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Unbroken (The Monroe Family Book 9) by Nicole Dykes (1)

Chapter 1




1 year later . . .


ash, get your ass up!” I storm up the spiral staircase of his massive home in Dallas before reaching the door to the master bedroom. I knock loudly. “You better be dressed because I’m coming in.”

I push the door open and find Cash laying sprawled on his bed in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. It’s nothing new. I've grown accustomed to seeing Cash Phillips in next to nothing many times over the last year, his body on full display for anyone that wants to look.

And judge me all you want, of course I’ve looked.

Cash is, without a doubt, serious man candy. He's wiry but still manages nice muscle tone. His hair is always neatly trimmed, with enough on top to curl into a messy bedhead look. He's recently started sporting a little scruff on his face, and his body has sexy tattoos all over.

The man screams sex appeal, and that's why he's extremely sought after in the racing community from track groupies to multiple ad campaigns.

And it’s truly only fair, since I’ve caught him staring at my ass more times than I can count.

“Cash, get the hell up! We have a plane to catch!” I nudge the bed, and he stirs, but only to roll over and tuck his head under the pillow.

Damn it. It’s like dealing with a teenager.

I wouldn’t call our relationship strictly professional. Somehow over the last year, he’s become my best friend.

I don’t talk to Michael, and Cassie still hates me. So, it’s pretty awkward to see the Monroes. Not to mention, I’m now over eight hours away by car. I text with Alex here and there, but that's about it.

I’ve seen Michael from afar at several races. He was added to the team shortly after Cash and I left, but he is on probation for what is left of the season. They’re on the same racing team and in the same racing organization. Even though they’re always at the same races and events, I’ve managed to keep busy elsewhere whenever Cash goes to talk to him. I need to keep my distance for so many reasons, but we’re in the heart of racing season now so that will be more difficult.

“Cash, don’t make me get ice water.”

“Fuck, Dani,” he groans under the pillow and pokes his head out to look up at me. “Why do you keep scheduling flights so early?”

“It’s the only flight they had, and you're a grown man. You can set an alarm and get your ass up at a respectable time.”

He raises into a sitting position. “I’m glad I hired you to keep my ass in line, but fuuuck.”

He scrubs his hands over his tired face, and I plop down on the bed next to him. “I didn’t tell you to bring home some track groupie and stay up all night doing God knows what.”

He chuckles and drops his hands to his sides. “Oh, you know exactly what we were doing. Don’t play cute with me. I’ve heard the stories.”

I playfully shove his shoulder. “Fuck you. What stories?”

He shrugs and stands up from the bed, grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor. “I heard you weren't that much different than me, much more like a dude when it comes to sex. Plenty of cocks in your henhouse.”

I pick his phone up from beside his bed and toss it at him. “Asshole.” He chuckles as he catches his phone easily. He’s not wrong though. That definitely used to be true once upon a time. Back then, I didn’t care who I slept with and didn’t bother to get to know them. “Yeah, I guess I kinda was that way.”

He flips on the light to the connected master bathroom but turns back to me, a mischievous grin playing in his lips. “Until Michael Monroe and his magic cock came along.”

I’m gonna kill him. He knows I hate talking about Michael. The last man to crush me. "Cash." My tone is a serious warning.

He throws his hands up in surrender. "I know, he was more than that."

It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. It was just supposed to be sex—hot, crazy, sweaty, earth-shattering sex, but still, purely physical. I pick up a t-shirt that looks clean and toss it to him. “Just get ready, Cash. We have a long weekend ahead of us.”

He gives in and walks in the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on and go downstairs to wait for him.

My foot taps nervously on the wood floor of his living room, thinking about this weekend.

Why the hell did I agree to this?



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