Page 82 of Fairground

Before she can fire back with another thinly veiled dig at my latest profession, I catch sight of Cash striding toward us, his brows drawn together in confusion when he sees who I’m talking to. Perfect.

“In fact,” I say quickly, lunging for his arm, “here’s my competition for the mayor position now.”

Cash barely has time to react as I loop my arm through his and pull him into the tension filled moment. His puzzled expression shifts to amusement as he glances down at me, clearly picking up on something being off about this interaction. If anyone can make this nightmare remotely bearable, it’s Cash. Or at least, I hope it is.

“Hello,” Cash says, extending a hand to my father first, his face still painted with confusion, likely wondering who I just dragged him into meeting. “I’m Cash Marshall.”

“Evan Black,” my dad replies, gripping his hand firmly. “Rae’s father.”

Recognition flickers across Cash’s face as he shifts to shake my mother’s hand next. I’m silently pleading with my eyes—please don’t say anything crazy, please, or actually, maybe do.Honestly, at this point, I just want this entire interaction to be over.

“I see,” Cash says simply, his tone measured. I can’t help but wonder if he’s putting two and two together, realizing these are the people who emotionally wrecked me to the point that I sometimes don’t know how to function like a normal adult and have a list of insecurities so long it would rival a grocery receipt.

“Ah,” my mom says, her voice lighter now and filled with something that sounds a hell of a lot like flirting and admiration, “that’s why your name sounds familiar. You’re a Marshall from the family who owns theWhitewood Creek Distillery.”

Cash nods with an easy, practiced smile. “That I am. And the egg farm.”

That’s when I see it—the subtle twitch of my mom’s nose, wrinkling in disdain.Oh no.

“Chickens?” she asks, like he’s just announced he spends his free time rolling in mud like a pig. And frankly, he probably does do that too though I haven't witnessed it. A naked Cash rolling in mud sounds like a good time to me. At this point in my stay here, I'd probably join him and somehow, we’d end up naked, fucking.

Cash nods again, and this time his grin stretches wider, like he’s discovered her Achilles’ heel. “Yep. GMO-free, organic, free-range hens. They’re my thing. I’m the lead for the egg farm.”

“The lead?”

“Manage all of them myself,” he says, his pride unmistakable. “Big facility just a few miles from here. It’s our pride and joy. The heart of the Marshall family. The distillery came later once the farm was thriving under my control.”

“I… see…” my mom says, her tone faltering slightly, which is nothing short of miraculous. I watch her struggle to come up with something neutral to say and know she’s going to fail. “And… what are your long-term plans?”

Cash doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back and laughs—a deep, genuine belly laugh that echoes across the parking lot though it doesn't disturb anyone outside of our group because everyone in this town is used to Cash and his uninhibited joy.

My dad blinks in shock while my mom’s mouth parts slightly, caught off guard by him laughing at her question. Meanwhile, I'm just admiring the man who I've fallen for. He's so... happy. Not the least bit offended at all by their rude questions and thinly veiled accusations. He’s proud of who he is and doesn’t falter on that for anyone.

“Oh, I’ve got it all figured out,” Cash says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Plan on working there till the day I die. Hell, I think I’ll even dieonthe farm if the hens will have me. Wouldn’t it be kindof poetic if they just pecked me down to dust? Real full-circle moment, don’t you think, Rae?”

My dad clears his throat, looking like someone just slapped him while I fight back a smile. “That’s, um… a bit… crude.”

Cash just grins, his gaze still locked on mine, completely unbothered. “Crude, maybe. But I can’t think of a better way to go—well, except one.” His eyes stay on mine before he gives me a wink.

Oh my God.

My entire body stiffens because theone exceptionhe’s referring to? The one he’s whispered to me more than once while tangled in my sheets? Death byme. Or, more specifically, death by being smothered between my thighs while he licks me.

Death by my pussy.

I glance at my parents, praying they don’t pick up on the absolutely filthy subtext radiating off him like a neon sign because there’s nothing discreet about the way Cash is looking at me. But judging by their blank, confused stares, I’m safe.

For now.

“Well,” Cash says, tipping his head at me with a wink that’s downright sinful, “pleasure meeting you all. Rae, I'll see you later tonight.” And with that, he strides off, leaving me to drown in the awkward tension he just gleefully stirred up.

“That guy is your competition?” my mom whispers, way too loudly for someone trying to act scandalized.

Laken bites her lip, trying and failing to hold back a laugh.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I watch him disappear into the crowd. “Yeah. He is.”Absolutely ridiculous.

“Well,” my mom says, her voice laced with condescension, “I think we all know who’s winning, even if it’s just a pointless title.”

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