Amir was standing at the edge of the table. His face twisted in confusion as his eyes bounced between me and Cash.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. This was beyond messy.
“Amir, we can go. He’s nobody,” I said quickly, trying to stand.
But Cash’s hand clamped down on my thigh possessively.
Goosebumps prickled across my skin as I sank back into the booth, folding my arms over my chest.
“We just talking, baby,” Cash said smoothly, his drawl thick and syrupy.
I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling heat spread between my legs.Why the hell did he have to sound like that?
Amir’s eyes dropped to Cash’s hand still gripping my leg. The confusion on his face flipped to irritation, real fast.
“Jasmine, you got me taking your ass out when you got a whole nigga already?” he gritted.
I peeled Cash’s off, shaking my head. “He’s not my man.”
“All you bitches are the same,” Amir laughed bitterly to himself.
“Excuse me?” I barked, jumping to my feet. “First of all, I told you I was dating other people. And this nigga?”—I pointed a finger at Cash—“He’s not even one of them!”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Amir scoffed. “Man, you was just using me for a free meal.”
“A free?—”
THUD.
My stomach dropped, hearing something heavy hit the table.
Here we fucking go.
Cash rested his hand on his gun.
“Choose your next words carefully, my nigga,” he said, eyes locked on Amir like he was just waiting for an excuse to shoot him.
“What is your problem?” I hissed, sinking back down beside him. I looked around. A few people were now blatantly watching us. I tried pushing his hand onto his lap, but he had a death grip on that thing.
He didn’t even flinch. His gaze stayed on Amir, who suddenly didn’t seem so tough. That big dog act disappeared the moment he saw what Cash was holding.
“Man, fuck this,” Amir spat, puffing up his chest, trying to sound hard. “Your pussy ain’t worth all this shit.”
Cash was out of the booth, moving faster than I could process.
CRACK.
The sound of metal meeting flesh made me gasp as he pistol-whipped Amir across the face.
Amir hit the floor, howling as he clutched his forehead, blood gushing from the wound.
“Bron, get this bitch ass nigga out my face before I really fuck him up,” Cash called out.
The bouncer, Bron, was on it. He scooped Amir off the floor and dragged him to the door. Amir didn’t even try to fight back—just held his face and let himself get tossed out like garbage.
Cash rolled his shoulders, sitting down like he hadn’t just pistol-whipped a man in public.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I snapped, still trying to catch my breath. “What if he presses charges?”
