“Relax.” I stop in front of him, close enough to make him sweat. “I’m not here about that.”
His shoulders drop, but his eyes stay wide. Paranoid. I notice the white powder crusted under his nose, the blown pupils. He’s not just smoking weed anymore. He’s strung out.
“Someone fucked with the strip club last night,” I say. “Painted dicks all over it.”
Cash blinks slowly, processing. Then he laughs, but it doesn’t sound right. “That’s pretty damn funny, isn’t it?”
I don’t smile. “Who did it?”
The laughter dies. He takes a drag. Fumbles it. Casts make it hard to grip anything. “I can’t be sure—” He’s avoiding my eyes. “There’s a startup gang that hangs out at the Broken Bottle. That dive bar over on 19th? I hear they meet up on Friday nights.”
Three days from now. I can wait. This doesn’t feel urgent.
“Good work.” I clap him on the shoulder, and he flinches like I hit him. “Stay out of trouble, Cash.”
I walk away, already planning my Friday night. Show up at the bar. Put some fear into a group of rowdy kids who need to learn what happens when you disrespect Andretti property. Easy. Probably the simplest thing I’ll do all week.
26
SIERRA
It’s beena few days since Matteo told me about his stepdad, and things have been... quiet.
Not bad. Just careful. He leaves early for business he won’t explain, comes home late, and when we’re together, there’s a distance I can’t quite bridge. Like he’s waiting for me to see him differently now that I know what he’s capable of.
I don’t. If anything, I understand him better.
But I don’t know how to tell him that when he barely meets my gaze.
This morning, I woke to another sparse text:Business. Back later.
I stared at that text for way too long, trying to decode hidden meaning that probably wasn’t there.
So I did what any reasonable woman avoiding her feelings would do. I put on a swimsuit and threw myself into his pool.
The water is perfect. Cool enough to chase away the desert heat, warm enough that I don’t gasp when I sink beneath the surface. I float on my back, staring up at the endless blue sky, and try very hard not to think about how comfortable I’ve become in this house. In his space. In this life that isn’t really mine.
The waterproof bandage on my arm pulls slightly as I float. I try not to think about that either.
I’ve been in the water maybe twenty minutes when the sliding glass door opens. I right myself, treading water, and there he is, my fiancé. Swim trunks slung low on his hips, that broad chest on full display, scars and ink and all that dangerous muscle moving toward me.
My mouth goes dry despite the fact that I’m literally soaking wet.
“Hi.” I aim for casual. I probably miss by a mile.
He pauses at the pool’s edge, studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it, because some of the tension in his shoulders releases.
“I usually start the day with a swim,” he says. “Had to leave early. Need to get some laps in.”
“Don’t mind me.” I gesture vaguely at the water. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
He dives in with barely a splash and starts cutting through the water with powerful strokes. Back and forth. Back and forth. Muscles flexing, water streaming off his broad shoulders, all that controlled power on display.
I try to give him space. I really do. But it’s honestly unfair how good he looks doing something so mundane, and watching him is the kind of thing that scrambles a girl’s brain.
Ten laps in, I’m bored. Restless. A little reckless.
I drift into his path, timing it perfectly so he has to stop or crash into me. He pulls up short, standing in the shallow end, water streaming down his face.
