Page 25 of Cash

His worst enemy comment piqued my curiosity to a point that I had to ask. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done to someone who’s crossed you?”

His gaze dropped to the center of the table. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

He shook his head. “I won’t tell you.”

“Why?”

His gaze met mine. “There’s some things that shouldn’t be talked about.”

“I just want to know.”

“I don’t know you well enough to tell you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

I wasn’t appalled, but the remark was far from flattering. “Why not?”

“Why should I?” he asked. “You haven’t earned it.”

I considered his response. I hadn’t earned it. But. I hadn’t given him a reason not to, either.

He looked me in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Well.” He pursed his lips and looked away. “You shouldn’t.”

“Are you trustworthy?”

“I am. But, you don’t know that about me.” His expression turned to serious. “You shouldn’t trust people until they earn your trust. People aren’t always as they seem.”

He was right about that. “Point taken,” I said.

“I stabbed my knife through a guy’s hand once,” he said without an ounce of emotion. “Pinned it to a wooden picnic table. That’s probably the fifth or sixth worst thing I’ve done to someone who’s crossed me,”

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “What did he do to deserve that?”

“He stole the tips off my exhaust pipes.”

It seemed a bit extreme. If someone took the mufflers off my car, I’d laugh about it the entire time I was on the phone with the police. The look on his face, however, told me this was no laughing matter to him.

“So, you stabbed his hand to a picnic table?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Wow. Were they expensive?”

“Doesn’t matter if they were worth five bucks or five grand,” he snapped. “He was a fuckin’ thief. Not much worse than that, in my book.”

I wondered if Jennifer was right. If Cash was simply trying to push me away. If that was the case, I was going to buck him every step of the way. It would take more than stories about makeshift crucifixions of exhaust pipe thieves to get me to turn and run.

“How long ago was your last relationship?” I asked.

“Easy one to answer,” he said. “Never.”

“You’ve never been in a relationship?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a short one?” I asked. “One that failed?”

“Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on some dates.” He lowered his gaze for a few seconds, and then looked up. “Kind of. Not really ‘dates’, but, you know. I’ve taken a few chicks out over the years, but I’ve never stuck with it long enough to call it a ‘relationship’.”

I gave him a puzzled look. “Why?”

“No one ever gave me a reason to stick around,” he said. “I know it’s not what you’re looking to hear, but women are all the same. I’ve been with my fair share of them, and other than the way they look, they’re all the same. So far, I haven’t met one that has enough redeeming qualities to cause me to want to stay for longer than a few minutes.”

I had many redeeming qualities. I simply didn’t know if I had qualities that he would see as redeeming. I did know that there were three ways to get to a man’s heart, and I’d already offered him one.

So, I stood, lowered myself onto my knees, and offered him the second one.