Cash

by O'Brien, Megan

  I’d been working under a deadline for the past week and was beyond ready to wrap up my latest project.

  She deliberated for a moment. “Chocolate with banilla.”

  “Good choice.” I nodded, throwing the ingredients we needed into the cart.

  It was only in the checkout lane that I realized how deserted the store and parking lot were. After years living in San Francisco, with its bustling streets and shops, the quiet of Hawthorne was still an adjustment. For some inexplicable reason, my heartbeat thumped double time at the idea of walking with Riley to our car by ourselves.

  “Quiet night, huh?” I commented to the young woman ringing up my groceries.

  The woman shrugged, a bored expression on her face. “It’s a small town.”

  My reply caught in my throat as the Viking, or Cash Walker as most people referred to him, strode lithely through the door. It was really the only way to describe how he moved, with a masculine grace—a sense of ownership underneath each boot as he strode through the store.

  He was dressed in blue jeans and a black tee that molded to his chiseled frame, his blond hair down tonight, falling in messy disarray close to his shoulders. If it was possible, he was more handsome than the first time I’d seen him.

  “Damn,” the cashier breathed in appreciation, her gaze tracking him with a hunger I could relate to but hoped I didn’t display so blatantly.

  Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, my mind had moved to other things. Mainly, the dark parking lot I had to get across.

  “Is there someone who could help us out with our groceries?” I asked as her eyes remained trained on the aisle the Viking had disappeared down. “Excuse me?” I pressed. If there was one thing I’d learned, it was never to deny my instincts. No matter how ridiculous they may seem.

  Her gaze snapped to mine. “What?” she asked in confusion, eyeing my single bag of groceries in confusion.

  Riley squirmed in the cart, obviously ready to wrap up our grocery store adventure.

  “Is there someone who could walk me to my car?” I asked more directly, knowing I needed to get to the point and get my daughter home.

  “Oh, um, I can page the manager,” she replied as though I was crazy.

  And hell, asking for an escort in a town like Hawthorne, I probably was.

  Her eyes moved once again to Cash, who had emerged from the liquor aisle, placing a six-pack on the belt. I wondered if the poor girl would be able to remain standing long enough to check him out.

  I thought of how Emmie had talked about the club, how they were like a family. How they looked out for each other. Cash was part of that.

  “Thanks.” I moved toward the door, pulled Riley from the cart, and held her hand in mine.

  “What’re we waiting for, Mama?” she asked impatiently.

  “Just a second, baby,” I told her gently, watching as Cash nodded in parting to the blushing cashier and strode toward the door—where we were standing.

  “Um, hi.” I intercepted him feeling awkward and yet resolved in what I needed. If Emmie trusted him, I knew I could too.

  He looked at Riley and then up at me with a smirk. “No thanks, darlin’.”

  I blinked once. “Um, what?”

  “Not interested.” His smirk had turned to a sneer.

  I felt as though he’d slapped me across the face as I stared at him, baffled. “Why do I always confuse assholes for gentlemen?” I muttered to myself, not even caring I’d cursed in front of Riley, such was my state.

  “Miss, did you still need an escort to your car?” a man I assumed was the store manager asked, interrupting one of the most maddening and embarrassing encounters of my life. “I’m sorry, I was in back checking inventory.”

  Cash’s brow furrowed in confusion as I turned my attention toward the only gentleman in the vicinity. “Yes, thank you,” I murmured, my cheeks flaming with anger and embarrassment. “Let’s go, baby,” I coaxed Riley, gripping her hand in one hand and the grocery bag in the other.

  I didn’t spare a glance toward Cash as I shot a stiff smile toward the manager, following him out to the parking lot.

  Emmie had alluded to him being full of himself; she’d skipped the part about him being a total asshole.

  “Are we still making cupcakes?” Riley wanted to know as I strapped her into her booster.

  “Of course,” I assured her, determined to focus on what really mattered—what had always mattered. Riley.

  ****

  I pulled into the parking lot of the local gym the next day, eyeing the building with a mixture of hope and anxiety.

  After another sleepless night and the humiliating encounter with Cash, I was ready to work out some of my tension despite my exhaustion. I’d dropped Riley off at school and headed here, to a gym Emmie had recommended.

  At first glance, the gym itself was nothing fancy, a large open-concept space made up mostly of weight training equipment with cardio machines lining the walls. A quick look online had made it clear that it didn’t have any of the on-trend studio workouts that lined every block in San Francisco. But it was clean and close to the house.

  I’d been in excellent shape once upon a time, following professional athletes around the world as an outdoor photographer. But after everything happened with my brother and adopting Riley, prioritizing myself had fallen to the wayside. With this fresh start in Hawthorne, I planned to change that.

  I needed to.

  Once the monosyllabic beast of a man signed me up for a membership, I made my way to the treadmill, eyeing it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

  For years, running had been like breathing. There was nothing like the elation of pushing your body to its limit, of feeling free and strong. I missed it desperately and was terrified I wouldn’t get it back. That I couldn’t.

  It’s a fucking treadmill, Layla, I scolded myself, stepping onto the machine. I was grateful the gym was nearly empty at this early weekday hour as I started at a brisk walking pace and zoned out to the music filtering in through my earbuds. It was a seemingly small thing and yet felt so monumental, one of the first steps I was taking to reclaim my life and who I’d once been.

  Despite lack of exercise, I was trim, a function largely of being a single parent for the past two years. But the muscle tone was gone—the oneness with my frame and what it could do was gone.

  And dammit, I was getting it back. I punched up the speed a couple of notches, moving into a slow jog, more resolved than ever.

  Thirty minutes later, I’d slowed to a steady walk, willing some classic Janet Jackson to push me through my last few minutes. The gym had been empty when I’d walked in and I used the privacy to my advantage, letting my hands move to the music, rocking out to entertain myself through the final push.

  When I stopped the treadmill and stepped off, I nearly collapsed on my already wobbly legs.

  The Viking was doing pull-ups straight ahead of me. Wearing black gym shorts and a white tank with the sides cut out, his muscles gleamed with sweat as he pulled himself upward. His body was magnificent. Every muscle was toned and cut to perfection.

  He let out a low grunt of effort, and my entire body shivered in response.

  Jerk, he’s a jerk, I reminded myself. Even if he was a glistening body of male perfection. Even if the low grunts he made roused a nearly animalistic response in me I hadn’t known existed.

  Shit, maybe I needed a different gym.

  After a few moments where I stood hopelessly gawking, he dropped down and rubbed his hands together, looking satisfied. Hell, I’d be satisfied too if I’d just done a gazillion pull-ups.

  His gaze snapped to mine, and in that moment, I swore I felt an actual spark shoot through me. My intake of breath was embarrassingly loud in the quiet space. We stared at each other for a few moments, the energy snapping like a live wire between us.

  Then I remembered the night before, and my face flamed with humiliation. I turned away, disgusted with
myself for ogling him, and headed for the weight rack on the opposite side of the gym.

  I was lying on my back, my weights poised above me, when black shorts entered my periphery. My arms shook with a combination of surprise and too much weight.

  “Whoa there, chief.” His deep voice sounded as his handsome face came into view above me. “Need some help?” His brow arched as his large hands clasped mine, helping me with the weight.

  “No,” I gritted out in frustration, setting the weights on my knees and sitting up.

  He sat on the bench next to me, his gaze sweeping toward the treadmill and then back at me. “Nice moves.” His smothered grin earned a glare from me.

  “If you don’t like it, don’t watch it.” I shrugged with more confidence than I felt.

  He eyed me steadily. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

  I fought the full-body shudder his intensity incited. His look was nearly predatory as his gaze roved my body before locking eyes with me again.

  I looked away quickly, needing to break the spell for my own sanity. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, but that wasn’t it. Not really. It was just him. I’d never had this kind of immediate attraction to someone before. And the fact he was such an arrogant ass pissed me right the hell off.

  “Is there something you wanted?” I demanded when he continued to stare at me as though trying to figure me out.

  “Why’d you want an escort to your car last night?” he asked finally.

  The audacity of this guy, seriously. “None of your business,” I shot back.

  His brows rose as though shocked anyone would dare refuse him. It probably didn’t happen often, if ever.

  I stood up and with difficulty that I tried to mask, set the weights back on the rack.

  “Maybe I should help you with the next few sets,” he offered, smothering another grin.

  He might be an asshole, but my body didn’t seem to care about that, if my rock-hard nipples and pounding heart were any indication. Getting as far away from him as possible was clearly my best bet.

  “I—” A group of girls walked in, chattering loudly over the drone of the treadmills. Their eyes all immediately fell to Cash as they preened and pulled at their outrageously skimpy workout attire. It was obvious they’d come in hopes of seeing him.

  He looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed as he muttered something unintelligible.

  “I’ll just leave you to it,” I told him as the girls moved closer still.

  “Hi Cash,” one of them chirped hopefully.

  I didn’t watch their exchange, instead walking back past the front desk to my car, leaving him with his pack of admirers.

  Chapter 4

  CASH

  I watched the blonde with the stunning green eyes walk away, ignoring the pack of tittering girls trying to get my attention.

  Easy pussy was just that, easy. And boring.

  The blonde sparked my interest in a way a female hadn’t in years. I’d assumed she’d been hitting on me last night, and with her daughter in tow, no less. Hell, it had happened more than once before. But I’d been wrong. Way fucking wrong. She hadn’t felt safe, had been asking me for protection, and I’d responded like a dick. I’d thought about it all night, unable to sleep wondering why she needed help in the first place. She looked young to have a daughter, younger than me. I wanted to know her story. I was surprised how much.

  And now, after having those gorgeous green eyes turned on me with a mixture of vulnerability and fire lighting them, I was fucking obsessed.

  “Looks like you’re making friends,” Gunner chortled, coming to stand alongside me, his amused gaze on the spitfire’s back as she stormed away, her delicious ass swaying as she went.

  “Who is she?” I demanded.

  His brow rose. “Why? You’re interested?”

  I didn’t blame him for being surprised. I didn’t typically express interest one way or the other. Women typically came to me, as was evidenced by the three giggling around me now as I tried to work out. If I wanted someone to warm my bed for the night, I took the opportunity. More often than not, I preferred to be alone or with my brothers. “More than,” I confirmed with conviction.

  “Man.” He shook his head. “I think you should steer clear. Layla’s got a lot going on in her life. Plus, I don’t think she’s the one-and-done type.”

  My eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I’m after. Not with her. And why do you know so much about her?”

  “Em had me help her out with some legal shit,” he explained. “Her nan passed away, left her the house. Marty was pulling his typical shit, being pushy. I looked over the paperwork for her. Made sure it was straight.”

  I nodded, glad she’d had the help. I made a mental note to have more than a word with Marty. The man was a fucking weasel. “She have a man she’s running from?” I wondered out loud. Gunner looking into legal shit didn’t explain why she’d been so spooked the night before.

  “Don’t know,” he replied. “All I know is she’s got custody of her niece. Not sure what went down with that.”

  Her niece. It made sense why she looked so young. The fact she’d obviously taken on so much responsibility at a young age made me want her even more.

  “Appreciate you looking out for her.” I nodded. “I’ll take it from here.”

  He chuckled, his gaze swinging toward the exit Layla had marched through and back to me. “Oh yeah? Seems like you have your work cut out for you, brother.”

  I grunted in the affirmative. “Somethin’ tells me she’ll be worth it.”

  Chapter 5

  LAYLA

  Three days later, I sat in Francesca’s bakery, wanting a change of scenery while I finalized a pitch for new business here in town. I’d been avoiding the gym since the run-in with Cash and was getting cabin fever at the house. The sight of the boxes I had yet to unpack and the overwhelming quiet while Riley was in school were still taking some getting used to.

  Though I had yet to meet the woman herself, Francesca’s coffee and amazing baked goods could pull me out of any funk.

  When a motorcycle rumbled and my heart skipped a beat, I chided myself. There were a lot of motorcycle riders in the town of Hawthorne. It wasn’t likely to be Cash, and even if it was, I needed to control my damn self.

  Or not.

  When Cash appeared in the window frame, his sleeveless shirt outlining every muscle and tattoo, his powerful frame owning the bike with a masculine grace I’d never witnessed before, I had to swallow back a groan of appreciation. And curse my luck. Why did it have to be him? Of all the freaking bikers in town?

  His vibrant blue eyes turned toward the bakery and locked with mine. I nearly lost my tongue.

  Shit.

  I looked away as quickly as I could, but in that split second, I swore I saw him grin. When the sound of his engine cut out, I realized that he was stopping. Holy hell, was he coming in here? I forced my gaze to my laptop screen, the words blurring as my heart hammered in my chest.

  The door chimed moments later, and I refused to look up, both hoping it wasn’t him and knowing I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.

  “May.” I heard his deep voice greet my favorite barista. “Cup of coffee, please. Black,” he requested before taking the seat across from me as though he owned the place.

  And as was typical of our first two encounters, his bravado sent my cowardice fleeing and my frustration rising. “Can I help you?” I demanded with a raised brow.

  He grinned, his blue eyes shining in seeming delight. “Good to see you too, sweetheart. I’m Cash Walker, by the way. We were never properly introduced.” He held out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, I shook it.

  “Layla,” I replied.

  “Nice to meet you, Layla.” The way he said my name was incredibly intimate, his voice low and rough. My core clenched in response as I fought to not respond visibly.

  He cocked his head to the side as though assessing his next words. “Yo
u haven’t been at the gym.”

  The fact he’d noticed sent an unnecessary thrill through me.

  “No, I haven’t,” I acknowledged simply as May placed a cup of coffee in front of him.

  He nodded to her in thanks before turning those piercing blue eyes back to me. He leaned forward in his chair, his full, undivided attention a heady thing to contend with. “Why not?”

  The fact that he looked genuinely interested if not concerned had me biting back any notion that it wasn’t his business and answering instead, “I’ve just been busy.”

  He undoubtedly knew I was lying but still, his gaze softened. “You just moved from SF, right?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Small town.” He shrugged.

  “I keep forgetting that.” I wrinkled my nose, earning a deep chuckle from him. “Yes, I moved here a few weeks ago with my daughter. My nan lived here before she passed away, and we’re now living in her house.”

  “I’m sorry about your nan. I didn’t know her well, but she was well-liked in town and from my few encounters with her, it was clear she was a good woman,” he replied sincerely.

  His words momentarily disarmed me as I swallowed back a ball of emotion. “Thanks,” I managed. “She was.”

  He took a sip of coffee before asking, “How are you liking Hawthorne so far?”

  “Fine,” I replied simply. His curiosity baffled me, and I thought it best to cut our conversation short. “I should get going,” I said, gathering up my laptop and putting it in my purse.

  He pulled my phone toward him before I could stop him, typing something quickly.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded as he slid it back my way.

  “Putting my number in your phone. Next time you plan to head for the gym, text me. And if you ever need a walk to your car, you let me know. I have some making up to do,” he replied.

  I looked at him in surprise. There was no bravado, no playfulness in his tone. Only complete sincerity as far as I could tell. “Okay,” I replied, despite knowing I never would. “See you around.”