Cash (Sexy Bastard #2) (16 page)

“Everyone.”

“Oh,” she says, more to
her phone than to me. She gives the house another look like at any
moment it might jump out and bite her. As soon as the look starts it
vanishes. Nervous, are you now?

Can’t lie, I’d
rather strip her naked in the car and go down her until she forgot
the party. And more importantly, the phone. I can’t get the
taste of her out of my head, and I’m convinced I need just one
more to make sure I’ve memorized it.

“You okay with that?” We’ve
all hung out together. She’s been to Jackson’s house
before, but that was before we decided to fuck each other. “We
don’t have to tell them,” I say, trying to keep my
voice casual.

“Of course not,” she winces
and backtracks. “I mean, the last time they just thought we
were making out and look where it ended up. We don’t need that
kind of hell.”

“That’s so not us.”

“Absolutely not.” We both
smile at each other. The last thing I need is getting into commitment
issues. This is too good to ruin with plans for the future. And that
future includes me untying the laces of her bikini and making her
scream my name at least twice. All I need is more, more, more.

“Let’s go before they catch
us.”

She laughs, and I drink in every
detail. The way her eyes sparkle with mischief and the small blond
curls escape their rubber band and blow about her face. I want to
pull out her ponytail, and run my fingers through the curls while I
kiss my way down her neck, while I tug the ties of her bikini loose.
But I have a feeling she may bite my fingers off. After the tense
moments at the track, we’re back in the easy flow of us. No
talk about the future or families. Just the two of us enjoying the
here and now—just like we should.

The party was by order of Cassie and
that meant for once she made the rules. Today’s only order of
business was that there was to be no discussion of a certain new
club. I could live with that; I had other ideas to occupy my time
with.

“Does work ever stop with you?”
I ask, playfully. Today was supposed to be about relaxing, and she’s
failing my number one rule. Savannah looks up from her phone and I
give in to my evil intents and pluck the annoying object from her
hands and slid it into the waistband of my board shorts.

“If you want something, all you
have to do is ask,” she says coyly, eyeing my lap.
Shit
her gaze has magic powers. “No need to take my
fucking phone.”

“I didn’t know they made
phones especially for that.”

She leans across the console of the car
and I try to keep my eyes trained on her face, but they wander to the
excellent view of her breast in her swimsuit. She runs her hand up my
thigh until it connects with her phone.

“They make things for everything
these days,” she purrs. She catches my lower lip with her teeth
and gives it a gentle pull. I follow her lead as she leans back into
her seat, wanting more of what she’s promised.

The door swings open and she steps out,
phone in hand, leaving me frustrated and hard in the front seat. She
leans down and looks at me with the devil in her eye. “Are you
coming?” She holds up the phone.

I relax back in my seat, trying to calm
the erection straining my board shorts. This woman is going to be the
end of me. Actually, strike that: she’s going to resurrect me
every time she wants sex.

“Not yet,” I say.
Focus,
I remind myself. This is just a thing. It might be the first thing I
want to repeat, but this is it.

“Maybe if you’re good,
you’ll get what you want.”

With that, I get out of the car. Savy’s
back on her phone, her fingers flying.

“So what is so important on that
magic box of yours?”

“Misty Singh.”

“She’s fantastic.”

“
You
like her.”

“Do I lose manly points if I say
yes?”

“No.”

“I like her music, but personally
I prefer blondes—with curls,” I say tugging playfully on
Savannah’s curls in her ponytail.

“My agent friend sent her to me.”

We climb the steps to the small front
porch, and Shelby already has the door thrown open. Beer in hand,
she’s arguing with Jackson, ready to storm out of the house in
a flashy exit.

“I don’t
see how it’s any of your business, Jackson, and if you say one
more thing about who I date, I’m leaving.” The moment she
sees us the mood shifts. Shelby’s face morphs into a brilliant
smile.

“You’re my sister, and who
you date is my fucking business,” Jackson says, loud.

“Savannah, finally some sanity,”
Shelby says, throwing herself at Savannah. I have half a mind to step
between them—I want to keep Savannah to myself. But the girls
are such good friends, and no one denies Shelby and gets away with
it. Jackson nods at me as the girls disappear around the house.

Jackson glares after his sister and
takes a long pull from his beer. “Never have
siblings—especially younger sisters.”

“Too late,” I say before I
can stop myself. I never talk about my family, but Jackson doesn’t
make a big deal.

“Is she dating yet?”

The thought hits me like sunlight
during a hangover. Tasha will not date. Not now—preferably not
ever. Not even when she’s married. Strike that, she’s
never getting married.

“She’s
just twenty,” I say. Too young to date, that sister of
mine.

Jackson laughs. “You want to keep
it that way, trust me.”

“At least my sister stays out of
my dating life,” I tell him.

“You don’t want to tell her
about Savannah?”

“We’re not—” I
mean to say we’re not dating, but it doesn’t come out.
Today could be counted as a date. We were getting sideways and having
a good time doing it, too. Dating complicates things. If I’ve
learned anything from watching Ryder and Cassie these past few
months, it’s that just as hot as they could burn, they could go
through some bitter fights. I prefer to skip those. No matter how
good make-up sex is supposed to be. I can get great sex anywhere
without the hassle of a fight.

Jackson slings an arm over my
shoulders. “You, my friend, need a drink.”

Best idea Jackson’s had all
fucking day.

Jackson and I walk through the house,
and we stop in the kitchen only long enough for me to grab a drink
before we head out back to what can only be described as heaven on
earth. Jackson’s pool area is the only reason I would ever want
to own a home and settle down. The pool and the bar he had installed
come straight outta this century’s
Guide
to Making a Man Cave
. It was also the reason we always end
up at his place. We planned Altitude over a long weekend when the
heat made us all sluggish and we needed to remind ourselves why we
loved ATL.

Watching Savannah sit on the lip of the
pool, her legs dangling in the water, fruity cocktail in hand, I
really want to invest in a house with a pool now. There are a million
things to do in a pool, and I want to explore every one of them with
her.

Cassie and Ryder are playing Parker and
Ruby in a game of chicken. Ruby’s a good match with Parker—at
least this time the redhead can’t flash him and lose the game.
It’s been a known downfall for us in more than one game. You’d
think by now we’d be immune to it, but there’s always
some way they sneak it in. Avery referees poolside, a large hat
covering her brown hair, protecting her fair skin from the sun.

“You think Savannah wants to
play?” Jackson asks.

“Not with you,” I say. Even
though I can see the bait Jackson’s laying, I step into the
trap.

“What if I ask her?”

“Not a chance in hell,” I
say and shove him into the pool. Avery calls foul as water rains down
on her, while Ruby and Cassie both promise sweet revenge. Before
Jackson can retaliate, I peel off my shirt and jump in after him. We
wrestle around, dunking each other and acting like five year olds.
Jackson finally tires and goes to grab another beer leaving me alone
in the pool.

I swim up to Savannah who’s still
sitting composed on the lip of the pool. She holds up her arms and
tries to lean back. I grab her wrist, ready to pull her in. “Don’t--”
she says, her balance completely thrown off. I steady her with my
other hand, tracing a path down her ribs to her hip.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Not after this drink,” she
says with a wrinkle of her nose. Can’t have that when I’m
around. I take it as a personal offense when people make faces at
their drinks in my presence. How dare I let them suffer when I’m
here to make their dreams come true?

“Something wrong with your
drink?” I ask. She offers it, and I pull myself up on the pool
to take a sip. Her eyes trail a path over my chest—yet another
reason to invest in a pool. The drink, however, makes me cough. That
is not a drink; it’s leftover fruit puke.
Like hell we’re gonna have drinks like that on my watch.

I hoist myself the rest of the way out
of the pool and grab whatever swill someone wanted to call a
margarita and chuck it onto the flowers.

“Watch the landscaping,”
Shelby says.

“Jackson, where’s
your liquor?”

“Where it always is,” he
replies.

“Good. I’m
taking it home, you’re abusing it.” I head for the den.
He keeps the okay stuff in the kitchen for whatever reason—cooking,
he says. In the den, I take out several bottles of liquor, tequila,
triple sec. Things I’m going to need if we’re going to
get this party started.

Heading back into the kitchen with my
spoils, I find the culprit behind the terrible drinks in the freezer.
Someone used those artificial ice pack freeze and serve drink mixes
to make the margaritas. How could they, when Jackson’s stocked
fresh limes and all the ingredients to make a perfect margarita?

It’s a crime, and when I find the
one responsible for these freezer bags they better hope I’m in
a forgiving mood.

Making do without a shaker, I start
fresh, chucking the store bought shit straight into the drain where
it belongs. Savannah comes in wearing a pair of cut offs and her
bikini top. I pause in the middle of squeezing limes.

What was I doing again?

She leans on the counter, and I can’t
help myself. I steal a glimpse of her in her bikini. How can there
still be acres of skin I want to explore? It’s like every time
I see her there’s somewhere else I want to kiss, suck, mark.

“Need a taste tester?” she
offers.

“If it’s you, absolutely.
If not, no.” I hold up the squeezed limes. “Wanna salt
the rims of the glasses?”

She takes the lime from me, her fingers
lingering on mine. Carefully, she runs the lime over the lip of the
glass before dunking it in a tray of salt.

“How is it that you and I always
end up around a tequila bottle?”

“Some of us are just blessed,”
I say with a wink.

Savannah follows me back outside with a
tray of glassware.

“Now that we’ve gotten rid
of your nasty drinks—which if you ever bring back to our family
dinner, I will take it as a personal insult and leave—now, let
the party begin!”

“Blame Shelby,” Jackson
says. “She was in charge of the drinks.”

“I was busy, sue me.”

“And this is why you can’t
date—”

“Savy, we need to discuss suing
Shelby.” I say, snagging a glass and pouring her the first
drink. And to shut down the fight between Shelby and Jackson. We
couldn’t put these two in a room without them arguing about the
color of a white wall. When it came to Shelby’s dating life,
Jackson thinks he has control of it and Shelby thinks Jackson eats
shit for breakfast.

Savannah takes a sip from it before
taking it from me. Shelby chucks a beach ball at my head, which I
duck. Years of living with Tasha made my reflexes lighting fast. The
two of them would probably be fast friends, and Jackson and I would
live to regret the days we introduced them.

“I’m not a trial lawyer,
but I think we could set something up.” Savannah sits down on
the bench next to me and props her feet up on my lap.

“Ugh, gag me,” Shelby says.
“You two are starting to get as bad as those two.” She
motions to Ryder and Cassie, who’s seated in his lap. Cassie
and Ryder don’t have time to respond because they’re too
caught up in each other.

“What is that supposed to mean?”
I say. Savannah and I are most certainly not like that. We’re
still individuals. “We haven’t
morphed into a four armed, four legged face mauling animal yet.”

“Screw you,” Ryder says,
getting in on the action. “Besides, you gonna hide the fact
that you two came together?”

“Ain’t fun unless someone’s
coming,” I say. Savannah laughs, but the group is a
little stunned by the commentary

“Let’s just eat.”

I lean in to Savannah. “As long
as you’re on the menu.” She smiles.

“Depends who’s serving.”

Dinner is just as loud and chaotic as a
night at Altitude. There’s plenty of food, and now that we got
rid of those freezer bags drinks, everybody is having a good time.
This is what it’s all about.

Ryder and I get stuck with cleaning up
after dinner, taking plates back into the kitchen, scrubbing down
utensils—doing the grunt work that Parker and Jackson hate.
It’s never been a problem for Ryder or me, we’re always
the pickup guys at the bar and Jackson and Parker are the set up.
It’s how we work best.

Mostly.

Right now, we're barely talking. And
it’s mostly my fault. I’ve been a dick these last weeks
as Emmett and Martha try one last time to reel me back in, and it’s
time to swallow my pride and get this over with.

“You good?”
I ask Ryder.

Ryder straightens up and crosses his
arms over his massive chest. He could still pound me flat if he
wanted to, though I would give him a good fight. “Didn’t
think you ever needed help getting started.”