Page 9 of Cold Foot Cash

She gave him an empty smile. “Go back and tell your fan club we aren’t dating. I’m married.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Where’s your ring then?”

“I just…took it off…for a little while.”

He gestured to her left hand. “You don’t even have a tan line from the ring.”

“Well…I’ve had it off for a few months…to resize it.”

“How many months?”

“Three.”

“Try again.” Cash leaned forward and oh goodness, his cologne smelled amazing. “I can hear lies.”

Crap. She’d heard that about shifters. “Nine months ago, but I’m. Married.” She said it clearly.

He nodded, eyes cooling. “I don’t fuck with married women. You’re super-safe from me coming onto you. I just need a bufferfor those two. Just come play a game of pool with me and get them to give me space.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll find your sister’s catfish.”

That offer sucked the next sarcastic remark right out of her throat. “You’ll…”

“I’ll find out who it is. I’ve already been digging around a little.”

“I…” She frowned. “I actually want to know who did that to her.”

He nodded. “I figured. You seem like a good sister.” He crossed his arms over his chest and pushed back on the back two legs of his chair. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s back in Bozeman.”

“You’re from Bozeman?” he asked. “How far a drive is that?”

“Four hours.”

“You drove four hours to find out if I was the real deal or not? You really are a good sister.”

Harley shrugged.

“Cash!” One of the guys by the pool table called. “You’re up!”

He didn’t even flinch. “You’re really married?”

He didn’t need to know what she was dealing with, or what she was going through, or that she truly was not supposed to still be married, but her asshole ex was dragging out the divorce. Cash was a stranger now, and would be a stranger still tomorrow.

She pulled up the text from Lance and opened up the wedding picture he’d sent her. Cash studied the picture for a moment, then snatched her phone.

“Hey!” she yelped, reaching for it, but he was inhumanly fast and yanked it out of her reach in a blur.

He frowned at the phone screen and scrolled, then handed it back. He tilted his chin back. “He’s fucking it up, isn’t he?”

Harley refused to give this termite the satisfaction of admitting anything. It was none of his business.

“One game with me. Forget whatever is going on. Come meet my friends, and relax for a night. Keep those shifter-chasers off me so I can enjoy the night too, and then I’ll give you every bit of information about Carolina’s catfish as I can find.”

“Keep the shifter-chasers off you,” she scoffed. This guy was so full of himself. Gross.

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