In all honesty, he was less upset over what was no doubt a misunderstanding with Carson and more upset about the way Jen’s parents had behaved. Jeez, those two treated her like she was a huge disappointment to them, a total failure because she’d yet to find her career path, and the admiral’s barbed remark about Jen’s “silly” pictures had seriously grated. After seeing her photographs, Cash knew there was nothing silly about them. Hell, he still couldn’t believe she wasn’t doing it professionally, and now that he’d seen firsthand how talented she was, he damn well planned on encouraging her to look into photography opportunities.
Someone
needed to offer some encouragement, seeing as she didn’t get any from her folks.
It bothered him that she let them undermine her confidence and make light of her skills, but when he’d asked her last night why she didn’t stand up to her family, she’d shrugged and said something about “picking her battles”.
Jen was indeed pacing when Cash entered the bedroom a couple minutes later. She fired an impatient look in his direction and said, “I picked out an outfit for you.”
He glanced at the bed—yep, she’d laid out some clothes—and raised his eyebrows. “Um. Okay.”
“To save time,” she added hastily. “I’m not making some controlling statement about your fashion sense.”
Speaking of fashion sense, he suddenly noticed what
she
was wearing, and his brows rose even higher. Rather than the tight-fitting jeans, cute tops and sexy shoes he’d become accustomed to, she wore black yoga pants, white Adidas and a snug hooded sweatshirt in a dark shade of blue. And a baseball cap. Nope, couldn’t overlook the
baseball cap
.
An alarm went off in his head. “Where exactly are we going, sweetheart?”
“The Gaslamp. I wanted to drop off a few resumes.”
“Then why are you dressed like Sporty Spice?”
She huffed out a breath. “I’m applying to a sporting goods store. I figured I’d dress the part, show them that, ah, I’m into sports.”
Suspicion swarmed his gut. His gaze shifted to the clothes she’d picked out for him—jeans, black hoodie and yep, a baseball cap. Okay, this was weird.
Deciding he didn’t like the WTF nature of this situation, Cash dropped his towel and flashed her a grin. “Why don’t we do the resume thing tomorrow and spend the day in bed instead?”
Jen didn’t bat an eyelash, not even when he gave his hardening cock a long, firm stroke. Huh. No reaction at the sight of his goods. She was definitely a woman on a mission today.
“Or…we can hand out resumes,” she said before turning to the door.
Sighing, he reached for a clean pair of boxers from the laundry basket on the floor, then dressed in a hurry, donning the clothes Jen had left on the bed. He even put on the damn hat, mostly because he was curious to find out where Jen was taking him that would require them to wear matching hoodies and caps. Sporting goods store, his ass.
His unease grew once they left the apartment and got into his car. Jen seemed even more agitated now—avoiding his eyes, biting her lip, tapping her short fingernails on the stack of resumes in her lap.
“Okay,” he grumbled. “Why are you acting like a crazy person?”
“What are you talking about?” she said in an overly cheerful voice. “I’m acting normal.”
He shook his head, deciding to give up. Might as well let this insanity unfold naturally.
Ten minutes later, they reached the Gaslamp District. Cash lucked out and found an empty parking space in front of a meter, but not even his impressive, borderline-superhuman parallel parking job inspired a reaction from Jen.
After he fed the meter and locked the SUV, he glanced at the small coffee shop they’d parked in front of. “Want to grab a coffee?”
She looked so thrilled that he grew even more suspicious. “Yes, I would love a coffee.”
Cash made a move toward the café, but she quickly grabbed his arm. “Not from here. I’m in the mood for Starbucks.”
He shot her a strange look. “Okay.”
They took off down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians as Jen set a brisk pace more suited for running the Boston Marathon.
“What’s the rush?” Cash asked in annoyance.
“Craving an iced mocha, that’s all,” she replied cheerfully.
The Starbucks was five blocks away, but at the breakneck speed they were going, they reached it in three minutes flat. Cash headed for the door, but Jen yet again intercepted him. Her blue eyes were glued to the storefront, scanning the glass like a hawk focusing on its prey. All of a sudden, a cross between a squeak and a hiss flew out of her mouth, and then she tugged on his hand and dragged him toward the side of the building.
Just like that, Cash had officially had enough.
“What the
fuck
is going on?” he demanded.
Shamefaced, she met his harsh gaze. “Okay, so… Don’t be mad.”
He groaned. Someone starting a sentence with “don’t be mad” was
never
a good sign. “Why are we here, Jen?”
“Look in the window.”
Frowning, Cash peered around the corner. Every table in the coffee shop was occupied and he scanned the patrons with military precision. Three older women laughing over iced coffees, a lone student reading a thick textbook, a group of businessmen chatting…
Son of a bitch
.
He rapidly moved out of sight and glared at Jen. “Are you fucking kidding me? We’re
spying
on Carson?”
“Don’t think of it as spying. We’re…discreetly monitoring his movements. You know, doing some recon.”
Cash raised his hand to run it through his hair, only to collide with the brim of his baseball cap. Make that his
disguise
. And he suddenly noticed that Jen wasn’t carrying her resumes. She must have left them in the car, which confirmed that she’d had an ulterior motive this entire time.
“This is ridiculous. Let’s go. I’m not spying on your brother.”
Her lips tightened in an angry line. “Did you happen to notice that he’s not alone?”
He frowned. “He was sitting alone at the table, Jen.”
She crept along the brick wall and peeked around the building again, then beckoned him. “Look again,” she said flatly.
Cash stole another glance and cursed under his breath. Shit, she was right. Carson’s back was to the window, but Cash had a clear view of the auburn-haired woman now occupying the small table. She must have stepped away when he’d looked over the first time.
From his vantage point, he noted that Carson’s companion was average looking, but those long auburn tresses and the remarkable rack beneath her V-neck top definitely upped her sexy factor.
Jen sidled up to him and made a dismayed noise. “What the hell is he doing with that woman?”
“Maybe they’re just friends.”
No sooner did he finish that sentence than the redhead reached across the table and gripped Carson’s hand. Her face took on an intense expression as she said something to the blond SEAL.
Cash caught Jen’s look of outrage. “Friends hold hands sometimes,” he said feebly.
She ducked back into the alley, a cloud of fury darkening her face. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”
Cash didn’t argue. He also didn’t sing what was becoming his new favorite tune:
there has to be an explanation
. So what if that cute redhead had taken Carson’s hand? That didn’t mean a damn thing.
Still, he couldn’t shake the uneasiness swimming in his gut as they walked back to the car.
After he settled in the driver’s seat, he glanced over at Jen and sighed when he noticed the stiffness of her shoulders. “This doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart. I’m sure if you ask Carson about it, he’ll have an explanation.”
“And what if the explanation is that he’s
cheating
on Holly?”
Cash had no answer for that. Damn it. What the hell was Carson doing? All this sneaking around wasn’t painting the guy in a positive light.
“God, poor Holly,” Jen murmured. “Do you think I should tell her?”
“No,” he said immediately. “Talk to your brother first. If this is all a misunderstanding, you don’t want to cause any more problems by getting Holly riled up.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She went quiet again, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft and weary. “Seeing that sucked, Cash.”
He swallowed. “I know.”
“But…but at least it kind of reaffirms my decision, you know?”
“What decision?” he asked roughly.
“Not to be a military wife. I mean, look at what Holly and Carson are dealing with. Fighting, unable to connect or communicate.” She rubbed her temples as if warding off a headache. “My parents’ marriage was the same. My dad was always gone, and Mom had to do everything on her own. It got better once he retired, but his being home now doesn’t make up for all the times he wasn’t. And yeah, I get that relationships require work and compromise, but relationships should also be a partnership. How can that happen when one partner is gone half the time?”
He didn’t have an answer for that, either.
“At least we won’t ever get to that point.”
Cash’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
“We’re just having a fling,” she reminded him. “We don’t have to worry about ending up in a Carson-and-Holly situation.” She reached for the stack of resumes she’d left on the dash. “Anyway, there’s no point in going home just yet. Since we’re already here, I may as well hand out some resumes, huh?”
With that, she hopped out of the car, leaving Cash feeling utterly unsettled. He knew her words shouldn’t bother him. It was just a fling, exactly like Jen said.
Getting out of the car, he followed Jen down the sidewalk, trying not to dwell on the confusing emotions spiraling through him, or the way his chest painfully constricted when he thought about having to say goodbye to this woman.
Jen spent the rest of the afternoon updating her blog and trying valiantly not to stress over what she and Cash had seen earlier. The notion that Carson might be an adulterous whore made her want to drive to his apartment and lay into him, but Cash had convinced her not to talk to her brother until she cooled off a little.
Probably a good idea. She and Carson rarely saw eye to eye on anything—get them in the same room together and they were bound to argue. But she didn’t want to fight with him about this. She wanted a mature, adult conversation—in which he explained why the
hell
he’d been holding hands with another woman.
“You okay?” Cash asked as he collected the white cardboard containers from the dining room table.
They’d ordered Chinese for dinner, but Jen hadn’t tasted a thing. She’d spent the entire meal staring at her cell phone and battling the urge to call Carson.
“Maybe I should call him now,” she said without responding to the inquiry.
“Or maybe you should call him tomorrow like we agreed. You’re still too pissed—I can see it in your eyes.”
“Aren’t
you
pissed?”
“No, because I maintain there’s a reasonable explanation for what we saw.”
She helped him clear the table, wishing she shared Cash’s confidence in her brother. Cash, however, hadn’t been around when Carson was in his manwhore prime, while Jen had had a front-row seat.
Her mouth flattened as she carried the leftovers into the kitchen. First thing tomorrow, she was confronting her brother, and he’d better have a damn good explanation.
Cash must have sensed that she’d boarded the angry train again, because he held out his arms and said, “C’mere.”
As if a magnet drew her to him, she sank into his strong embrace, shivering when his lips brushed over the top of her head. His woodsy scent enveloped her, his powerful arms providing the rush of soothing tranquility she’d needed. God, whenever this man held her, she turned into a puddle of mush.
“No more thinking,” he said, running his hands over the small of her back. “Let this go until you talk to Carson, okay?”
She exhaled slowly. “Fine, but I might need you to distract me. Like a sexy kind of distraction.”
He chuckled. “The sexy distraction will have to wait. Dylan’s on his way over, remember?”
“Oh yeah, football. I forgot.”
“You don’t mind, do you? I could always cancel.”
“No, don’t do that. He’s already on his way.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek and stepped out of the embrace. “I’m going to hop in the shower. If you want some guy time, I can hang out in the bedroom tonight.”
Cash tugged on her ponytail and brought her mouth to his again. “No way. You’re hanging out with us and watching the game. It’ll help get your mind off this Carson situation.”
“You sure I won’t be intruding?”
He chuckled again. “Trust me, Dylan will love having you around.”
Right. Dylan, AKA Cash’s go-to threesome pal. At the memory, a flush heated her cheeks.
Cash clearly didn’t miss the blush because he offered a dry grin. “No threesome tonight,” he assured her. Then he arched a brow. “Unless you want one…”
Her breasts and pussy tingled in response. “Are you serious?”