Against a Wall (Stonecut County, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

“He hates girls who dye their hair and pierce their noses.” “He bought me a beer so that’s a bold-faced lie.” Does Cash like dyed hair and pierced noses? Nope. Nope. Do not care. “He’s unemployed,” Cash says. “You’re talking about yourself.” “I’m self-employed,” he protests. “No, you’re not. Your clients bailed. You’ve been hanging out at my job all week.” He laughs. He has a nice laugh. It’s not thin, not mocking or biting or wry. It’s a full laugh. A free laugh. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be able to pay our bills just fine.” My stomach does a weird loop de loop. “I’m high maintenance. You can’t afford me.” “You’ve had the same pair of boots since eleventh grade.” How does he know that? “They are very durable boots.” I wish I was wearing them now. Despite feeling no pain, these high heels still pinch like hell. We’re rocking side-to-side, not moving our feet, both staring in the direction of the table with my purse. He’s holding me, whispering in my ear, but projecting his voice ‘cause of the music. It doesn’t seem like he has anywhere he needs to go. Or anywhere else he wants to be.