Cash. He stands a few feet away, one hand tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. He’s wearing a baseball hat. A backward baseball hat. Add to that his broken-in Wranglers and the clean white tee that stretches across his chest and shoulders in the most mind-bogglingly sexy way imaginable, and you have one very tall glass of water. Cash is a smokeshow when he’s doing his cowboy thing, no denying that. But in these neon lights, in that hat and those jeans, he is…epically, obscenely hot. My pulse riots, a bloom of pure, unadulterated desire spreading between my legs.
