Page 70 of Off the Wall

But either way, her existence is irrelevant.

Cash made it clear—on more than one occasion—he’s not in the market for a relationship. And even if he were, thanks to his job, he doesn’t have time for love, which is everything I want. Then there’s the fact that he wants to move to LA to focus on pediatric surgeries.

To better serve kids.

(For the record, this little tidbit did nothing to mitigate my attraction to him.)

The truth is, Cash probably has cases booked for this very weekend. I’ll bet I’m already holding him back. He could be up now, pacing around the apartment, dying to get dressed and get on with his day.

On with his Nori-free life.

But nope, when I peek out of the bedroom, the living room is empty. Early morning sunlight is beginning to streak through the windows. There’s a pillow at one end of the couch, where Cash sat last night. On the other side is a blanket and sheet folded in a neat pile. Something skitters inmy stomach as I remember telling Cash why I don’t know how to swim. I spilled the whole story of my parents—of East and Becca and me—and Cash just listened. He didn’t heap a bunch of pity on me. That was a relief.

But he’s not out here now. And he isn’t in the kitchen, either. His work bag is still on the floor by the door though, and his keys are in the dish on the console.

So, okay. This must mean he hasn’t gone anywhere yet. He must be in the bathroom, then. As soon as the thought materializes, an image flickers across my brain of Cash with his shirt off.

Of Cash in the shower.

Of Cash …

Cut it out, Nori.

After what he went through for me last night, the man doesn’t deserve to be objectified. I mean, sure, I can’t help it if a quick visual sneaks into the highlight reel running through my head. But I’m not going to stand here imagining …

No. Just. Stop.

I need to let the poor man shower in peace. But I also need to collect my clothes from the bathroom. So I drop onto the couch between the pillow and the blankets to wait. Cash’s oversized sweatshirt slips off my shoulder again, so I quickly shove it back up. When I try to tuck a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, I encounter the wild rat’s nest there. This is what happens from sleeping on it wet. No brush. No detangler.

I must look like a wreck.

An irrational part of my brain doesn’t want Cash to see me all sleep-crusty and disheveled, so at the risk of permanently destroying my self-esteem, I hop up from the couch to check myself in the mirror. As I cross to the dining room, my abdomen tightens.

Mirrors and I haven’t exactly had a normal relationship lately. Then again, my body and my heart haven’t exactly been getting along either. At least the lighting in here is still early-morning dim, so I won’t be treated to a broad-daylight kind of glimpse. That could be horrifying. Still, I take a deep breath before hazarding a peek in the mirror.

Hmmm.

I take a step forward for a closer look. Cash’s sweatshirt is long enough to mask the droop of his sweatpants. But no matter how much I battle the neckline, half my shoulders are exposed on either side.

Losing battle.

I’ll give Cash five more minutes before I go knocking on the bathroom door. I’ll bet the man doesn’t even have clean clothes in there with him. If he comes out in a towel, I might not be able to?—

Whoa. Something shifts behind me in the mirror, a mere shadow of a reflection morphing and taking shape. I should be afraid, but a sense of peace washes over me instead, plunging inward, filling the emptiness. In the deepest part of me, I feel secure. Rooted in place. Immobilized.

I don’t think I could move now if I tried.

Closing my eyes, I surrender to the sensation of an invisible palm resting on my shoulder. Strong and stable. Totally warm and secure. Then slowly, tenderly, the fingers begin to move, just the softest of strokes, tracing a path of fire along my skin. One hand moves around the front of me, feathering down my throat to my collarbone. At the same time, a second hand draws my hair from the nape of my neck exposing the delicate skin there.

Then—out of nowhere—sweet, hot breath brushes my ear.

“I want to protect you, Nori,” a deep voice rumbles. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, before I can stop myself.

“You’re safe with me. Always with me.”

My eyes fly open, and Cash appears to be standing behind me in the mirror. His chin is in my hair, lips pressed to my ear, enveloping me in his embrace. My instinct is to leap away, but I don’t want the vision to end, because I know this isn’t actually happening.

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