I have no idea.
But I cross the room to find out.
Chapter Ten
CASH
ISHOULDN’T BE here.
I don’t do this.
But here I am, knocking on her door, knuckles rapping too loud in the quiet hallway, hoping—praying—she answers it.
The plate of cinnamon buns trembles in my hand—fucking trembles.
With what? Nerves? Excitement? Fear?
Or all three bundled into one head-spinning little knot in my chest, I’ve never experienced before.
Either way, I’m standing here frozen, in a ball of uncertainty and sticky glaze sliding against my thumb.
The door opens.
She hasn’t changed. She’s still wearing that T-shirt clinging to the curve of her breasts. Cotton soft. Worn thin. Hasn’t brushed the damp tangled hair above her ear.
And damn, if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hey.” She half leans against the frame, shoulder first, like holding herself is an effort.
“Hey.”
Neither of us moves for a long second.
A long, long second.
The air between us is electric, charged, buzzing in my ears, like the moment before a storm breaks.
“I brought cinnamon buns.”
She glances down at the plate, lashes sweeping her silly skin.
When her eyes meet mine, my grip tightens on the plate, knuckles whitening. I can barely keep my hands to myself. I can barely keep my hands to myself.
“You can set them there.” She casually points at the nightstand, barely moving her arm and clutching the door as she slides it open enough for me to slip inside.
