Cash (Sexy Bastard #2) (11 page)

“You sure you have time?”
Her voice says it all. Mom and Dad never had time for us as kids. It
was always nannies and tutors. Them taking time for us was scheduled
and perpetually canceled due to rounds of golf or luncheons.

“Of course I do,” I say,
“Pick your poison.”

“Tacos,”
she mutters.

We stop at a drive through and grab
food. I order a bunch of tacos and several bottles of water. There
probably aren’t enough carbs to soak up the alcohol, but
getting something in her will help. Once she’s at least
semi-coherent, we’re going to have a talk, because I already
know that no one else will be straight with her. Someone needs to
give her the lecture of a century. If I hadn’t shown up when I
did, what would have happened?

We sit on the hood of my car, eating
tacos and watching the people pass by us on the street. Many stare,
because who sits on the hood of a BMW eating tacos? Go on and take a
good look, people, because this bartender and his sister do.

Tasha doesn’t
say much, just sits and eats her food. In the years since I saw my
sister, she’s grown into her looks. She is a beautiful girl,
and that is a lethal combination when mixing too much booze and too
many frat guys. If she is anything like my mother, she knows how to
use those looks to her advantage. But as I watch her, there is a
sadness to her that I can’t help but feel that I contributed
to.

When all the stuff went down with our
folks, Tasha was just a young teenager and didn’t understand
what was going on. Could she still go on her trips? What about
shopping? It had been Tasha, Tasha, Tasha all the time. It would have
taken the apocalypse to get her to call me for help.

But the girl before me isn’t the
girl I left behind, and it’s my fault I didn’t get to see
who she became. All I can see, however, is that boy at the party and
every horrible, despicable thing imaginable runs through my head. I
will never rag on Jackson for getting on Shelby’s case again.
In a span of an hour, I have come to learn that little sisters can
tear your heart out.

She’s halfway into her second
taco when I lose the battle in my head. The older, overly protective
brother breaks out in me. I just can’t not say something to her
about going to that party.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Don’t
worry, I’ll pay you back for the tacos.” She
crumples up her wrapper and grabs another one out of the bag.

“Don’t
worry, I’m not that hard up for cash.”

“Not with your trust fund.”
I decide to let that one go, because what I do with my funds is my
business and I don’t owe her an explanation. Plus, would she
even really understand why I do what I do?

“Tasha, what made you want to go
to that party?” I try to keep my voice calm, but it slides
toward anger. I’m not angry at her, I’m just angry that
she put herself in that situation.

Crunch. Crunch.
Crunch. Tasha doesn’t say anything. Just another bite of
her taco, and a sip of water. Even if I take her home, no one’s
going to talk to her about this. How can they, when they’re
probably gone half the time anyway?

I’m not a pro at trying to get
information out of her, but I know from watching Jackson try and
lecture Shelby that it’s just a matter of finding the right
button to push. Keep digging, and eventually even the most relaxed
person will let out their secrets.

“I mean, look, I get it, frat
parties are a rite of passage, but don’t go to them alone. What
would have happened if you hadn’t called me?”

Still no answer, but the anger in her
eyes tells me I’m about to hit the right button.

“I would never forgive myself if
something happened to you. I walked in and saw that guy—you’re
my sister, I was ready to kill him. You have no idea how much red I
saw.”

She swallows her taco.

“What are you doing?” Her
voice is flat. Nothing I’ve said has even seemed to faze her.

“I know Mom and Dad aren’t
winning parents of the year anytime soon, but I think you have to
think about the choices you’re making. You’re smarter
than this, I know it.”

“You give me a ride, buy me a
taco, and suddenly you have parental rights? Is that how you think
this works? That we had one moment in a hospital and you do me a
solid and you can just walk back into my life like nothing’s
wrong? Fuck you.”

“Tash, I’m worried about
you. Mom and Dad and I may not be each other’s biggest fans,
but I am always on your team.”

“Cash, what were you thinking
when you walked out on us? Oh wait, I forgot, holier-than-thou
Cassius Ryan Gardner only leaves people he can’t stand to
morally be around. Sometimes people fuck up, but you can’t hold
that over them forever, especially when you bail first.”

Her words have my head spinning. “What
are you even talking about?”

“You like to pretend that you
walked out on our parents. You left
me
,
Cash. You walked out the door and you didn’t look back. No
card. No email. No phone call. You just left. You think you were the
first person I called to help me out tonight? No. You were the last.
Half of my friends were too busy to come grab me, and the others were
already so smashed it wasn’t like they’d be any help
anyway. So I had to hope that the brother who told me that he would
be there for me, actually would be there.”

“Tash…”

She crumples the taco wrapper and
chucks it into the bag. Proving she’s sober, she hops off the
hood and walks around to the passenger side door. “Just take me
home.”

I climb in the car and start her up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…I
had to do something for myself. To save myself.”

“Well, congrats. I hope you were
worth it.”

“I’m trying to apologize
here.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re right. I did leave,
and I’m sorry that I hurt you. When I left, it was because I
had to get out of a bad situation. Tasha, I guess…I guess I
didn’t think about that hurting you, too. You, aside from your
partying choices, are still my favorite little sister.”

She gives me a look. “I’m
your only sister.”

“Yeah, well, you beat out the
competition in utero.”

She laughs, and I have to hope that I’m
on my way to getting her back. If there’s one thing I’ve
learned in the past few years, it’s that family is important.
I’m finally in a place where I can help Tasha. I had to go it
alone, but there’s no reason Tasha has to do all of this by
herself.

“If you need me any time, day or
night, you call. I don’t care what you’re doing or what
you’ve done. Whether you need a ride somewhere or you just want
to hang out for the day. You call me.”

“Promise you’ll be there
from now on?

“Promise,” I say, slinging
an arm around her shoulders. She leans against me, and we’re
back on the road to being family again.

“Will you get me into your club?”

“When you’re twenty-one,
you can be on the list every night.”

“You suck,” she groans,
but her smile says she’s joking.

“Someone has to be responsible.
Let’s get you home.”

It’s weird driving down West
Paces Ferry. I try my best to avoid this section of Atlanta at all
costs. I haven’t been back to this side of the wealth divide
since I left. While Atlanta has grown and changed around me, this
place stays eerily similar. Houses get bigger, gardens turn over new
leaves, but this neighborhood is frozen in some sort of weird
cryogenic sleep. Even the people who live here are plastic, and more
concerned with their personas and public faces than what really
matters.

“Turn here,”
Tasha says, pointing to a small access road. I ruffle her hair. Of
course I know where to turn. “Hey, not the hair.” I poke
her side and she stifles a giggle. All these years and she’s
still ticklish. Sometimes it’s not so bad when things stay the
same.

Stopping the car under a pecan tree, I
stare through the wrought iron gate toward the mansion that looms in
the distance.

The access road was meant for servants
and gardeners, so that they could come and go without ever being
seen. What Emmett and Martha didn’t anticipate was that their
children would use it to sneak in and out of the house. We were too
perfect for that. For once, their stupidity was our gain.

It was how I stayed sane under their
demand of perfection. During the summer when I was home from boarding
school, I’d steal out the back, escape, and explore Atlanta.
While the pocket money I had could get me in anywhere, I found myself
searching out the unexpected. The bars and eateries off the beaten
path. It’s how I realized the effect of my parents’
decisions, because unlike my parents, who lived isolated in the
mansion surrounded by a moat of wealthy, self-involved clones, I knew
people who depended on a weekly paycheck.

“When did you learn this route
out of Palace Gardner?” I ask. Never in my life did I show this
to anyone, not even Tasha. She’d been molded into a mini-Martha
from an early age. Money, vacations, and decadence were Tasha’s
bread and butter. It was always the best and then better with her,
and never once did I think she’d want to break out of her ivory
tower.

“Since you started using it. I
was young, not blind. I noticed everything.”

“You good to get inside?”

“We’re going to have to
talk about you going parental on me all the time.”

I throw up my hands. “I’m
backing off. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Call me anytime.
I’ll tell you about the way out, through—”

“The tennis courts,” she
cuts me off, “but exiting through the old barn is better,
there’s more coverage.”

I stare at her.
“There’s an exit there?”

She smiles. “So much to learn big
brother, so much to learn.” She holds out her hand and I fist
bump her.

“You take care,” I tell
her. “And call me, OK? Whenever you need, no questions asked.
I’ll always be there.”

Tasha gives me the ghost of a smile.
“Thanks.”

She gets out and I watch her find the
removal post in the fence and sneak back inside.

Savannah

It’s a good thing the date ended
early—at least that’s what I’m going to tell
myself. Otherwise I might have screwed his brains out in the alley
where anyone could have seen. I’m guessing that’s against
not just the law, but the code of ethics for lawyers too. I would
have risked disbarment, but hell, it would have been worth it.

If Cash can make me feel like that with
one hand, imagine what he could do with both of them.

Or his cock.

I wish we’d been able to take it
to the bedroom and keep the night going. On the other hand, the bar
is his thing and would I want Cash getting upset if I had to run out
to help a client? No way. Things work both ways. Though it doesn’t
make going to bed alone any easier.

I take the cab home and change into my
PJs, then I pour myself a glass of wine and take a long sip. Now that
the lust is fading from my system, I’m realizing just how close
I came to losing my head. Improvising and spontaneity had gotten me
in trouble with Tanner. But then, I had stars in my eyes, thinking it
was the real deal. At least with Cash, I know exactly where I stand.

How did he put it? Chemistry. Instinct.
It’s a classy way of referring to a quick fuck, but now I
think, Cash wouldn’t take it fast.

No, he’d make me moan all night
long.

I pour more wine. The last guy that
made me come like that was Tanner…. I curl up on my couch and
turn on the TV, trying to push thoughts of Tanner out of my mind.

I went in blind with him—should I
do the same with Cash? Even if he is just a Mr. Right Now? At least I
know he’s not hiding any secrets: Cash is about as obvious as
they come.

Or is he?

My computer glares at me from the
coffee table. The inner lawyer wants to know all of the facts. A few
quick searches on the old Google and I could satisfy a lot of my
curiosity about Cash. Did he have old girlfriend pics on social
media? Were there babies I should know about? A former wife? Would it
hurt less if I knew going in? I shake my head, trying to dislodge
those thoughts. Not everyone is Tanner. Some guys are good. If my
best friend can find love in an ex-bare knuckle fighter, I have to
believe it’s out there for me, too.

No computer, no background check. Just
me, my wine, and the trashy joys of a Real Housewives marathon.

“I been out on the road so long,

on these old dirt roads,

just thinkin’ bout the girl I
left at home…”

The music breaks through the sound of
the TV. What fresh hell is this? I figure it’s just a passing
car stereo, but the music gets louder. Closer.

My windows face the street and I look
out—and there he is in the flesh. Standing on the sidewalk.
Guitar, boots, plaid shirt and jeans. Tanner Jakes. My very own
cowboy. Too bad I just want him to eat dirt right now

“Savannah!” he calls. “I’m
not leaving, and I will sing all night.” He starts up again. A
loud, off key rendition of his hit song. Cash was right; he does need
autotune.

I back away from the window as if it
burned me. He wouldn’t dare. He has a wife. A house. A white
picket fence. All he’s missing from the All American Dream is
the two point five kids. There is an entire life waiting for him
somewhere else. He can’t come tear mine apart every time he
feels like it.

I jump at a knock on my door. Tanner is
still downstairs, because no one’s let him in yet. And they’re
not going to. For now, I’m safe. Pausing the movie, I stumble
to the door.

On the other side is my neighbor from
across the hall, little old Mrs. Carson. She’s been in the
building since the love of her life passed away—and she’ll
tell you the story every chance she gets. Mrs. Carson is the type to
bake you cookies and watch who enters your apartment through the peep
hole, a southern gossip through and through. Her grey hair is wrapped
in tight curlers, held in place by a bright pink scarf.