Against a Wall (Stonecut County, #2)

by Cate C. Wells

He’s touching my arm again, wrapping his sweaty shirt around it tight, compressing my bicep with his huge mitts, saying over and over, “Shit, baby. Shit.” Why is Cash Wall calling me baby? I look down,

The younger guy who didn’t shoot me trots up. “I have ibuprofen.”

“Damn.” Brice whistles. “You gonna let an old white man kick your ass, or are you gonna lay hands on your girlfriend’s daddy? Where’s my phone?” “If you record this, I’m gonna slap that phone from your hand.” “I’ll slap the stupid from your face.”

“Are you having low self-esteem ‘cause the girl you want don’t want you back and her daddy thinks you’re shit?”

“Oh,” she says. She sounds hella dismayed. It’s good that my ego is rock solid.

“I want to bang you and have your babies,” he says.

“Watch your arm.” She struggles upright and fumbles for the seatbelt. “You watch your arm,” she grumbles. That’s my girl.

I could just slap him. No one could blame me, not even Glenna. He’s got a face that begs to be slapped.

I head back inside, and he’s almost to the stairs when I hear him mutter, “Toxic masculinity.”

“Poison ivy.” He points at a clump growing beside the path. “Okay. Hold up. Lemme roll in it.”

“And fair warning, if you run away this time, I’m gonna follow you. Uh—” He notices the redheaded kid hanging on his every word. “But, uh, only with your permission and at a distance and if you tell me to leave, I will respect your boundaries.” He directs this to the kid before turning back to me.

She’s hovering behind him, sticking close to his shadow. Like I used to do. She needs to run before it eats her.