Locke shakes his head. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
“Not at all.”
The sadness in Locke’s eyes makes me wonder if the same can’t be said about him.
Chapter Six
Locke
Cashton is still the boy I fell in love with years ago, despite fame. And I’m … a fucking mess if I truly dissect my life. Taking the only finance job that would have me after having so much time off since getting my MBA, I still feel as lost as I did before I graduated.
I came home from overseas a different person. I was freer, less desperate for professional validation, and the thought of settling down made me edgy. Which wasn’t a good sign with a brand-new spouse. I was also dead broke. Student loans, an around-the-world credit card binge, and none of the six-figure jobs I had been offered before still wanted me. Shocking, really, considering I had a degree and no experience after two years.
I had to suck it up and take the only job who wanted me. A business undergrad could do my job.
Yeah, the official title is financial manager, but little fact, casinos in Vegas have so much money going through them, a single casino has countless financial managers checking and double-checking every single dollar.
I don’t want to get into it all with Cashton. I don’t want to bring this down.
“You know what we should do?” I ask.
“Round two?”
I smile. “Geez, there’s the rock star stamina. I need a bit longer. What if we go watch the festival?”
Cashton looks at me skeptically. “You. Want to stand in the desert sun and listen to rock music …” His eyes narrow. “You’re a pod person, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve changed your name. That’s why you want to do things my Sherlock would’ve hated.”
I roll my eyes. “Ha, ha, Cashton.”
“Eww, no. If I have to call you Locke, you have to call me Cash.”
That’s fair, but … so weird. Even when he hit fame and the name Cash was everywhere, it was hard to see him as anyone but my Cashton. But I’ll do it. For him.
“Come on.” I jump up and pull Cash up with me. “You can drag me around the place and ramble like you always used to about who’s who and fanboy over everyone.”
“I’ll just put some clothes on.” Cash moves toward the back of the bus, past a partition, and then comes out holding a T-shirt. “On a scale of sad to ironic, where does wearing my own band’s T-shirt land?”
“Sad scale is a solid three. Ironic scale a nine. But on the narcissistic scale? Like a thirteen.”
“I am not narcissistic just because I’m always right …” He throws the shirt over his head and comes out grinning.
Typical Cash.
“Hey, is it cool if I leave my jacket here? It’s hot as balls out, and I feel like an idiot carrying it around.” Like I said earlier, I wore the suit so I could look good for him, totally forgetting just how fucking hot the desert is, but it’s also an armor of sorts. It makes it look like I have my shit together when I really don’t.
Cash looks up at me with dark eyes, the usual gleam of mischief ever present. He pulls my tie from my vest. “You need to get rid of this too. Don’t worry, I’ll have you looking less businessman and more rock star.” He loosens my tie and pulls it through the collar of my shirt.
“Am I not cool enough for you?” I know I’m not cool enough for him. At least that hasn’t changed.
He rolls my sleeves up to my elbows. “No one is that cool, but you’ll do.”
“Tell me that thing again about not being narcissistic.”
Cash laughs. He moves to the side of the bus and puts on sunglasses, ties his hair back, and throws a straw hat on his head.
“You look like a cowboy,” I point out.
“Yeeha, motherfucker. It’s so I won’t be recognized. Hopefully.”
“Maybe your shirt choice isn’t the best, then. What, Mr. Big and Famous can’t handle the fans?”
Cash steps forward, leaning up to kiss my lips softly. “I’d rather spend my time listening to you whine about being sunburned than listening to people tell me how awesome I am.”
“Shit, you must like me a lot.”
Another kiss. “I never stopped.”
I never stopped liking him either.
I’ve been trying to convince myself that what we had in high school was nothing more than young love. That he wouldn’t even remember me let alone still like me after all these years.
Yet, here we are, twenty-eight years old, supposedly wiser and more experienced, but I can’t help feeling like I’m eighteen again.
Nothing has changed between us, and it’s been easy to sink back to where we were. As if no time has passed at all.
The warm desert air hits my face, and Cash is right. It probably won’t be long before I’m burning up and complaining about the heat.