Page 32 of Cold Foot Curse

“Oh my gah, never mind,” he gritted out.

“Wait,” Cash drawled out. “What. Ask me your question.”

Kade took a quick glance around and then leveled Cash with a look. “When you met Harley, what was it like for you.”

“Perma-boner.”

“I’m serious, man.”

“So am I. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, I couldn’t stop wishing I was with her, I couldn’t freaking sleep, I wanted to check in with her all the time.”

Yep. “I think I have that disease.”

“It ain’t a disease, man,” Cash said, sanding the surface of a cabinet door. “You’re just falling for her.”

“Well, how do I…you know…”

“Fuck her?”

“No! Cut it out of me.”

“How do you cut what out of you?”

“Liking her. You know, as more than a friend.”

Cash just stared at him like he’d sprouted an extra head.

“You know what? Never mind. This is a waste of my time.”

“I think you should just go over there, and take your shirt off, and show her your six pack. Seducing women is not as hard as you’re making it out to be.”

“I’m not trying to seduce her. I’m trying to give her space, to…you know…heal.”

“When the fuck did you get your therapist license? Go heal her…with your wiener.”

“I can’t do this,” Kade grumbled, walking away. He rubbed his hands roughly down his face and then pulled his protective glasses back over his eyes. Cash was a splinter on a good day.

“I bought us matching fanny packs yesterday,” Cash called after him.

“I can’t do this today,” Kade called without turning around.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and checked it for the four-billionth time in two days. She still hadn’t texted. The last time they’d talked on that loop was the picture he’d sent of him making a goofy face, and her clutching onto his shirt, and looking away from the camera. He’d looked at this picture a dozen times.

He’d gone to her house twice and barely been able to resist barging in and making up an excuse to hang out with her. The bike was in the front of the house in various positions both times he’d gone there, so he knew she was motoring around town.

She would text him when she was ready. Or not. Maybe she would go the whole two months quiet, and then leave and he would just be left here with this weird hole in his middle that didn’t make any damn sense at all.

This was how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to take time and space and process everything. That’s what he’d wanted from her. But he left her in the middle of a flirting session, thinking she would message him that night, and she hadn’t, and now he was second-guessing everything.

Fuck it.

He typed out,Pizza tonight?Send.

He stared at the phone screen like she was going to reply instantly. Get real. The typing dots appeared, and he nearly dropped the phone.

Nah, I’m already eating pizza.

The sting of rejection cut deep.I understand. Hope you are well.He hesitated and then hit send.

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