“He seemed really nice,” she says.
“Yeah. You would think that.” I roll my eyes. In the entire time I’ve known Cash, I’ve yet to hear him ever speak of Manhattan. For all I know he’s never even been there—he was just pretending so he could impress her and keep the conversation going.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “Nothing. You’re just a little … don't kill me for saying this … naive.”
“Well aware,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve spent my whole life being sheltered. I’m trying to undo all that damage. I’m trying to meet as many people as possible and experience as many different things as I can.” She takes a drink and offers me a slow smile. “You were one of those things. One of those experiences. When I told you the other night that it wasn’t about the sex, that it was about the liberation … that’s what I meant.”
“Huh.” I stare straight ahead at the flickering TV and the sports highlights that reel across the bottom, and then I take a drink.
A moment of silence passes between us.
“What? What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, “but I was thinking about—"
I'm seconds from telling her how much I respect her for stepping outside her Park Terrace comfort zone when in walks fucking Cash McConnell.
“They weren’t looking for me, bro,” he says, scratching at his temple before reclaiming his chair next to Brighton.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I release a hard breath as the two of them pick up right where they left off.
“Have you ever done New Year’s Eve in Times Square?” Cash asks.
“Never. I’ve always wanted to though,” she says. What she doesn’t say is that her parents probably never let her.
“Oh, man. You have to do it at least once in your life,” he says.
“So you’ve done it?” she asks.
I shoot him a look. “I heard you have to wear an adult diaper when you go. Is that true, Cash?”
Both of them look to me, neither of them speaks.
“You know,” I say. “Too many people. Not enough toilets. You could lose your spot. I just heard people wear diapers.”
Cash gives me a death stare and mouths the words, “shut the fuck up.”
I can’t help but laugh.
And then, overcome with machismo and the early stages of alcohol coursing through my veins, I slip my arm around Brighton's shoulders.
Cash's hardened expression vanishes. He sees now that she's with me. Or at least he thinks she is. And that’s all it takes to get him to walk away.
He’s not going to waste his time and energy if he won’t be reaping those rewards later tonight.
As soon as he’s gone, Brighton flicks my arm off of her.
“You can thank me later,” I tell her with a wink.
Her full lips press flat and she shakes her head before taking a sip of beer. “You’re such a jerk.”
“I was doing you a favor.”
“You were acting like a territorial alley cat,” she says. “I was having a nice conversation and you pissed all over it.”
“Right. But did you notice as soon as he thought we were together, he walked away without so much as a goodbye? He wasn’t interested in you, Brighton. Just the possibility of fucking you.”
She’s quiet now, which I interpret as a sign that she knows I’m right.
“Would that bother you?” she asks. “If I slept with someone else?”
I scoff, lifting my bottle to my lips. “Of course it would.”
“But we’re not together.”
“I know that,” I take a drink. “I’m just not into the whole sharing thing. If I’m fucking you, you’re fucking me and neither one of us are fucking anyone else.”
“That sounds like a relationship to me,” she says. “Thought you didn’t do relationships and dating and all that bullshit.”
She lifts her fingers, air-quoting the word, “bullshit.”
“You can’t have it both ways,” she says.
“So you’re saying if I want you to sleep with me exclusively, you want me to be your boyfriend?”
Part of me thinks she’s messing with me, trying to point out the fallacies and loopholes in my self-made clauses. The other part of me doesn’t want to call her bluff.
As much as I don’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend, as much as I loathe the entire concept of dating and relationships, the idea of Brighton giving another guy those sparkling hazel eyes, those pillow-soft lips, those long legs and dangerous curves makes me see red for half a second.
The mental image of Brighton's arms draped over Cash, of Cash’s hands exploring her body, plagues me for a moment, sending a boil to my blood, but I shake it off, down the rest of my beer, and slip my hand into hers.
Leading her out of the living room, she asks, “Where are we going?”
“Back to my place.”
Brighton digs her heels into the ground and wrenches her hand from mine. “Maybe I don’t want to go yet. Maybe I’m having a nice time and I’m not ready.”
I get it.
She wants to assert her autonomy and not let some jackass tell her what to do since everyone’s been telling her what to do her entire life.
But I’ll be damned if I sit around here another couple of hours, watching these other jackasses look at her like she’s ripe for the picking.
“Come on. Let’s go.” I wave for her to follow me.
She stays put.
“Brighton,” I say.
Her arms fold across her chest. “Madden.”
There’s a rare, devious glint in her eyes. “Say it.”
“Say what?” I scoff.
“You’re jealous,” she says. “You’re jealous because I was talking to someone else. And that means you like me.”
“Can we not?”
“Oh, but we must. I’m not leaving until we do.” She fights a chuckle. Good to know at least one of us is enjoying this shit show.
“Just tell me what you want me to say.” I throw my hands in the air. “Because the sooner I say it, the sooner I can get you home and do the kind of things I refuse to let another man … like fucking Cash … so much as think about doing to you.”
Brighton’s expression morphs from ornery to satisfied and she all but lunges for me, jumping into my arms.
“You so like me, Ransom,” she says as I carry her back to my GTO. “It’s okay if you can’t admit it yet.”
Yet.
Even if I did like her, I’d never admit it to anyone.
Not her.
Not even myself.
Twenty-Three
Brighton
* * *
I’m surprised he’s letting me lay in the crook of his shoulder. We’re technically cuddling, but I don’t dare point it out. I wouldn’t want to spook him. God forbid he actually accepts the fact that he likes this.