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“You’re singing.”
“Humming.”
A hesitation, another biting down on her bottom lip. “Why don’t you do it anymore? Sing?”
If it was anyone else asking, I wouldn’t answer.
“Cash?”
“Because of what happened,” I say. “The band broke up.”
I sway her back and forth, staring at how beautiful she is. That light she’s always had shines from within her.
“We broke up because Olivia fucked the drummer.” The words come out bland and emotionless because I don’t feel anything for them anymore. Either of them.
June’s eyes widen and it takes her a moment to respond. “I had no idea. I’m sorry, Cash.”
“Yeah.” Because we stopped being friends. “Found out about it just before Olivia discovered she was pregnant. We got a paternity test, and when I realized Alex was mine? No going back. I didn’t want to. But that isn’t the reason I stopped singing.”
“It’s not.”
“No. I just lost the love for it. Lost the reason I started singing in the first place.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get it back?”
I stare at her hard, and a warm thrumming starts up in my chest. “I think so.”
She smiles.
The pressure between us returns, and the words of the song, the pounding of the drums, and the memories, are undeniable. June’s body is tight against mine, soft curves pressed against my hard lines, and I have to take a breath to stop myself from kissing her again.
The dance floor disappears around us. It’s just June. June’s delicious citrus scent mingling with salty ocean air. A moment we’ve never had before and one I want to keep going forever.
But the song ends.
June steps out of my grasp, and I can feel the lack of her in my arms. She gives me a polite smile and starts to walk off.
I take hold of her forearm, and she stops.
“Cash?”
I’m aware of the bar again, the people staring. My sister is wide-eyed over on the sand, sitting with Belle and Marci.
“Come home with me,” I murmur.
“What?” June can’t hear me over the music. She steps closer.
I brush her hair back over her right ear, lean in. “Come. Home. With. Me. Now.” I watch gooseflesh spread down the side of her neck, over her collar bone, beneath her top.
She hesitates then looks up at me, her eyes flicking left and right. “My purse.”
I walk over to the table where the girls are seated and grab her purse. “Evening,” I say.
None of them respond.
I return the purse to June, and then I place a hand at the small of her back and walk her out of Longhorn’s toward my pickup.
Twenty-One
