shock. “Supposedly, the
walls are paper thin.” My hands shoot up to cover my ears when he adds,
“She said it took months for the nickname she gave your father’s pecker to
stop circulating throughout the campus their senior year.”
“That’s way too much information.”
Cash’s smile restarts the tingles between my legs. “Tell me about it. I
almost tossed up my Frosted Flakes when I visited the farm earlier today.”
“You went home?”
He jerks up his chin. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. Not at all.” I love that he felt comfortable enough to do that.
“Are you mad I’ve been visiting your family?”
 “Not at all,” he mimics, his reply as easygoing as our conversation. “But
I think you need to start being a little harsher with Trenton. He didn’t shut
up about you yesterday. It is lucky for his teeth, he was telling me all the
ways you’re perfect for me.”
I thought Trenton was a grumpy grouch, but I can see our friendship
blossoming even more now.
Cash takes a moment to relish my smile before asking, “Am I too late?”
As I bounce my confused eyes between his, I ask, “For?”
With his lips tugged on one side, he asks, “For the mentorship program?
The first one had a false start, but I heard the cubicles at the library book
out months in advance. You can’t just show up and demand a booth. No one
is that popular.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I fist his shirt and tug him closer.
“Depending on what you put up on offer, you might not even need a study
nook.” His cock throbs against me when I murmur, “You might only need a
sock.”

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 Epilogue

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 McKayla

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Two and a half years later…
“M a, have you seen my shoes?” I reek of cow dung, my hair is a
mess since I haven’t had time to wash it, and my jeans are fitting a little too
snugly for my liking.
My mother’s cooking is to die for—literally.
Heart Attack City here I come.
“Ma!” I shout again. “I can’t be late.”
When I gallop down the stairs of my childhood home, I veer for the
kitchen, aware it is the hub of the home. It is where we congregate for every
major event.
Except today.
“Where is everyone?”
When my race through the expansive lower level of my home has me
stumbling onto nothing but the muddy boots I wore today while vaccinating
and worming our latest studs, I curse my tardiness to hell before stuffing my
feet into my boots and racing for my car.
Cash’s team’s season finished last week, but despite my offer to stay
back with him to finish his press junket, he was insistent I come home and
help with the latest muster.
My family would have held off if the weather was in our favor, but
since it would have seen the wrangles drenched and sleeping in
bunkhouses, I farewelled Cash before reluctantly commencing my first solo
trip home in two and a half years.
It wasn’t a long trip. Cash was scouted by a team on the other side of
the country, but he chose to stay local. So local, he trains at the South
Harmon gymnasium, which means I got to see him every day while I
finalized my last year of studies.
 Mercifully, he was my only regular visitor.
Gabriel’s studies finished at the same time as Cash’s, and the last I
heard about him, he was starring in a B-grade Broadway show. His
nosediving career is karma for how he responded to the news that nothing
Cash could have done would have saved his sister. Even with her death
certificate exposing the truth, he didn’t believe a word I spoke. He
continued trying to make Cash’s life a living hell, but regretfully for
Gabriel, Cash was too busy living his best life to pay him any attention.
I’ll never look at library stacks the same way again.
Bleachers are a close second.
“Please, don’t do this. Not today,” I groan when my engine fails to kick
over. “I have to pick up Cash from the airport.”
Things have drastically improved for Cash and Trenton over the past
two-and-a-bit years. His father finally has a team of doctors who understand
his brilliance and the challenges that come with it. Even his mother is
getting help. She didn’t have much choice since Cash cut her off financially
until she agreed to rehab.
But despite all this, Cash is still iffy about getting behind the wheel. He
doesn’t want to be responsible for another death, so to him, not driving
lessens the possibility tenfold. I haven’t had the heart to tell him the
statistics on fatal accidents caused by motorists being distracted by their
passengers.
“Fine!” I shout to no one when my car’s sluggish screams announce it
won’t be starting anytime soon. “I’ll walk…” I’m still not a fan of exercise,
so I quickly add, “To my mother’s car.”
I wonder whose grave I stomped on when I stumble over a basketball
left haphazardly in the middle of the driveway. It looks like one of the many
Cash has gifted Benji the past year, but something is scribbled on it with
thick black ink.
 “Just the net,” I murmur to myself after bobbing down to pick up the
graffitied ball.
After straying my eyes to the left and drifting them to the right, I check
the ball for any signs it has been tampered with.
When it appears untouched, I peer up at the basketball hoop dangling
several feet above me.
It is as intimidating as it has always been, but it also rushes several
beautiful memories to the forefront of my mind—my first tutoring session
with Cash on the court, his first game—they come rushing in droves and fill
my eyes with happy tears.
“Just the net,” I read off the ball again, my voice nowhere near as
browbeaten.
Happy I am without witnesses, I prepare to take my shot. Except this
time, I don’t bend my knees to increase my leverage. I spread them before
pulling the ball down between them.
My underarm throw isn’t glamorous—I’m not even sure if it’s legal—
but it is effective. It hits the net without an inch to spare, rustling the chain
netting so effectively its tinkles are almost heard over the ruckus cheers of a
ginormous crowd at my right.
After gathering my heart from the fall, I pivot to face the noise. It is like
Cash’s opening game all over again. Kamil, Jasmine, Crew, and Beanz are
here. So are Trenton, and Cash’s father, Robert. Even my parents and
brothers are amongst the crowd. They’re surrounded by my cousins, aunts,
and uncles whose properties border ours.
Everyone of importance is here, including Cash, who is down on
bended knee, peering up at me as if I sunk the ball from halfcourt.
“You better have booked a motel room in town,” I murmur on a sob
when I spot the glistening diamond ring nestled in the box balancing on
Cash’s palm. “Because those walls are paper thin.” I thrust my hand to my
family home. “And our bunkhouse isn’t ready yet.” Our bunkhouse is a
four-bedroom residence Cash purchased off the plan after convincing my
father to sell half his ranch to me as a graduation present. It is mid-build. “I
don’t care what my mother made you agree to, I won’t be keeping my
hands to myself tonight.” Cash’s grin lights up the dingy garage at the side
of the halfcourt when I say, “How could I when I need to catch the
shimmers of my engagement ring in every possible angle?”
Cash acts as if he isn’t as smart as he is. “Is that a yes, Einstein?”
His smile would have me agreeing to anything when I reply, “I hit the
net, didn’t I? Of course it’s a yes!”

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 Acknowledgments

Can you believe this is my sixtieth book. Book 60! I am in total shock. I
hope you loved it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Cash and McKayla were
such happy go lucky characters, and they were an absolute pleasure to
write.
I don’t see that lasting.
Next, after a much needed break, I’m moving onto Katie. For those who
have read I Married a Mob Boss, you will remember that Katie was the girl
who was abducted when her and Blaire went for a walk to get ice-cream.
She has been missing the past eleven years.
It will be a dark book full of evil wickedness, but I’m kind of looking
for to it. I love switching between genres because it gives me a range of
emotions and lets me flex my writing capabilities.
One last plea before you go. If you loved Cash and McKayla’s story,
please leave a review. That is one thing my releases are always lacking, and
the one thing I am always chasing.
Thank you so much.
Until next time.
Shandi xx

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 Also by Shandi Boyes

Perception Series

Saving Noah (Noah & Emily)

Fighting Jacob (Jacob & Lola)
Taming Nick (Nick & Jenni)
Redeeming Slater (Slater and Kylie)
Saving Emily (Noah & Emily - Novella)
Wrapped Up with Rise Up (Perception Novella - should be read after the Bound Series)

Enigma

Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #1)

Unraveling an Enigma (Isaac & Isabelle #2)
Enigma The Mystery Unmasked (Isaac & Isabelle #3)
Enigma: The Final Chapter (Isaac & Isabelle #4)
Beneath The Secrets (Hugo & Ava #1)
Beneath The Sheets(Hugo & Ava #2)
Spy Thy Neighbor (Hunter & Paige)
The Opposite Effect (Brax & Clara)
I Married a Mob Boss(Rico & Blaire)
Second Shot(Hawke & Gemma)
The Way We Are(Ryan & Savannah #1)
The Way We Were(Ryan & Savannah #2)
Sugar and Spice (Cormack & Harlow)
Lady In Waiting (Regan & Alex #1)
Man in Queue (Regan & Alex #2)
Couple on Hold(Regan & Alex #3)
 Enigma: The Wedding (Isaac and Isabelle)
Silent Vigilante (Brandon and Melody #1)
Hushed Guardian (Brandon & Melody #2)
Quiet Protector (Brandon & Melody #3)
Twisted Lies (Jae & CJ)
Enigma: An Isaac Retelling

Bound Series

Chains (Marcus & Cleo #1)

Links(Marcus & Cleo #2)
Bound(Marcus & Cleo #3)
Restrain(Marcus & Cleo #4)
The Misfits (Dexter & Megan).

Russian Mob Chronicles

Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Nikolai & Justine #1)

Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Nikolai & Justine #2)
Nikolai: What’s Left of Me(Nikolai & Justine #3)
Nikolai: Mine to Protect(Nikolai & Justine #4)
Asher: My Russian Revenge (Asher & Zariah)
Nikolai: Through the Devil's Eyes(Nikolai & Justine #5)
Trey (Trey & K)

The Italian Cartel

Dimitri
Roxanne
Reign
Mafia Ties (Novella)
Maddox
 Demi
Rocco
Clover
Smith

RomCom Standalones

Just Playin’ (Elvis & Willow)

Ain't Happenin' (Lorenzo & Skylar)
The Drop Zone (Colby & Jamie)
Very Unlikely (Lennox & Summer)
False Start (Cash & McKayla)

One Night Only

Hotshot Boss (Mr. Carson & Octavia)

Hotshot Neighbor (Caleb & Jess)

Short Stories

Christmas Trio (Wesley, Andrew & Mallory -- short story)

Falling For A Stranger (Short Story)

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