Page 138 of Property of Whiskey

She looks down.

Long legs. Panties. Bare feet.

My brain immediately quits cooperating.

Twila follows my stare. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Was working on it.”

“Stop looking.”

“Hard.”

“Whiskey.”

“Very hard.”

She throws pillow at me.

I catch it and laugh. Wrong again.

“You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious.”

“You had your fingers in me ten minutes ago, and now your ex is on the porch telling me you get bored. You cheat.”

“I ain’t bored, and I didn’t cheat. So, where were we?”

Her face heats. “You can’t seriously think we’re picking up where we left off.”

“Can still feel you on my hand, Deputy. Thinking about it ain’t exactly difficult.”

Her gaze drops to that hand before she catches herself.

Got her.

Her mouth opens. Then closes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You wanted to wrestle her.” I bite my bottom lip.

“I was deciding whether to arrest her.”

“For what?”

“Being irritating.”

“Ain’t a crime.”

“Should be.”

I step closer.

Twila steps back, but not because she’s scared.