The Wild Side: A Small Town Friends-To-Lovers Romance (The Wild Westbrooks Series) by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Author:Cassie-Ann L. Miller [Miller, Cassie-Ann L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Meghan

Almost there…Almost there…

My fingernails scratch at the shower tiles while my other hand holds the detachable shower head in place between my thighs.

Almost there. Almost fucking th—

With a startled yelp, I drop the shower head from between my legs and clutch my soapy boobs. That lightning struck so freaking close to my bathroom window.

Clearly an act of god, punishing me for getting myself off to my dirty thoughts about the man I promised was my best friend and nothing more.

Yes. That’s exactly what I was doing in the shower half a second ago, with delicious, forbidden visions of Cash flashing through my mind. Bolts of orgasmic pleasure had already begun to zap through my veins.

And then—bam!—a different sort of bolt flashed through the bathroom and tried to strike me dead.

I’ve got a one-way ticket to hell and I know it.

Guilt and shame bubble up as my not-quite-there-yet orgasm circles my soapy toes and gets washed down the drain.

My mom used to tell me to never shower during a rainstorm. Now, I understand why.

But seriously—it’s been raining non-stop this month, and a girl’s got to take care of business eventually.

Especially after Cash left me at my front door with a singeing regret in my soul and a throbbing ache in my core. How was I supposed to know there would be a lightning storm from hell?

Thankfully, I wasn’t electrocuted on the spot. I’m now dripping wet, hair full of conditioner, tripping over my poor cats as I make my way down my slippery-as-all-get-out stairs in total darkness.

Cash is on his way back to Chicago. Our time together is over. It makes my chest burn. My—ahem—‘activities’ in the shower earlier was a way to distract myself from this sense of loss.

Somehow I make it to the kitchen without breaking my neck. I rummage around, realizing I have too many junk drawers for my own good. I just need a flashlight. Or matches. Candles. Anything. A 19th-century kerosene lantern would do, at this point.

A loud banging on my backdoor nearly makes me drop my towel. Gripping the flimsy, tattered fabric, my eyes shoot up and find a tall, dark figure looming outside the glass door.

Oh, shit.

Storm.

Power outage.

Dangerous axe murderer.

This is that scene in every horror movie ever made. Right before the slutty female character—in this case, moi—gets killed off.

My killer knocks again, instantly sending me into cardiac arrest. A squeak escapes my lips and I prepare for my inevitable fate.

The man steps closer and peers inside. That’s when I realize it’s only Cash.

Gah. Of course. Come on, Meghan. What kind of murderer would knock before ruthlessly slaying you?

Rushing over, I flip the lock and slide the glass door open.

Cash pushes his way inside, chest heaving and rain dripping off his form. His eyes scan me from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

“No!” I laugh bitterly. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” I look him over. “I thought you’d be on the road by now.”

Agitated energy bounces off him. “I should be.” He blows out a heavy breath and finger-combs his wet hair out of his face.

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