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I stare at the words on the page, reading them again.
I love you, Cash Taylor.
June loved me. June loved me and she left because of it. She loved me and never told me. She loved me and never sent this letter.
And I was the idiot kid who thought she didn’t care, didn’t want me, never would.
How many times had I wanted to ask her out, but been too chicken shit to try? Too afraid that she’d reject me because we were friends, and I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship?
The letter shakes in my hand from the pressure of my grip. I walk out of Alex’s room and shut her door quietly. And then I’m down the hall and in front of June’s bedroom.
Twenty-Six
JUNE
There’sa knock at my door. Cash.
I set my book aside, marking my place with my bookmark, check my reflection in the mirror and then go open the door.
Cash is there, holding a sheet of paper, fire burning in his eyes. “What is this?” he asks, thrusting the page toward me.
I take it from him and scan it.
My stomach drops at the words I wrote years ago. The words I didn’t have the guts to say.
“What is this?” Cash repeats. “You love me?”
“Cash.”
“You love me?”
“Cash.”
“You loved me.”
“Why are you so angry?” I drop the letter. “It doesn’t matter how I felt or—”
Cash grabs the side of my face, his thumb on my chin. His grip is gentle but firm. “Answer me.”
Shivers travel down my spine. “What?”
“You loved me?”
His grip tightens, his thumb pulling on my skin, tugging my bottom lip down. “The truth, June.”
“Yes,” I murmur. “I loved you. I wanted you. I—”
Cash grasps me by the waist and pulls me toward him. His lips meet mine, and I melt against them.
The kiss is hot and greedy. He parts my lips and takes what he wants from me, his hands running up my body to cup my breasts.
I moan against his mouth, and he breaks the kiss, pressing a finger to my lips. “Not too much noise,” he says, tapping the door shut with his foot. “I haven’t even started yet.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. His words are too much. It’s like he’s caressing me with them. The letter lies forgotten on the floor.
Cash drags that finger down my lips, parting them. “Such a pretty fucking mouth.”
I try my best not to whimper.
