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“Goodbye.” Braydon seldom let his mask slip in front of me, but when he’s been drinking, he’s insufferable.
“Don’t be a bitch, June. You know what your problem is, you think you’re better than everyone else just because you’re nice. Well guess what, Juney baby, nice is boring.”
The phone is removed from my hand forcibly.
Cash is standing behind me, his eyes filled with fury. He lifts the phone to his ear. “Who’s this?” he asks.
I can’t hear the reply on the other end.
“This is her new boyfriend,” Cash says. “You ever call this number again, I will hunt you down like the rabid fucking dog you are, rip off your dick and feed it to you. Is that understood? You keep June’s name out of your mouth and her number off your phone if you want to keep that shriveled piece of jerky you call a cock attached to your body.” He stabs the screen then hands me back the phone, his expression neutral.
“What the—?” I swallow. “Cash?”
He sits down, holding a bag of unopened barbecue-flavored chips. “Want some?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“You can’t just do that. You can’t just take my phone and…” Protect me. Care.
“Why didn’t you hang up on him?” Cash asks.
“I was about to.”
“You were about to.” He’s not buying it, and he tilts his head to one side, gritting his teeth.
“Yeah. I was saying goodbye when he started ranting.”
“And you decided to stay on the line because you’re a sucker for punishment?” Cash asks, setting the bag aside, unopened. “You need to stand up for yourself, June. Do what you want rather than what everybody else wants you to do.”
“Excuse me, but I literally left him. I—”
“If you won’t stand up for yourself then I will. I won’t let anyone talk to you that way, least of all some limp-dick rich boy out in Dallas.”
I get up from the porch swing to leave, and then it hits me. “Wait, what?”
“What?”
“You know about Braydon?”
“I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care to fucking know it,” Cash says.
“But you know that he’s rich and where he lives? How?”
“I was curious,” Cash says.
“So, what?”
Cash shrugs.
“You looked me up?”
He doesn’t respond but gets up as well and stands in front of me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, that enigmatic look in his eyes.
“June.” The word is a growl.
He steps closer, so that there’s hardly any separation between us. I can’t breathe at the intensity of his presence, but my skin tingles. I feel raw, exposed, like any movement he makes will shatter me.
