Page 186 of Property of Whiskey

“I wasn’t using it.”

“You just walked into my locked house.”

“Because you’re missing!”

“Give it to me.”

“Twila.”

“Key.”

Cal reaches into his pocket, takes out his key ring, and works mine loose.

He sets it on the dresser. I snatch it up immediately and close my fist around it until the teeth bite into my palm.

His gaze shifts toward Whiskey. “This is a mistake.”

I laugh. “My mistake.”

Cal heads toward the hallway but stops beside Whiskey.

“You hurt her…”

Whiskey cuts him off. “I won’t. But I’ll hurt you if you don’t skedaddle.”

Cal leaves.

A few seconds later, the front door closes. I wait until I hear his truck start and gravel spit beneath the tires before some of the pressure inside my chest loosens.

I look down at the key still clenched in my hand.

Whiskey stays beside the dresser, giving me enough room that I don’t have to ask for it. He doesn’t come closer and doesn’t touch me.

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“Got several things.”

“Pick one.”

He glances at the engagement picture, picks it up, and turns it facedown on the dresser.

“Man’s a fucking idiot.”

A laugh catches in my throat. “Original.”

“Want detailed?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

I turn toward him.

There’s no teasing in his face now. No dirty grin. Nothing easy.