Page 43

The despondent note in his tone tugs at my heart. I know he loves his job—especially when he’s working on expansion projects. Those days tend to end long after the sun sets, because he’s too caught up in blueprints to take notice of the time.

Those are the days I stay to help him, even after he tries to send me home.

The server returns with our plates, breaking through the heaviness of our conversation. Cash ordered risotto, and I opted for lasagna. We’re quiet for a few minutes as we eat, gazes flicking up every so often and crashing together.

And this is starting to feel more like a date instead of a dinner between two colleagues, or two friends, even. I think about this Friday and my date with Kaden.

If I can only let my guard down long enough, maybe it’ll be fun. The thought makes me want to groan. Going out with Cash’s brother is too much of a bad idea to be considered fun. But he held up his end, since the band is playing at his club in a couple of weeks, so I need to keep my word and suck it up. Who knows, maybe it won’t be so bad.

Maybe some nothing-serious-kind-of-fun is what I need. Am I even the type of girl that can do that? I have no idea, but I think it’s time I find out. Because pining for a man I can’t have is more than pathetic. It’s unhealthy and wrong.

And dating a carbon copy of him is right?

I squash that annoying righteous voice into a pancake.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head,” Cash says with a teasing smile. “What’s on your mind, Jules?”

“Things I shouldn’t be thinking about.”

His eyes darken, following the movement of my fork as I shovel a bite of lasagna into my mouth. After swallowing, I lick the sauce from my lips. My mind is screaming retreat, retreat, retreat! But my mouth has other ideas, because my next words betray me.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I want to be that fork.”

I bring another bite to my lips. He’s openly watching me eat, his mouth slightly parted as storm clouds fill his eyes. His foot nudges mine under the table.

We should stop this. We’re several levels past flirting. We’ve fallen headfirst into eye fucking each other across the candlelit table. And now we’re playing footsie like fucking teenagers.

“Just dinner, you said.”

“That was my intention.”

“Was?”

“My intentions go out the window when it comes to you.”

“I think that’s something we have in common.”

Which makes our behavior irresponsible.

“I’m sorry, Jules.” He pulls his foot away. “Seems I’m saying that a lot to you lately.”

“You’re not the only one at fault here. I said yes to dinner.” A heavy beat passes as I weigh my words. “And I answered your text last night.”

He lets out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t have sent it.”

“We have a lot of ‘shouldn’ts’ between us, Cash. All we can do is move forward.”

As if coming to a silent agreement, we drop the subject and finish our meals. The end of our time together approaches, and instead of prolonging temptation by ordering dessert, he asks for the check.

And he pays the whole damn thing, despite my protests. If I’ve learned anything about Cash these past few weeks, it’s that he has a stubborn streak as strong as our attraction to each other.

“I can walk you home,” he says as he ushers me out of the restaurant.

Jesus, if that’s not asking for trouble, I don’t know what is. He can’t quite meet my eyes, which tells me he’s thinking along the same lines as I am.

Privacy.