Screwed Read online

  “No, Kristy brought me. I should find her.”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “But you just got here!” She tried to stand. Cash rose at the same time, and when one of her skinny heels slipped on the rough stone patio, she started to go down. With a little squeak, she grabbed for the chair and missed.

  Strong arms caught her waist and kept her from hitting the ground. Cash pulled her up against him. “Damn, darlin’. You’re right. We better get you home.”

  “Shit.” She closed her eyes. “I am so embarrassed.”

  “Hey, I got you. It’s all good.”

  He was big and muscled and warm. “You’ve kept in shape since you played football in college.” Oh sweet baby Jesus in the lap of Mary. She was totally shnockered. She shouldn’t be saying things like that to Cash. She shouldn’t be noticing things like that about Cash. “We’re friends, right?”

  He loosened his grip on her, and she caught the twitch of his lips as she turned to face him, still close enough to smell his cologne, a scent already familiar to her, though tonight it smelled especially enticing. “You smell good.”

  He muttered something under his breath. “Come on. Do you have a purse or something?” He began to lead her across the patio, and she held onto his arm, grateful to have that because her feet weren’t cooperating.

  “I think so.” She frowned.

  Inside, Cash paused to survey the club. “There’s Kristy. Stay right here. I’ll tell her we’re leaving.”

  “No, I want to talk to her. I have to…” What? She rubbed her forehead. “Thank you. Thank her. I have to thank her.” She grabbed hold of his arm again and maintained her balance as they walked. She could hold her liquor, and she could do it in four-inch heels.

  “You know what the problem is?” Cash asked. “Other than you’re as drunk as Cooter Brown on the fourth of July?”

  She giggled. “What’s the problem?”

  “Those shoes.” He nodded at her Christian Louboutin pumps. “Look at those heels. They’re so skinny it’s a wonder you can walk at all.”

  “I learned how to do that in Miss Lily’s Classes for Young Ladies.”

  “Valuable life skills.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I tried.”

  “Hey, Kristy.” Cash tapped Kristy’s shoulder where she stood talking to some people.

  Kristy swung around and beamed at him. “Cash! You came!” She gave him air kisses.

  “I’m leaving, though. Taking Callie home.”

  Kristy blinked and looked between them. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m not feeling so great.” Callie tried to smile reassuringly at her friend, although her stomach was heaving and she was getting a little concerned about losing the contents of it on the dance floor. That would not be decorous.

  “You sure?” Kristy looked at Cash and bit her lower lip.

  “Yeah. It’s all good.”

  “Thank you, Cash. I do need to stick around and pay the bill.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” Callie said.

  “Oh no, honey, we did this for you.” Kristy’s eyes squinted with concern. “You do look a little…tipsy, hon.”

  Callie sucked her bottom lip briefly, trying not to sway on her heels. “I think I should be insulted.”

  Kristy turned her worried gaze back to Cash.

  “Don’t worry.” He clasped Callie’s hand again, and damn that felt good. “I’ll make sure she’s okay. Come on, little lush.”

  He tugged her toward the private room.

  “I just thought of another one.” Callie hiccupped delicately.

  Cash shot her a frowning glance. “Another what?”

  “Joke. How do you know your wife is a good housekeeper?”

  After a pause, he said, “How?”

  “After the divorce she keeps the house!” She burst into a gale of laughter.

  “Oh my fuck,” he muttered.

  “Get it? I’m a good housekeeper! Because I kept the house.” She giggled again.

  “We are so out of here.”

  Chapter Two

  Cash led Callie—still laughing her ass off at her own joke—to his truck, holding on to her to keep her steady, which wasn’t easy on those crazy heels. Maybe he should have picked her up and carried her.

  Maybe he should never have gone out onto the patio to find her. Maybe he shouldn’t have even come to this crazy party. As always, seeing Callie was both sweet and bitter.

  Suddenly, her giggles turned to sobs. Aw fuck.

  “I’m sorry.” She gave a huge sniff. “I’m a mess tonight.”

  A gorgeous, sexy, hot mess. Yeah. “It’s okay, Callie. I’ve seen you drunk before.”

  “You have not!”

  “Uh, yeah. Remember that long weekend on South Padre Island?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “And spring break in Cancun?”

  “You were the one who walked into the patio doors and nearly broke your nose.”

  He stifled a grin. “We’re not supposed to speak of that.” He opened the door of his vehicle and helped her inside. Once in the driver’s seat, he sighed as she fumbled unsuccessfully with the seat belt, then leaned over to fasten it for her.

  Her hair smelled like warm spices and vanilla—exotic, feminine, and hypnotic. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her long, silky hair as he fastened her seat belt.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He shifted back to his side of the vehicle and started the engine.

  He kept an eye on her as he drove, hoping like hell she wasn’t going to puke in his truck. He wasn’t squeamish about much, but vomit was one thing that got to him. That time in college when one of his frat buddies had hurled all over the living room floor…yeah, he’d had to run to the bathroom and upchuck, too.

  Callie went quiet, and moments later a sideways glance told him she’d dozed off. As he drove, he took advantage of her slumber to study her, narrowly avoiding a rear-end collision at one point—her softly parted lips, her long eyelashes, the skirt of her dress riding up on her smooth thighs.

  Luckily, they made it to her house in the Memorial neighborhood without crashing his truck. He pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the big two-story house with bay windows, high steps leading to an arched front door topped with a circular window. The fixture over the front door shed warm light onto the landing.

  “Hey, darlin’, we’re home.” He reached over and set his hand on her slender shoulder to give her a gentle shake.

  She lifted her head and blinked at him, hair hanging in her face. “Home?”

  “Yeah.” He jumped out and rounded the vehicle to open her door. As she slid out, her dress—short enough to begin with—rode even higher on her legs. She slipped her arm through his, and he led her up the steps, where she dug around in her little purse, found her house key, and handed it to him to open the door.

  She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. “God, I just want to go to bed.”

  “Nearly there.” He pushed open the door and followed her in. Once more, she stumbled, bumping against the table in the foyer, setting a big vase of flowers wobbling. “Jesus.”

  “Damn.” She heaved a sigh. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not. Come on. I’ll help you upstairs. Wait. Sit down.” He gently pushed her to sit on the second step from the bottom and crouched in front of her. He eased her shoes off and tossed them aside. “There.” Climbing the polished hardwood of the stairs in those heels, in that state, was going to get her neck broken. He lifted her back to her feet and steadied her, then turned her and held her as she slowly climbed the steps.

  He followed her into the big master bedroom. The room where she used to sleep with Beau. “You okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay.” She yawned. “Thank you for bringing me home.” She walked over to the bed and did a face-plant. The dress was high enough that he could just see the bottom curve of her ass cheeks.
/>   He swallowed and looked away. “Hang on, darlin’.” He jogged back downstairs to her kitchen. He knew which cupboard the glasses were in after years of helping himself to beers or tea from the fridge. He also knew where the ibuprofen was. He carried two tablets and a big glass of water upstairs.

  He set the glass down and nudged her, still prone on the bed. “Hey, Callie. Take these before you pass out.”

  She lifted her head. “What?”

  “Sit up.”

  She groaned, rolled over, and pushed up. She swallowed the pills and handed the glass back to him.

  “Drink it all.”

  She huffed, then drank. “There.”

  “Okay.” He took the empty glass and eyed her. “Uh…you gonna sleep in your clothes?”

  “I’ll change in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” He still hesitated. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “The room’s spinning a little.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Get some sleep.”

  He paused at the door and looked back at her in the dark room. Heat filled his belly, and his forehead furrowed. She was out again, in her black lace dress, all her shiny brown hair spread around her head, arms up and under her pillow. Well, sleeping in your clothes wasn’t the worst thing you could do. He just hoped she wasn’t going to be sick. He left the door ajar and headed back downstairs, fighting the unreasonable urge to stay and make sure she was okay.

  She was an adult, twenty-six years old, a divorced woman who’d just spent months traveling the world alone. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Except when she found a cockroach in her mud room. Or when her garage door opener broke and she couldn’t get her car out of her garage. Or when her toilet wouldn’t stop running.

  He had to leave her alone. He had to stay the fuck away from her.

  He let himself out of her house, locking the door behind him. As he drove to his condo not far away, he reflected on the tears he’d seen when he’d spotted her out on the patio, looking lower than a gopher hole. She’d tried to deny it, but her sadness yanked at something inside him.

  He gripped the steering wheel. He was still so fucking pissed off at Beau for what he’d done to Callie. Yes, he and Beau were friends. Yes, they were business partners. Cash had been able to bury that anger in order to keep going with their lives, but things had changed between him and Beau.

  He’d known about his friend screwing around with other women. At first he’d just suspected it, but then he’d caught Beau with a woman. Like Callie’s mother, Audrey Sutherland, apparently Beau hadn’t seen a problem with it and expected her to just carry on.

  As for why Cash hadn’t told Callie… Christ.

  He rubbed his face with one hand, the other still on the wheel.

  There were about a million reasons he hadn’t told her, and they were all fucked up.

  …

  The next morning, Cash woke before eight even though he’d been out until nearly two in the morning. He just couldn’t sleep much later than that, even on weekends. He laced up his running shoes and went for his usual Saturday morning run before the temperature and humidity got too high. Running and football had become his way of dealing with crap. And sometimes, when he pushed until his muscles burned and his lungs strained, maybe even a way of punishing himself.

  As his feet pounded the pavement, his thoughts went back to Callie. She was no doubt still in bed and probably wasn’t going to feel great when she did get up.

  He was going to go check on her.

  He blew out a particularly harsh breath. He could try to talk himself out of it, but it wasn’t going to do any good. He needed to make sure she was okay.

  An hour later, he returned to his condo, dripping with sweat, some of the tension gone from his body. He showered, dressed in faded jeans and an old UT T-shirt, then made himself a bunch of toast and peanut butter, which he ate sitting at the kitchen island while scanning news on his smartphone.

  He’d promised his mom he’d come by her condo to figure out why her thermostat wasn’t working, so he had to go there first. When he and Beau had started making serious money, he’d bought his mom a new condo not far from his place, where he could keep an eye on her. It was a huge step up from the crappy apartment she’d moved them to after his parents’ divorce.

  “Hey, Mama.” He greeted her with a hug.

  “Cash. Come in. Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.”

  “Just had breakfast.” He smiled at her. “So what’s new?”

  “Hmm. Well, your sister has a new boyfriend.”

  He frowned. “What? Who is it?” Ginnie was a junior at Texas A&M.

  Mama smiled. “I only know his name—Kevin.”

  “She’s graduating next year. She needs to focus on schoolwork.”

  “Uh-huh. She’s also nearly twenty-two years old. Old enough to have a boyfriend.”

  “I guess.”

  Ginnie had been ten and he’d been sixteen when their father had decided he’d rather be married to the woman he was having an affair with than to their mother, and had left. He’d moved to Dallas, and they’d had minimal contact with him since then. At sixteen, Cash had been left with his brokenhearted, somewhat helpless mother and a younger sister who needed a father, so he was used to looking after both of them. And he was used to ignoring his own pain. He’d learned a hard lesson from his father leaving.

  “What’s new with you?” Mama asked.

  He talked about work, the bid they were putting together for a big project for Sutherland Industries, to build a new substation at one of their oil refineries. He knew Mama didn’t really understand a lot about what he did, but nonetheless pride beamed in her eyes as he talked and had a look at her thermostat. “New batteries,” he muttered.

  “Oh. I didn’t know it used batteries.”

  He repressed his smile. “Hey, your birthday is next month,” he said. “Isn’t this the big five-oh?”

  Mama laughed. She didn’t have an issue with age. “Yes, it is.”

  “What do you want to do to celebrate?”

  “Oh, we don’t have to do anything.”

  “Sure we do. This is a milestone birthday. We should have a party.”

  “That might be fun.”

  Cash liked the idea of a birthday party for his mom. He’d talk to Ginnie and maybe to Mom’s friends Barb and Eleanor. Between them they should be able to come up with a plan and a guest list.

  “But just a nice dinner with you and Ginnie would be lovely. If she could come home for a weekend. Maybe we could meet the new boyfriend.”

  “Great idea.” Yeah, he’d want to check out this dude if Ginnie was seriously into him. “Okay. That’s fixed. Anything else you need done?”

  “There is one more thing. I bought a new set of shelves for the laundry room, and I started trying to put them together, but I got so frustrated I gave up.”

  There was always something else. But he didn’t mind.

  It took him an hour to get the shelves put together and set up in the little laundry room. “You want me to get rid of these?” He indicated the old shelves she’d taken down from the walls.

  “Oh, if you could, that would be great.”

  “Sure. I have my truck.” He carted the shelves down and dumped them in the back of the truck. “Okay, Mama, I have to get going.”

  “Where are you off to now? Please tell me you’re not going to work.”

  “No. I’m going over to Callie’s.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes lit up with curiosity.

  “She kind of tied one on last night celebrating her divorce.” He grimaced. “Just gonna check on her.”

  “Mmm. I see.”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “I know.” She held up her hands.

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thank you, Cash. You come for dinner one night next week, okay?”

  “If you’ll make your pot roast.” He grinned.

  She smiled,
too. “I can do that.”

  After he left Mama’s place, he headed to Callie’s, mentally kicking his own ass the whole time. People survived hangovers, for chrissakes, he didn’t need to be so worried about her.

  He made one stop on the way there, then rang the doorbell at nearly noon. She should be up.

  She answered the door moments later, yep, looking a little pale. Still gorgeous, of course. She couldn’t be anything but. Even with her damp hair pulled up into a messy bun with pieces hanging out of it around her face, shadows hugging her lower eyelids, and a smudge of something white on one high cheekbone, she was beautiful.

  “Cash. What are you doing here?” Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Please come in.”

  He held out the bag. “Here. I picked up chicken and biscuits and sweet tea from Mama Maybelle’s. Everyone knows that’s the best hangover cure there is.”

  “Oh, bless your heart!” She reached eagerly for the bag. “I need this so bad.”

  “I figured.” He gave her a wry smile as he walked in. “Thought I should check on you. You were pretty blasted last night.”

  Not only had she been drunk, she’d been crying. He fucking hated Callie crying.

  She touched a hand to her temple and let out a sigh. “I hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing.”

  “Memory’s a little fuzzy?” He followed her into the big, bright kitchen, his eyes dropping to her ass in snug black yoga pants as she rounded the big island. The kitchen was huge and white, with a mile-long counter along one wall, big windows overlooking the ravine and bayou across the back wall, and a large white marble-topped island in the middle. He took in all the clutter on the island—not one but two huge KitchenAid mixers, big bowls, bags of flour and sugar, some of it dusted across the marble, an open carton of eggs, and bricks of butter. Callie loved to bake, although why she was whipping up what appeared to be a dozen cakes when she lived alone was a puzzle.

  “Um, yeah.” She set the paper bag on the island and peered at him. “Did you bring me home last night?”

  “I sure did.”

  “Thank you.” She opened the bag. “Did you buy enough for two?”

  “Yep.” He grinned and slid onto a stool. “You think I’d let you eat chicken and biscuits from Mama Maybelle’s without me?”