“Oh, awesome!” Madison squeals, a genuine, happy smile plastered on her face.
“Perfect, let’s go.” I grin, and start pulling Payton down the hallway with me. “I’m Cash, by the way. That’s my brother, Kane, and you seem to already know Madison.”
“Yes, we go to the same dance class,” Madison answers.
We walk all the way to the front door before Payton makes one more attempt to get away. She digs her heels into the ground and shrugs her shoulders, but I simply tighten my hold and pull her with me through the entrance.
Madison and Kane are walking ahead of us, unaware of her struggle. Not that I would care if anyone saw. I’m about to pick her up and carry her to the car, when she huffs and finally picks up her feet again.
Leaning down, so my lips are only inches away from the shell of her ear, I say, “You’re not getting away that easy, tiny dancer.”
Her body shivers slightly, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the crisp air outside, or of my words. Maybe she is just cold. I should warm her, but I’m worried if I pull her any closer, I’ll crush her fragile-looking limbs.
“You can ride up front, Maddie. I’ll sit in the back with Payton,” I say when we get closer to the car.
“You sure? I don’t mind,” Madison offers, but I insist.
Opening the back door, I usher Payton into the backseat. When she is sitting, I lean down and buckle her up. I let my knuckles skim over her thigh on purpose, drawing another shiver from her body.
When I look up, her cheeks are red, and her pupils dilated. If Madison wasn’t in the front seat, I would shove my hand into Payton’s tights to see if she is as wet as I think she is.
As if the girl can read my mind, her face reddens another shade darker. With a smile on my face, I close the door and walk around the car to get into the other side.
Madison is chatting up my brother, but her voice is nothing more than background noise. All I can concentrate on is the woman sitting inches away from me. Payton is wringing her hands in her lap nervously, and I have the urge to reach over and clasp my fingers around hers.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Rigatoni’s, it’s downtown,” I explain. “You like Italian food?”
“Um, yes. Who doesn’t?”
“True.” I chuckle. “Rigatoni’s makes the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten. You’re in for a treat.”
And maybe after dinner, I’m in for a treat.