Knock Love Out (A Sensual New Adult Crossover Romance) by Pella Grace
Authors: Pella Grace
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myself busy.
Cash orders another drink for me when a waitress comes around. The two shots sit on the table before us. He picks one up and hands it to me, gathering the other for himself.
“To dancing—whether it’s on rooftops or shitty clubs,” he toasts.
I clink my glass to his and follow his lead, tipping it back.
Cash smiles, relaxing into the couch, pulling me against his chest. It’s dark and I’m appreciative, because his mouth is suddenly near mine. The loud music dissipates, the percussion a backdrop to the warmth of his breath. The slight scruff on his face. He taps his lips to mine three times before he pinches my chin between his fingers.
“This is ours.”
He takes one last swig of his beer and then pulls me up. The song is slower and I’m so, so grateful.
I like his hands on the small of my back and the soft pecks in between whispered lyrics I watch his lips produce. His arms around me. The way girls half my age look at him and he doesn’t look back. Right here. He’s right here .
Three more drinks and I am brave enough to dance to a faster song. Then another and another. Two more drinks and all I know is Cash has to carry me in his arms to the car. The motion is terrible, but amazing.
Gingerly, he sets me on my feet as we find the parking garage. His car. I slump into the leather seat and laugh without knowing why or caring. He puts the music super loud and I suddenly love it.
I have no idea what it is but I freaking love it.
The music dims. “You hungry?”
I laugh louder than needed. “Are you kidding? I could eat twenty-four hours a day nonstop.”
Cash smiles, touching my cheek affectionately. “Want to go to my place? I could cook you something.”
I take off my seatbelt, turning toward him. “If you’re trying to get in my underwear you could just say ‘Lilla, I want to have relations with you’ —oh my word!— relations ! Who thought of that word? So stupid! Relations. Relations ! We are gonna have relations.”
He cups my cheek. “I should’ve cut you off five Lemonade Shooters ago. Not that I don’t find you adorable, Honey-girl.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because it’s the truth. And you deserve the truth.”
“How am I a Honey-girl ?”
“You’re sweet. Delicious.”
“I want a turkey sandwich with mustard and French fries.”
Cash laughs and I love it so much. Shifts gears. I lean against him, head on his shoulder.
“Lil, put your seatbelt on. I’m already driving a neon sign. I really don’t need to get pulled over, considering I’d probably flunk a fucking breathalyzer. Please?”
“Drinking and driving is very bad, Cash.”
Cash shakes his head. “I’m good, just not legally speaking.”
A yawn escapes me. “ I’m sleepy.”
***
His keys jingle as he unlocks the door, allowing me entrance into his apartment. Three steps and I’m rendered still as lights flick on, illuminating something unexpected.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Lil. I’m sure you were hoping for Xbox, empty pizza boxes and dirty laundry everywhere?”
Pretty much.
But no.
This place is … honestly? It puts my house to shame.
Two leather sofas. A glass table with some sculpture thing in the middle. Neat stacks of magazines and, of course, art on the walls. It smells great too. A little lemony and floral. Shiny hardwood floors. Can I move in here?
I hear the friendly sound of a fridge door opening.
My stomach speaks up.
Cash’s head is ducked down, looking for something.
“If you have to pee the bathroom is down the hall,” he pulls away from the fridge with an arm full of things, nodding towards a darkened hallway.
I do have to go, but honestly? I’m really just super curious about what that room looks like.
And you know what?
It is just as nice as the rest of his home. Sigh of epic proportions. Everything is gleaming clean and organized. He even has nice hand towels. Crap, I don’t even have nice hand towels. Who is this weirdo
Cash orders another drink for me when a waitress comes around. The two shots sit on the table before us. He picks one up and hands it to me, gathering the other for himself.
“To dancing—whether it’s on rooftops or shitty clubs,” he toasts.
I clink my glass to his and follow his lead, tipping it back.
Cash smiles, relaxing into the couch, pulling me against his chest. It’s dark and I’m appreciative, because his mouth is suddenly near mine. The loud music dissipates, the percussion a backdrop to the warmth of his breath. The slight scruff on his face. He taps his lips to mine three times before he pinches my chin between his fingers.
“This is ours.”
He takes one last swig of his beer and then pulls me up. The song is slower and I’m so, so grateful.
I like his hands on the small of my back and the soft pecks in between whispered lyrics I watch his lips produce. His arms around me. The way girls half my age look at him and he doesn’t look back. Right here. He’s right here .
Three more drinks and I am brave enough to dance to a faster song. Then another and another. Two more drinks and all I know is Cash has to carry me in his arms to the car. The motion is terrible, but amazing.
Gingerly, he sets me on my feet as we find the parking garage. His car. I slump into the leather seat and laugh without knowing why or caring. He puts the music super loud and I suddenly love it.
I have no idea what it is but I freaking love it.
The music dims. “You hungry?”
I laugh louder than needed. “Are you kidding? I could eat twenty-four hours a day nonstop.”
Cash smiles, touching my cheek affectionately. “Want to go to my place? I could cook you something.”
I take off my seatbelt, turning toward him. “If you’re trying to get in my underwear you could just say ‘Lilla, I want to have relations with you’ —oh my word!— relations ! Who thought of that word? So stupid! Relations. Relations ! We are gonna have relations.”
He cups my cheek. “I should’ve cut you off five Lemonade Shooters ago. Not that I don’t find you adorable, Honey-girl.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because it’s the truth. And you deserve the truth.”
“How am I a Honey-girl ?”
“You’re sweet. Delicious.”
“I want a turkey sandwich with mustard and French fries.”
Cash laughs and I love it so much. Shifts gears. I lean against him, head on his shoulder.
“Lil, put your seatbelt on. I’m already driving a neon sign. I really don’t need to get pulled over, considering I’d probably flunk a fucking breathalyzer. Please?”
“Drinking and driving is very bad, Cash.”
Cash shakes his head. “I’m good, just not legally speaking.”
A yawn escapes me. “ I’m sleepy.”
***
His keys jingle as he unlocks the door, allowing me entrance into his apartment. Three steps and I’m rendered still as lights flick on, illuminating something unexpected.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Lil. I’m sure you were hoping for Xbox, empty pizza boxes and dirty laundry everywhere?”
Pretty much.
But no.
This place is … honestly? It puts my house to shame.
Two leather sofas. A glass table with some sculpture thing in the middle. Neat stacks of magazines and, of course, art on the walls. It smells great too. A little lemony and floral. Shiny hardwood floors. Can I move in here?
I hear the friendly sound of a fridge door opening.
My stomach speaks up.
Cash’s head is ducked down, looking for something.
“If you have to pee the bathroom is down the hall,” he pulls away from the fridge with an arm full of things, nodding towards a darkened hallway.
I do have to go, but honestly? I’m really just super curious about what that room looks like.
And you know what?
It is just as nice as the rest of his home. Sigh of epic proportions. Everything is gleaming clean and organized. He even has nice hand towels. Crap, I don’t even have nice hand towels. Who is this weirdo
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