Page 52 of Cash

I realized reasoning with her was going to be impossible. Becoming increasingly frustrated that she was drunk and impossible to talk to, I gazed blankly at her. The contrast of tan flesh against the side of her black dress caught my attention.

I gestured in her direction. “You’re kind of falling out.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She forced a long, exhaustive sigh. “Nothing matters.”

The sound of a motorcycle’s exhaust caused my heart to rise into my throat. I tried to hide my excitement as I rose to my feet.

Jennifer remained horizontal, seeming impervious to the familiar sound.

“I’m sure it’s Dolla Bill,” she said flatly. “I’ve reached a point I’m about to give up. It’s not worth it.”

I glanced out the window, and then at her. “What’s not worth it?”

She tried to sit up, but only made it part of the way. Resting on one elbow and looking back at me with drunken eyes, she blinked a few times. Then, she shook her head. “Huh?”

The house began to shake. I turned toward the window. The sun had already set, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide the outline of Cash’s face as he pulled into the driveway.

I had questions I wanted answered. Getting rid of Jennifer, however, was going to require a stretcher or a wheelbarrow. Feeling slightly frustrated, I opened the front door just in time to see him lift his long leg over the seat.

He hung his helmet on the handlebars, looked at me, and grinned. “Good Evening.”

The front of his black tee shirt said, Zombies Eat Brains, Don’t Worry, You’re Safe. I laughed to myself and waved at him like he was a passing float in a parade, and then felt foolish for doing so.

I swallowed a lump of nervous energy and grinned. “Hi.”

“Dolla Bill! You’re a thief!” Jennifer screeched.

Oh, Lord.

“Jennifer’s here, and she’s drunk,” I whispered.

His jaw was covered in a five o’ clock shadow. Looking sexy as hell in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places, he sauntered up the walk. “What’s she yelling about?”

I sighed. “She’s drunk.”

He stepped onto the porch and looked me over. “You look cute.”

I was wearing an old pair of loose-fitting pants that were printed with polka dots, and an old concert tee I’d cherished since my early years. My hair was pulled into a ponytail and held together with a scrunchy I should have tossed out before Cash was old enough to buy beer.

In short, I looked like shit.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile.

“Fucking thief,” Jennifer muttered.

He peered over my shoulder. “Sounded like she said I was a thief.”

“She might have.”

He chuckled. “Unless she’s got overwhelming evidence, I’ll deny it.”

“She’s got nothing.”

“I heard that. The proof’s between my legs,” she hissed.

He stepped into the house and looked at her. She remained half sitting, half laying, and her left boob was hanging out of the armhole of her dress.

Embarrassed, and embarrassed for her, I tried to decide how to handle the situation.