Page 60 of Trust

Then Cash says, “Beating the crap out of each other on the schoolyard.”

“What?” I stare at them, wide-eyed.

Chris nods, completely straight-faced. “Over a girl.”

They’re both laughing now. I can’t tell if they’re messing with me or not.

“Then what?” I ask, extremely interested.

“We both dated her,” Chris says like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Yep,” Cash says. “At the same time.”

My mouth falls open. “You mean, you took turns?”

Chris shrugs. “Sometimes.”

Cash leans in, eyes twinkling. “Sometimes not.”

My brain stutters, trying to catch up. “So, you shared her? Like... actually shared?”

Chris doesn’t answer. He takes a sip of beer and watches the fire. Cash’s grin stretches wider, soaking up every second of my scrambled reaction.

“Jealousy wasn’t a thing?” I ask, because I have to know.

“Never,” they say, almost in unison.

Cash stretches out an arm and taps his bottle against mine. “Sharing is caring.”

I don’t even know what to do with that information. I sit there, wrapped in a blanket and half a beer deep, with a roasted marshmallow on my stick and about a thousand questions in my head. I shift the soft white blob, letting it darken more before I ask, “So, are you still doing that?”

They glance at each other, looking amused.

“Hasn’t really come up,” Cash says, putting another log on the fire. More sparks drift upward, chasing each other into the night. His voice is almost casual, the question not rattling him in the slightest.

“Our line of work doesn’t exactly make room for girlfriends,” Chris adds. “Too messy. Too risky. We stick to acquaintances when we’re in the mood.”

Acquaintances? That’s a weird word for a booty call. There go the mind movies, high-definition and terrifyingly detailed.

Nope. Puppies. Think about puppies. Not four hands working in tandem and—

“What about you, Nosy Rosie? Is there a boyfriend waiting for you to come home?” Cash cuts the scene off before it can unfold.

I hesitate, watching the flames snap and pop, forcing my thoughts elsewhere. Maybe I should say something vague and change the subject. But this level of cozy loosens your tongue, so I spill. Fair’s fair, I guess.

“No. My dad never allowed dating, or a boyfriend. Ever.”

Cash raises a brow, but I go on.

“So of course I pissed him off and went out with a guy once. Big mistake.”

They both watch me now.

“The guy got handsy, tried to kiss me. I panicked and almost bit his tongue off.”

Cash chokes on his beer.

“It had to be reattached microsurgically,” I say with a shrug, my casual storytelling matching my unhurried movements as I remove the toasted ball from the end of the stick. “I got a restraining order. Word got around fast. No one’s ever asked me out since.” I relish my perfectly browned marshmallow.